It may be criminally early to talk about Christmas, but we’ve good reason. When you’ve witnessed fifteen people crammed into a house built for five, you’ll forgive Larry for sharing the cure: a stately New Forest escape that restored peace, calm and the personification of a John Lewis advert…
The prelude to our festivities in 2023 was chaos — at once glorious, incandescent, and utterly unavoidable. Picture this: myself and siblings (now each with their own small armies of progeny) converging on our parents’ home, full of nostalgic visions of turkey, tinsel and tree-light sparkle. In my head it was that John Lewis advert in living colour. In reality, it was closer to the McAllisters’ madhouse — with fewer traps and more noise.
What was once a cosy household of five had ballooned to fifteen. The ineffable irony: the house had shrunk. There was barely space to turn, let alone breathe. For three days we existed in a state of perpetual collision— bodies, voices, gifts, stuffed turkeys, all jostling for prime real estate. Tables were squeezed into rooms they never intended to host. Turkey and trimmings were replaced by tears and tantrums – often from the children, too.
The next year we resolved: no more sitting ducks. If Christmas must be hosted, let it be somewhere built for such bedlam. Somewhere with elbow room, a few corners to escape to, and, frankly, a talking point. Thus, was born the idea of decamping to a country cottage.
Enter Somerley Estate. At its heart sits a Georgian pile by Samuel Wyatt, all 18th-century grandeur, sheep grazing as if in a Constable painting, deer parkland and pine forests, and the sort of sweeping drives where one expects a barouche to appear at any moment. You may have seen it before — pressed into service as Highgrove in The Crown, moonlighting in Bridgerton, and, most recently, in The Inheritance. But for all its screen stardom, Somerley is still very much home to the Normanton family, and dotted about its 7,000 acres are a handful of houses and cottages you can actually stay in.
We plumped for Park Cottage. ‘Cottage’, however, is pushing understatement to its limits. Yes, technically it began life as a pair of estate semis, but after a judicious conjoining and an interior spruce-up it now boasts six bedrooms spread across what feels like twin wings (stairs at each end for strategic separation) giving us natural zones: children here, grownups there.
Two sitting rooms — one for no-judgement Netflix, one for the grand gathering (presents, board games, fireside scotch). And the kitchen/diner? A temple to modern family cooking, with a kitchen island, generous counter space, and enough appliances to rival a small restaurant. Park Cottage sits discreetly among rhododendrons a stone’s throw from the main house, and if you wander the garden far enough you half expect to bump into the Earl walking his lab.
Bedrooms, with en suites, are painted in Farrow & Ball tones, with tasteful country motifs and contemporary artwork you’d be inspired to acquire at home — I understand Lady Normanton had influence over the interiors. Our room even boasted a roll-top bath at the foot of the bed — someone had anticipated our ploy to soak away sibling disputes.
But the real triumph was in the details. It was decked out for Christmas before we arrived; evergreen draped across bannisters, holly and mistletoe garlands, rustic touches tastefully smattered; and in the lounge, a decorated tree and candelabra that transformed the space into a cinematic set. I briefly regretted not hiring a fog machine. But more sundry items, too. Gravy boats, corkscrews, pastry brushes — all things often forgotten when hiring houses, and all present, not to mention a wine fridge in the utility room. Normally when hiring a place one starts bringing one’s own cutlery in panic — not here.
Of course, the canny among you would have spotted that we were fifteen, and the bedrooms only accounted for twelve (with a camp bed for tots). So, a stone’s throw from Park comes The Old Salmon Hut; overlooking the River Avon, sleeping two, a perfect romantic hideaway or retreat for grandparents who prefer silence over carols and hyperactive grandchildren.
So how did it go? Three nights of what may remain in family legend as ‘that Christmas’. We finally did resemble the John Lewis advert — albeit with more dirty crockery, more broken tape, more impassioned arguments over Monopoly — and all for the right reasons. It brought out the best in us; my brother and I co-ordinating in the kitchen, where Mum’s interference became a welcome addition, a rictus-like smile replacing a stress-induced frown; Dad finding a favourite armchair for his book rather than hovering in a perpetual state of looking for something to do, and our little nest of vipers spending some quality time with her cousins.
As for Christmas 2025: it’s not technically our turn, but mothers get FOMO, so we may host it twice over (I’m drafting a spreadsheet). If you’re reading this and thinking, ‘I’d like that,’ you should hurry: Park Cottage books well in advance. Most likely by us again.
For more information about Park Cottage and The Salmon Hut, and Somerley Estate, and for bookings, please visit www.somerley.com.
