Saying goodbye to man’s best friend never gets any easier

The first week back from holiday is normally notable for ploughing through the work email backlog, washing piles of laundry and vowIng to maintain your newly-heightened levels of activity while knocking off alcohol intake. This time, sadly, it was dominated by the precipitous decline of our elder dog, Datchet, who we had to put down yesterday.

As this blog has become the “newspaper of record” for my life, I couldn’t let what will inevitably be one of the most significant happenings of 2020 go by without acknowledgment.

Datchet was particularly special because he started life as my mother’s dog. Her first request after being diagnosed with terminal cancer was that we take the then 8-month-old puppy from St. Louis to England when her time came. Datchet’s unusual early years marked his life and ours. Though Mom, barely ambulatory after heavy chemotherapy treatments, couldn’t walk him and could barely care for herself, she refused to give him up. Unwavering canine adoration was as good as drugs when it came to helping her face both her medical trials and her impending death.

Lack of enough exercise, however, made Datchet a runner, and his early years were filled with panicked neighbourhood mobilisations to find him after he slipped his lead to escape at high speed. The closest I’ve ever been to a heart attack was probably a madcap sprint after him as he dashed for the main road by Mom’s house; I heard squealing breaks on my approach and broke through the trees to find a trembling, frozen pup sat in the middle of the road staring at the SUV that had managed to hit is brakes just in time.

Datchet’s first three years saw prolonged stays in kennels and with friends when Mom was in hospital, and during those good periods when she embarked on her bucket-list travel before the end. It made him more aloof and less of a snuggling lapdog than the average cavalier King Charles spaniel, and certainly wary of his new life when we brought him to England in 2011.

We joked that he was the most expensive cavalier in Hampshire, given the £2,000+ in transport fees plus other incidentals we racked up getting him here. But for me, it was like having a little piece of my Mom still around after she’d gone. And for my husband, who was never forgiven by my first cavalier Mr. Darcy for becoming the alpha male in the house, Datchet could be our dog. His presence certainly softened the blow when Darcy went to the grave just four months after my mother.

Since then, Datchet’s had an existence that outstrips the quality of life standards of 80% of the human population. The exchange, of course, is that he consistently made our lives better ... as dogs do ... whether with simple companionship, a warm snuggle on the couch or his fierce, wildly amusing, attempts to do battle with swans, sheep and wood pigeons. He even forgave us for bringing Bruno into the house, though I think his attitude would be characterised as “long suffering” rather than happy playmate.

We could have upped the price tag on Hampshire’s most expensive dog significantly. After being active and seeming healthy throughout our trip to the North, 12 1/2-year-old Datchet collapsed with exhaustion when we got home. Within 48 hours he had lost the use of his back legs. Our vet suspected a spinal injury and suggested we could consider an MRI and a canine neurologist. (Yes, they exist.) I thought about it, despite the thousands it would rack up. But within another 48 hours his front legs weren’t working either, and an enormous lump was rising beneath his rib cage. While he wasn’t in obvious pain, he was clearly exhausted and we had no doubt there were multiple, fatal things wrong.

This is the third time I’ve had to make the decision to end a beloved pet’s life, but I had no doubt it was the right and humane thing to do. It’s funny how dogs’ deaths tend to be more humane than human ones. He went to sleep gently in my arms, and was no doubt then racing at high speed towards his first owner. The greatest consolation in his loss is believing that they’re together again.

Castle Howard’s interiors are poor value for money; stick to the grounds

The last stop on our Northern “staycation” was yet another stately home made famous by its use as a film set: Castle Howard.

I’ve always been a bit underwhelmed by the place, which I feel lives almost completely off its Brideshead Revisited associations without doing much to build upon them. On my last visit in 2009 they’d caught a fresh wave of attention on the back of the new film version the year before and had updated attractions at the house dramatically. Nothing has changed since. In fact, several of 2009’s highlights had disappeared (garden tours with access into the follies, special exhibitions and film sets). This may have been due to COVID-19, of course, but unlike the Percys who’ve dropped the price of admission to Alnwick to reflect the current limited offer, the Howards have kept their tickets at a lofty £22, at the top tier of cultural attraction pricing. To add insult to injury, with post-COVID reopening they’ve actually eliminated free entry to Historic Houses Association members that all the other member houses we visited continued to honour.

Regular readers of this blog will know I have no problem spending money on cultural experiences ... indeed, it’s the raison d’etre of my paycheque ... but I want value for money, and Castle Howard’s interiors do not occupy the exalted place their price tag to visit promises. The only thing of distinctive significance here is Vanbrugh’s soaring central hall and dome, and the two corridors off of it filled with the family’s collection of Roman sculpture. There’s no denying that this is one of England’s architectural masterpieces. But the garden-facing rooms off this core are basic spaces renovated by film companies during their work here; fire gutted the core and the house’s East wing in 1940. 

A handful of drawing rooms in the West wing survived the disaster, but they’re unexceptional. Damask-covered walls hung with a mix of family portraits and landscapes, mahogany furniture and stately chimney pieces. All very nice, but there are no memorable masterpieces here and you’ll see similar ... indeed better ... examples of English country house interiors at nearby Beningbrough, Newby or Harewood, all of which charge less and offer more. Vanbrugh’s vast, echoing library/hall exemplifies the problem here: fine architecture, but similar to his much better example at Blenheim Palace and with little to look at within. If ever a house was ripe for the addition of modern art or alternative collections, this is it. A distinctive chapel and some bedrooms could have added value to the ticket price, but they were closed due to social distancing requirements.

Unless you are a big Brideshead or Vanbrugh fan who hasn’t been here before, you’ll be far better served by the £12.95 grounds admission.

This is one of England’s greatest designed landscapes, carefully created to mimic the Arcadian scenes dotted with classical buildings that were so popular at the time of the house’s construction. Long, dead-straight entry drives coming from both North and South are both dignified with obelisks, triumphal arches and other Roman ephemera, creating the feel of the Appian Way heading for the imperial capital. 

At the center isn’t the forum but the house, unique beneath its enormous dome and encrusted with classical columns, pilasters and ornament. The Caesars would feel at home. A formal garden with parterres and an enormous fountain of Atlas with the world on his shoulders sets off the back of the house, while lawns sloping down to a man-made lake dignify the front.

It’s the broad, grassy lanes radiating from the house to architectural highlights in the landscape that really make the place a delight to explore, particularly for dog walkers. The stroll up to the Temple of the Four Winds, your way marked by a procession of Roman statues on plinths until you get to the noble building and are rewarded with views over magnificent landscape towards the Howard Mausoleum (yet another idealised Roman temple) is one of England’s greatest walks. 

There’s also a vast walled garden here. Once the practical, hard-working engine behind the house’s kitchens and floral arrangements, now it’s sub-divided into a chequerboard of different garden rooms, each with distinctive colour schemes, designs and ornaments. These gardens are as exceptional an example of the potential of a walled garden as the staterooms are underwhelming representatives of their type. And it’s worth noting that the grounds are open for a couple of hours after the house closes, meaning you can enjoy something near solitude at the end of the day.

And thus ended our 2020 staycation, as full of new sights, high culture, fine food and great wines as any  foreign holiday. 

Throughout the ‘80s and ‘90s, when I was still resident in the United States, I was obsessed by England. I spent as many vacations here as I could and talked my way into every British work assignment I could get, primarily to enable manic weekend sightseeing. Since moving to the UK permanently at the turn of the century, however, I’ve gone increasingly native, equating “holiday” with places where people speak foreign languages, produce olive oil and need sun protection. I can’t deny a wistful hunger to head to Heathrow and end up someplace where they make more wine that they drink. But our adventures in Yorkshire, Durham and Northumberland have reminded me why more than 40 million foreign visitors a year descend on this little island to sample its delights, whatever the weather. Closed borders are simply no excuse for not feeling like you’ve had a holiday.  

Alnwick's Cookie Jar should banish pining for foreign destinations

If the historic sites and natural wonders aren't enough to lure you to linger in Northumbria, this luxury boutique hotel might do the trick. The Cookie Jar is exemplary in its class: high-end design, extreme comfort, fantastic food and a management team that makes you feel like honoured guests in their home rather than paying hotel clients.

It came as no surprise that one of the owners was a former chief executive of both Malmaison and Hotel du Vin; you'll find all the things here that make those chains great but on a more intimate scale, a more personal touch and a lower price point. Robert and Debbie Cook are regularly present to cater to guests and ensure the attention to detail that extends to everything, from the in-the-moment, personal-sized bottles of hand sanitizer near the door to take with you on outings to the Hypnos beds to the jar of fresh chocolate chip cookies you'll find in your room when you return from your day's adventures.

The Cookie Jar's location is ideal: throwing distance to Alnwick Castle's main (pre-pandemic) entrance, within easy walking distance of the town centre, but on the very edge where building gives way to countryside. A five-minute walk takes you over Alnwick's famous Lion Bridge and into the pastures along the river Aln below the castle, a landscape so beautiful it's as if you're strolling through a painting. The edge-of-town location means it's also remarkably quiet; we were on the front of the building but slept peacefully with windows wide open.

This is one of those boutique hotels that looks like it’s fallen out of the pages of a high-end house and garden magazine. It's likely to give you decor envy and design ideas in equal measure. The colour scheme is a bold blue and white, flying in the face of the received design wisdom that blue is a “cold” colour inappropriate for interiors. (I had a bit of a battle over this idea with my mother-in-law, a respected interior decorator, when I insisted on a blue, grey and white sitting room. The Cookie Jar not only validated my decision but has me thinking I could be bolder with the blue.) Whether in the rooms, the cozy library lounge or the bistro-style dining room, it’s the interplay of fabrics and decorative items in the highlight colours that bring the scheme to life. 

Strikingly different patterns work together because of their shared colours. Blue and white plates in a range of modern designs, both abstract and figurative, ring the upper walls of the dining room. Rather than a single chandelier in the gracious staircase hall there are three enormous bird cages at different levels enclosing the lights. Tripod lamps look like they’ve been converted from arcane surveying equipment. Our otherwise traditionally-appointed bedroom had an alcove in one corner transformed into a glass-walled shower room, made even more delightful by the Penhaligon toiletries provided.

Each of the 11 rooms is distinctively decorated, all within the blue and white theme but each very different in size and shape. (And cost) And just as if you were staying in some peer's ancestral pile, each has a name rather than a number. We stayed in Bamburgh, a generously-sized room on the first floor with three towering sash windows across its length. (£253 per night.) We took a sneaky peak into The Chapel, the room that confirmed my suspicions that the building had once been a convent. This enormous room ... a family of four was just moving out ... was indeed built into an old chapel, complete with an arched roof and stained glass windows. But a super king bed now occupied the nave and a free standing bathtub, with glass shower room behind it, had replaced the altar. The website reveals that the other rooms are equally distinctive, if not quite so dramatic. 

I found The Cookie Jar while searching "dog friendly boutique hotel" and was delighted to be able to sink into this level of luxury with pets at my side. The reason for the policy becomes clear when you realise there's a gun room on the first floor and kennels at the bottom of the garden. Though all canines are welcome, the prime motivation for their inclusion is the gun dogs who come with guests on the Duke of Northumberland's shoots. The staff, kitted out in matching tartan waistcoats, are all dog people and make a suitable fuss over your furry friends. They also, of course, take fine care of you, from suggesting the best dog walks to secret local beaches and the lesser-known sightseeing gems.

Alnwick, however, doesn't give them much scope to recommend restaurants. A foodie town, this is not. Fortunately the kitchen at the Cookie Jar is just as good as the decor and service, meaning we were perfectly happy to settle into dinner, B&B for the entirety of our stay. The menu has a set price for two or three courses (£34.50 and £42.50), changes subtly every day and completely every three or four. Seasonal variety drives what's on offer, especially on the fish front where options depend on what was in port that morning. Thus we ate here for six nights but never repeated ourselves. Unsurprisingly, the seafood stood out, particularly local lobster and scallops in a lobster bisque. But duck breast in a luscious sauce was another winner, and the best desserts made the most of late summer berries. My only culinary disappointment was the cheeseboard, which seemed a bit generic in its brie-cheddar-blue range. I'd hoped for some local revelations, but it could be there aren't many options in the county. (We're spoiled by local cheesemakers at home in Hampshire, so I can be a bit picky.)

As you might expect, breakfast went beyond the standard "Full English". Though that was very good, distinguished this far North with exceptional black pudding, it was the range and quality of the other options that stood out. I ran through the whole menu. I'd never had kippers before and fresh-smoked options from nearby Craster are, I'm informed, about as good as they get. They are pungent, firm and imbued with so much smoke you'd think you'd swallowed a Weber kettle. I couldn't eat them every day, but grilled in butter and served with brown buttered bread they were a treat that fuelled you all the way to dinner. Scrambled eggs and avocado on thick slices of sourdough were delicious, and their attempt at American-style pancakes was pretty good ... though as a Midwesterner I can never really get on board with the fussy "dollar size" variety generally thought of as American throughout the UK. Yogurt pots with fruit compote and home made granola were a treat. 

Many Brits have felt deprived of a proper holiday this year, "trapped" in the UK and pining for the glories of a foreign escape. If you want proof that a staycation can be just as special as anything on the end of a plane journey, do give the Cookie Jar a try.

Northumbria’s castles are full of history, ghosts, drama and English eccentricity

Game of Thrones fans will know that England's Wars of the Roses were the original inspiration for George R.R. Martin's fantasy epic. It doesn't take much from there to identify the Percy family as the Starks and their gorgeous castle at Alnwick as Winterfell. 

Fortunately, although winter is coming it's unlikely to feature dragons or ice zombies. And although there is a wall, Hadrian's legacy is stone rather than ice, it's actually below Alnwick and it doesn't take much magic to climb over it along much of its length. There are parallels, however, in how different this country is from the soft, sunnier South, the fact that it was once its own kingdom, and ... though they never sat on the throne ... the Percys cast a Stark-like shadow over all that goes on here. It's been centuries since they played the kind of power politics immortalised in Shakespeare, and which saw family members imprisoned, executed or stripped of their titles. But the Percy’s have been one of the great survival stories of history, and these days provide the hinge on which much of the local economy swings, from tourism to agriculture to agenda setting.

With its dramatic castle, town gates and Georgian centre, Alnwick is charming but it's no capital of the North. I suspect tourists are more likely to stop here on their way somewhere else than make it a touring base. Which is a real shame, since there's an abundance of things to do. My only complaint would be a curious lack of places to eat. Pubs tend to be of the old boozer type, with fruit machines, loud music, limited menus and sticky floors, There are plenty of casual lunch places, and a few cute tea rooms, but the restaurant scene was so uninspiring we ended up eating in our hotel all six nights (which was no sacrifice).

Other than that, I'd heartily endorse Alnwick as the base for a week-long holiday. In my article on the great outdoors I've already told you about the beaches, Hadrian's wall, Cragside and the nearby moors. And when I wrote about gardens I covered what is now the biggest tourist attraction in town by visitor numbers, the Alnwick Garden. If you’re a castle-lover, however, you have some treats in store. I’ll stick my neck out and say that this is the best region in Britain for castle visiting, considered by density, historic significance and variety; better even than castle-studded North Wales.

Alnwick Castle

This is one of the great fortifications of England and, like the similar Arundel Castle on the South Coast, is a popular filming location that can easily stand in for Windsor or other palatial seats. It's been 18 years since Alnwick appeared as Hogwarts in the Harry Potter franchise, but tourists still flock here on that link and can participate in daily broom training sessions on the exact spot in the keep where Madam Hooch first taught Harry and the gang to fly.

The castle complex itself is a fascinating one, dating from just after the Norman conquest and home to Percys since 1253. While it all looks Medieval, it was a derelict ruin by the 18th century so what you see today is the result of major renovations then, and again in the 19th. The most authentic element left of the original defensive castle is the main entry complex, with double gates, portcullis and a variety of booby traps designed to keep out the enemy. (Usually the Scots, but sometimes the other English side in civil wars.) The decorative stone figures that dot the battlements add to the antiquity, unique to Alnwick and just two other, much smaller castles.

It's a lovely exterior to observe from all angles. If you don't want to pay for admission, walk out of town past the lion bridge and turn into the pastures, where you can have a peaceful stroll along the River Aln and see the whole complex reflected in the water. There's another excellent view, and lawns to sprawl upon, between the castle and the Alnwick Garden. (Where you'll also find a field where you can pay to practice some archery.) Pay to get inside, and you'll find two emerald-lawned baileys unfolding like butterfly wings from the main bulk of the castle. 

There are various attractions in the outbuildings, including a family archaeology museum, a chance to see the family's state coach and a stable courtyard where food trucks pull in to offer lunch options. But if you've paid for admission and aren’t taking broomstick lessons, your main objective is probably the state rooms.

They are among the most impressive of any of England's stately homes, and distinctive in their style. I know no other house in the country that looks so ... Italian. The fourth duke was a passionate Italophile and decided that the interior of his quintessentially English castle should look like a late Renaissance palazzo, complete with marble walls, terrazzo floors, intricately carved wooden ceilings and an Italian-heavy old masters collection bought lock, stock and barrel from the Camuccini family. If it weren't for the portraits, the comfortably English library and the fact that everything is in such good repair, you'd be forgiven for thinking you're in Rome. 

Much as I love Italy, I find it hard to warm to these palatial rooms. (Other than the libary.) Though that might be due to unresolved anger at the 4th duke for what he swept away. The 18th century renovations had been by Robert Adam and were that great architect's only foray into the style known as Strawberry Hill Gothick. (Read about my visit to Strawberry Hill here.) I weep for what now exists only in a handful of sketches and plans.

Note that the state rooms had just reopened after their COVID-19 closure when we visited and at that time you couldn't buy tickets in advance. It was first come, first served when you arrive, so lengthy queuing may be in order.

Chillingham Castle

Nearby Chillingham shares a lot with Alnwick: foundations in the Middle Ages (12th century), more than 700 years in the same family (though ownership has sometimes passed through the female line); an illustrious history including royal visits and pesky Scots; a film location (Elizabeth used both); interiors restored from a derelict state; even a shared garden designer in Capability Brown. But Chillingham's interiors are as quirky and eccentric as Alnwick's are grand and traditional, and its restoration came far more recently.

Sir Humphry Wakefield married into Chillingham's Grey family in 1974 and bought the castle off of them in 1982. A track record with Christie's in London, and then as director or chairman of various antique dealing firms, made him an ideal candidate to restore and furnish a crumbling pile, and what you see today is a hotch potch of family knick knacks and items he's collected. The variety and density is almost overwhelming; those familiar with Snowshill Manor in the Cotswolds will feel they've found its larger, Northern twin. Elephant armour and a full-sized horse and rider in a mix of Indian and Arabic armour grace the dining hall. 

A collection of dog collars and spurs fills a landing. Old hats, walking sticks, sports equipment, hunting trophies and bits of Asian temples fill corners and landings. A French bathtub once owned by Mick Jagger serves as a bar. In a two-bedroom semi, this would be chronic clutter; in a castle it’s maximalist luxe.

Many of the rooms you tour don’t seem particularly liveable, between the exposed stone walls, the eyes and horns of many a deceased creature and more than a hint of damp, though there are a couple of panelled and carpeted drawing rooms at the top of the house that approach a more traditional look. That is, before you notice that bathtub, or the glass eyes of the taxidermised leopard staring at you from the back of the sofa. It is a delight, full of distinctive personality. There’s even a family museum with hand-written explanations from Sir Humphry of why the ephemera is worthy of notice.

Though you get to clamber around much of the building, when you return to the courtyard and look up at the four wings of the castle around you, you’ll realise that you’ve missed a lot. My guess is that there’s much warmer and dryer family accommodation in other wings, and a look at the web site’s promotion of the eight holiday apartments on site shows a less eccentric, more liveable space if you want to pay to spend some evenings here. Something that may be of interest to those interested in the paranormal, as Chillingham markets itself as one of the most haunted castles in England.

Outside, there is a very pretty walled garden originally planted to impress the visiting King Louis Philippe of France. Somewhere in the grounds there’s also a famous herd of Chillingham cattle, supposedly the last truly wild breed left in the world. Wild means potentially belligerent with dangerous horns, so they can only be visited with their warden in pre-booked tours. Political junkies may also be interested to know that this is the home of Dominic Cummings’ in laws. Which may or may not evoke parallels to his policies. I’ll leave that to the reader to ponder. 

Bamburgh Castle

As with both Alnwick and Chillingham, Bamburgh was restored from a ruin. But there was much less of the original structure to work with, so of the three this is the one that seems most decidedly modern. Sir William Armstrong (who we’ve already met on this trip as the owner of Cragside), bought Bamburgh in 1894 and essentially built new on old foundations. It is an Edwardian house in the shape of a castle, built with modern technology to suit modern tastes.

That doesn’t take away the place’s history. Bamburgh is far older than either Alnwick or Chillingham, starting life as a Celtic fort and reaching its apogee as the seat of the Anglo-Saxon Northumbrian Kings. It passed into Viking hands, becoming the imagined home of Bernard Cornwell’s hero Uhtred of Bebbanburg, was destroyed and then rebuilt by conquering Normans. It is the epitome of the maxim “location, location, location”, occupying a rocky spur on an otherwise fairly flat stretch of coast. Thus it looms over its village and all around it, visible for miles on a clear day. 

Those external views, and the overall atmosphere of the place, are arguably far more interesting than the interior. Which is big, functional, has a few interesting decorative objects but no real star sights.

 The most interesting bit for me was a museum room full of bits Armstrong had excavated while working on the castle, including what’s thought to be pieces of the ancient throne of the kings of Northumbria. There’s a modern copy outside the main keep where you can have a seat, and get a feel for being a monarch of mystic ages.

What we missed

A week in Northumberland simply wasn’t enough. At least not if, like us, holiday includes sleeping in, leisurely breakfasts, and being back at your boutique hotel by 5pm for a nap or a cocktail. Or both. And, of course, Covid-19 was still cramping everyone’s style. 

I would have liked to have seen the interiors at Cragside, which ... from photos and videos available on the internet ... seems to be where Armstrong put most of his decorating attention. Bamburgh, clearly, was the pared back beach hut. Dunstanburgh Castle, just south of Bamburgh on the coast, is an atmospheric seaside ruin and also allows a wander around Craster, famous for its kippers (traditional smoked herring). We made it to the smokehouse to buy some fish, but the day’s dense fog blocked any view of the castle. 

A boat journey to the Farne Islands to see nesting seabirds would have been grand. Lindisfarne wouldn’t have even needed a boat to reach it, but you do need to get your timings right to get on and off the island when its causeway is revealed by low tide, something we didn’t manage. Once there, you can see the ruins of the monastery that created the famous gospels and another castle restored by Edwardians, this one by the founder of Country Life magazine so I assume decorated in exquisite taste.

Not far over the Scottish border is Abbotsford, Sir Walter Scott’s home. I visited on my first trip to Britain and remember thinking that only a writer of historic fiction could create such a romantic fairy tale of a house. There are miles of quiet beaches to explore, and still-working fishing villages with historic pubs and chippies that, my Northern friends tell me, dish up the best fried fish in England. Something we never managed to indulge in because the breakfasts at our hotel were so lavish. For that story, read on ... 

Lumley Castle Hotel delivers charm, grandeur, good food and canine comfort

 One of my most treasured memories from a momentous, highlight-filled first trip to England was spending a night in a real castle.  As a 16-year old obsessed with history and legend, bedding down someplace that had been standing since the 14th century and claimed several ghosts was hard to beat.

When, in planning our "staycation" to the North,  I discovered that Lumley Castle was still operating as a hotel, I couldn't resist the temptation to return. Would it live up to my golden memories? Yes.

Of course, I look for different things these days. I've stayed in many historic properties and have far higher expectations than did my 16-year-old self. I'm happy to say that Lumley Castle succeeds as a boutique hotel, bar and restaurant, its staff provides impeccable service and its decor is a delight. And yes, it's still rather fabulous to sleep in a castle.

The square stone keep with towers in each corner sits on a wooded escarpment above the river Wear. Nearby Chester-le-Street dates back to Roman occupation (chester an evolution of the Latin castra, or castle). The town is not terribly interesting these days, but Lumley has the triple advantage of being just off the A1, sitting in splendid isolation formed by parkland, forests and golf courses, and is just a 15-minute drive to Durham. Cricket fans will also appreciate that the park below is home to the Durham County Cricket Club.

Lumley's 72 guest rooms are split between the main building and a stable block to one side. Though tempted by the four posters and grand decor of the main castle, dogs are only allowed in the stable block. This was no sacrifice. Decor in these less expensive rooms is chinz-and-old-prints English charm, mattress and bedding were top quality, the dogs had their own alcove and the exposed beams and door frames were just high enough for my husband to avoid cracking his skull. That the shower head was at his chin level we'll forgive; it's tough getting modern amenities into an old garret.

Inside the main castle, the ground floor houses check-in, the bar and restaurant. (And a ghostly escape room experience that wasn't operating during the pandemic.) Stone slab floors and groin- and barrel-vaulted ceilings give these rooms away as former cellars, but past renovations punched windows into the Medieval fabric and more recent changes create a plush atmosphere. 

The check-in area screams ye olde England with its heavily carved brown furniture, while the library bar ... just renovated in January ... goes for a cosy Georgian country house look. 

Knight's Restaurant, also refreshed at the start of the year, and the rest of the ground floor have a curiously Italianate feel. Reproduction busts of Roman emperors and their consorts stand on pedestals along the hall, Italian statues observe the diners, prints of Florence hang in the bathroom and lunettes of the Medici villas fill the arches in the main dining room. A secondary dining room with magnificent upholstered walls even has those wonderful, and now doubtless horrifically politically incorrect, life-sized figures of black boys in turbans holding up lamps that the Venetians are so fond of. I'm fairly certain that the profile bas reliefs of noblemen above the main arch in the courtyard depict Renaissance Italian dukes.

The decor may lean to the Italian, but the food is resolutely English, all proudly sourced from a 45-mile radius of the hotel. On our night in the restaurant we started with ham hock terrine and cured local salmon, moving on to roasted pork belly and pan fried cod. It's a limited menu, but all of excellent quality, and there's a small but well curated wine list which, like the decor, is heavily Italian. You can order off the same menu in the library, which we did on our second night with local Angus beef burgers on brioche buns. This was all thanks to a new chef who came in last year to transform the place, which news reports say had been stuck in a fine-dining, overly-traditional rut. Lockdown must have been particularly frustrating on the back of that overhaul, but they met the challenge with a flourishing take-away business from the kitchen door. While the simplification to bistro-style dining has provided excellent food in a relaxed atmosphere, anyone staying more than two nights would find the menu very limited. 

But I suspect the typical stay is only one or two nights, as people pause on the way north, locals have a nice night out or ... more typically ... attend a wedding.

The state rooms on Lumley's first floor confirm that this, like so many historic buildings in the UK, earns its living as a wedding and major party venue. Back in 1982 I never wandered beyond the stable block and the atmospherically Medieval ground floor, so I wasn't aware of the grandeur above. In the early 1700s the earl of Scarborough called in the fashionable Sir John Vanbrugh (architect of bigger things at Castle Howard and Blenheim Palace) to modernise the old fortification, providing a new entrance via a raised terrace and processional staircase at the front, a grand entrance hall and an enfilade of stately drawing rooms with ornate plasterwork and grand fireplaces. 

Weddings were still outside the bounds of COVID-19 safety when we visited, but the rooms were set up to show off their potential. There's a magnificent chamber on the front corner of the castle, flooded with light from enormous windows and boasting opulent plasterwork: a garter star in the centre of the ceiling and the heads of Roman emperors on the walls. Classic Vanbrugh Georgian baroque. The main hall has more of a "tudorbethan" revival feel, with deep red walls, lots of portraits, an enormous chimneypiece and minstrel's galleries for bands, bouquet throwing and lighting rigs. Other rooms are similarly grand and another was set up for a ceremony, suggesting that you might even be able to run two events here simultaneously. 

I suspect that staying at Lumley Castle might not be quite as refined an experience if you were an independent guest while their wedding machine was operating at full tilt. But for now, while all of their events are shut down, visitors can enjoy an intimate boutique hotel experience in some very grand surroundings. It's all even better than the 16-year-old me could have imagined.

The great outdoors captivates across Yorkshire & Northumberland

The North of England offers a staggering treasure trove for lovers of the great outdoors. I now understand why the roads are clogged with caravans, every small town's high street has a hiking store, so many cars sport bike racks and the world-famous "Tour de France" expanded its venue to Yorkshire. There are deep, green valleys bisected with picture-perfect rivers. Vast moors covered with heather that, in its August bloom, looks like the heavens have been raining light purple paint. Long beaches of powdery sand, bordered by an ecosystem of dunes covered with grasses flowing like an inland sea.

The vistas are wide, the roads quiet and the crowds ... at least in this year of Covid-19 ... minimal. My usual holiday is a cultural one, as this blog attests. But if you wanted to do a holiday that was purely about hiking, swimming and cycling, you could pack two weeks here with highly varied activities. Or just unpack a lawn chair, sit next to your car in a picturesque lay-by and drink in the view.

Our wanderings didn’t even include the world-famous Lake District, on the Western edge of the region we explored. Here are the most beautiful natural sites we encountered. Not particularly fit? Neither are we. Though all of these areas are ideal for hikers, we consumed an impressive amount through easy drives or short, gentle walks. 

 The Yorkshire Dales

When you see idealised visions of the English countryside, they’re probably either set in the Cotswolds, or the Yorkshire Dales. The two are similar, but everything is bigger in the dales. Valleys are deeper. Rivers broader. Hills higher. Sheep and cows wander in greater profusion. The area makes you understand why people from Yorkshire pronounce their home county to be “God’s Country” with such knowing confidence.

You can easily do a whole holiday in the Dales, especially if you’re keen on hiking, but it’s also possible to do a satisfying circle tour in a day that gives you a range of sights and isn’t particularly challenging driving. Though the roads do get narrow in places and you might lose some time caught behind farmers moving their cows between fields. 

Our 120-mile round trip from Harrogate took the B6265 through Hebden, Then turned North through Kettlewell to Aysgarth, then West to Hawes before turning South to Ingleton, where ... sated with magnificent landscapes ... you join the A65 and zip back to Harrogate on major roads. It’s a 3.5 hour drive without stopping but you will, of course, pull over for countless photos and dawdle at various tourist attractions.

Along the way you’ll find high moors, both spectacular and desolate, with views that go on for miles. In between them are deep valleys, sometimes wooded and sometimes full of lush green fields, each characterised by the gentle rivers that wind through them. In some places there are spectacular rock formations, showing the massive power of ancient glaciers. Other bits are more distinctively shaped by man, with miles of stone walls segmenting the fields. There’s a famous waterfall at Aysgarth that descends in broad plateaus and is gentle enough for people to wade in. On the hot, sunny day of our drive, people had packed that site and were bathing anywhere the landscape allowed easy access to the crystal-clear rivers.

Hawes is the logical half-way point on the drive, a tourist town packed with pubs and small independent shops. It’s also home to the Wensleydale Creamery, largest producer of the area’s famous cheeses and well worth a stop. (Under normal circumstances there’s a factory tour, currently shut down by Covid-19. The restaurant and shop, with cheese and Yorkshire-themed gift items, were doing a roaring trade.) The star site on the way back to the A65 is the Ribblesdale Viaduct, a bold Victorian architectural statement stretching across a particularly vast and wild moorland landscape.

The North York Moors

Any English person will tell you the reason we all head to the airport for our holidays is the weather. If you could guarantee sun, we’d never leave. But few people want to take the gamble. Our day on the North York Moors was a case in point. I can tell you that Hutton-le-Hole is a ridiculously charming village of matching grey stone buildings with red tile roofs that cascades down a hill on either side of a village green where stepped banks lead to a small, swiftly-flowing stream. The Crown, near the top of town, is the kind of cosy, well-appointed country pub we all fantasise about having as our local, complete with hearty ploughman’s lunches and bowls of clear water for your dogs. And I can assure you that it all looks fabulously romantic even with threatening skies and swirling mists.

After that, however, my entire impression of this famous National Park is of a ribbon of tarmac, a strip of heather on either side of the car and the occasional sheep too close for comfort in the roughly 10 feet of visibility we had for our entire journey across the moors. A few times we descended into villages, where the fog cleared a bit and we could make out the profiles of farmhouses and fields tucked in protective greenbelts below the high moors. But for more that that, I have to rely on other people’s photos. If you’d actually been staying in the National Park, you wouldn’t have wanted to set foot outside your front door. In fact, travel very far on foot would probably have been dangerous as you would inevitably loose your way.

This was a bitter disappointment, as the landscape is legendary and its famous heather was in bloom. But weather in Britain is a bit like strikes in Italy; best not to expect 100% tourism success and have Plan B ready for when circumstances get in the way. On this day, for us, the disappointment also included Robin Hood’s Bay, a picturesque run of cliffs and beaches just south of Whitby. Though we drove as far as Whitby (underwhelming), it was pointless to seek out more views with such limited visibility. The alternative was arriving at our hotel early. In a future story I’ll write about Lumley Castle and you’ll see that was no great sacrifice.

Hadrian’s Wall

Yes, this is a cultural site, with museums, ruins and lots to learn along its route, but exploring this World Heritage Site is also a blockbuster landscape experience. The Romans chose a natural ridge in rolling border country. Sometimes it’s no more than a gentle hill, but others it’s a towering escarpment, as if the land had formed itself into a wave to crash down into the lands to the North. The wall runs 73 miles from the banks of the Tyne to Solway Firth, and keen walkers can follow the whole thing on a clearly-signposted path. It’s harder to follow by car. 

Though the B6318 follows most of it, the road meanders and the ruins often disappear into farm fields. It’s a beautiful drive, and it does occasionally run right next to the wall and various mile posts (guard towers), most standing no more than a few feet above the ground. 

But you won’t get much sense of the scale of the thing without a bit of a hike.

The most dramatic place to take it all in is probably at Housesteads Fort, one of the biggest excavated areas along the wall. (Managed between English Heritage and the National Trust, and free to members of either.) Be ready to use your imagination; this is not the Great Wall of China. Hadrian’s Wall has been a convenient source of dressed stone for locals for centuries, so there’s not a great deal left. What you get at Housesteads is the excavated foundations of a full army camp stretching right up to the wall, and a clear view of the wall running in either direction, in particularly dramatic landscape. This is one of those places where the wall took advantage of a high, natural escarpment to dominate all around. There’s a valley on both sides, so it’s a hike down and up again to reach the site from the car park. But it’s worth the effort both for the ruins and the views. From there you can have a fairly gentle stroll for at least a mile in either direction before you have to conquer any more inclines, all the while taking in expansive views.

This might have technically been the end of civilisation, but on a sunny day, looking out on mile after mile of green, gentle, rolling farmland, with a proper Roman baths complex to soak away your worries at the end of the day, this can’t have been too bad a posting. 

The Northumbrian Coast

If they bordered warm waters rather than the North Sea, Northumbria’s beaches would regularly grace the covers of luxury travel magazines. They are, quite simply, spectacular. The sand is golden and fine, and beaches stretch for uninterrupted miles with nothing but grassy dunes or farm fields behind them. It’s no surprise that they reminded me of the glorious and equally empty beaches around Skagen, Denmark, since that’s what’s on the other side of the water. Even when civilisation intrudes, it’s a picturesque fishing village, a handful of stone holiday cottages or a dramatic castle rather than high-rises or urban spaces. 

You’re at the mercy of the weather, of course. Over five days in Northumbria we experienced one of impenetrable fog and steady drizzle, two with glowering grey skies and intermittent downpours, and two of idyllic perfection, with temperatures in the mid 20s (low 70sF), blazing sun, gentle breezes and white marshmallow clouds giving depth to vivid azure skies.

On the best of those days we spent a morning on Alnmouth beach, so enormous that even with a full car park (be prepared to pay the princely sum of £3 to park for the day), people simply disappear along its length. As you might guess from its name, this is the village where the river Aln meets the sea, several miles East of the larger Alnwick and its castle. By the time the river enters the beach it’s abandoned most of its force in water meadows behind the village, leaving only a shallow stream of bright, pure water to meander across perhaps 200 metres of sand before merging with the sea. (The extraordinary breadth of the sand here reminds me of the more famous Holkham Beach in Norfolk.) A dune-covered headland juts out to the North, but to the South you can see ... and walk ... for miles on beaches that are generally empty of other humans once you get a few hundred yards past the car park. The water here is shallow quite a ways into the surf, making it ideal for wading and giving it a chance to warm up to something a little less numbing when the sun is at full strength.

Equally fine was St. Aidans beach (first photo in this section, and below), in between the fishing village of Seahouses and the majestic Bamburgh Castle. There’s no official car park here, therefore even fewer people. Watch out for a National Trust sign next to a group of coastal cottages, with free parking on the grass beside the road. A narrow path next to the cottages leads down to a glorious beach where you’ll often find yourself alone for many minutes before another walker passes. Off shore you can see the outline of the Farne Islands, famous for bird watching, and you’ll hear the buzz of tourist boats going to and fro, but that will be the only sign of human habitation on much of this stretch. 

Alnwick Moors

We might have missed the North York moors behind their screen of fog, but we got Alnwick’s version instead. The B6341 between Alnwick and Cragside cuts in an easy-to-drive straight line through heather-covered moor and long views. There’s the occasional sight like the rock escarpment at Corby Crag or the ruins of the castle at Edlingham, but it’s mostly just miles of hauntingly-barren heather. Barren, that is, except in late august, when the moors come into bloom and the entire landscape turns an otherworldly pinky-purple.

The moorland landscape is interrupted by the estate at Cragside, where builder Lord Armstrong claimed that he planted over seven million trees. Even if he overstated, there’s no denying that he completely transformed the landscape, creating an ecosystem closer to the foothills of the Alps in the middle of these moors. The Alpine landscape was meant as a suitable setting for his Victorian pastiche castle, often called England’s Neuschwanstein. The house is currently closed thanks to the pandemic, but I suspect most locals come here for the landscape. 

There are more than 40 miles of marked hikes through the forests, many of them with spectacular views of Armstrong’s house, the lakes he built to provide hydro-electric power to run it (in the late 19th c; it was the first house in the world use hydroelectric energy), or the dramatic crags, burns and moorland views that preceded him. Not up for hiking? There’s a 7-mile “carriage ride” with frequent lay bys to pull over and appreciate the view. The heather made Cragside glorious in August, but the number of Rhododendron and azalea planted throughout the estate suggest May and June must be brilliant, too.