Luton Hoo has grand ambitions – to take on the country house hotel set, of the
likes of Chewton Glen in Hampshire and Gleneagles in Perthshire. Its
fascinating history will certainly boost its credentials and right from the
moment you arrive there’s a dash of wow factor.
It starts with the driveway – you enter through elegant wrought iron gates and
meander across aged parkland of mature oak and monkey puzzle trees. The golf
course crosses the driveway in a few places and once the landscaping has had
time to bed in, it will be an opposite addition to the bucolic scene.
When I pulled up a handful of cars were neatly parked on the sweeping gravel
crescent in front of the hotel’s porticoed façade. I got out and a butler
crunched across the gravel to me and offered to carry my bags.
The lobby is a jaw-dropper – a vast high ceiling, stylish sofas and antiques,
grand pieces of art and sculpture, fireplaces and huge arrangements of fresh
flowers. The reception was disappointing after this sophistication – it’s in
a dark wood panelled room to the side. But then it struck me that having a
desk, computer and ringing phones in the lobby would shatter the peace.
Check-in was swift and I was shown my room with commentary en route. To answer
my questions on the hotel’s history I was directed to Zena Dickinson, the
resident historian, who came to Luton Hoo to work for the Philips family in
1985.
I was taken a circuitous route to my room, presumably so I could be shown the
beautiful marble spiral staircase. It was worth the diversion – carved stone
maidens look down over a winged statue that has been expertly copied from
the original.
Like much of the hotel’s furniture, tapestries, artwork and curtains, the
statue looks like it belongs with the house, but is actually the product of
around nine years of painstaking renovations that have stuck strictly to the
house’s Edwardian blueprint.
Downstairs the Versaille-style mirrored panels, tasselled sofas and curtains,
original chandeliers dripping with crystals, and the bold use of golds,
maroons, and a host of other regal hues, is wonderfully over-the-top. My
favourite room was the drawing room, where two tables of older ladies were
enjoying a delicate afternoon tea and shafts of afternoon sunshine dappled
the floor. Through the tall French windows was a terrace looking onto a
garden of box hedges and a stone statue atop a bubbling fountain.
The décor in my room, a suite called De Hoo after a Dutch family associated
with the house in Anglo Saxon times, was understated by comparison – simple
beige sofas, smaller curtain tassels and pleasantly mismatched antiques
instead of dull samey hotel furniture. The effect was to give one the
feeling of staying in a country house, rather than a hotel – a pleasant
change.
Being on the second floor meant far-reaching views but also small windows in
the eaves, so the room felt dark and the lighting was inadequate. I was also
not a fan of the bathroom – it was spacious but the gold taps and beige and
brown tiles with a leaf motif were incongruously suburban in such grand
surroundings – what’s wrong with simple chrome taps and white tiles?
My room had a minibar, tea and coffee making facilities, but no fresh milk,
and internet was charged at £5 for one hour (15 minutes is free, two hours
is £8 and 24 hours is £20).
Mine was one of 35 bedrooms in the main house – the remaining 109 are in the
adjacent wings, Parkland, Flower Garden and Club House. These are better
situated for the spa and golf clubhouse, but mean you miss the opportunity
to play lord or lady of the manor and sashay down the marble staircase to
dinner.
