The holy grail of rural luxury
ANDREW FORGRAVE gets away from it all in a Welsh country mansion and says book now for when we get back to normal
HAD it not rained, we might have felt cheated. This was Mid Wales, after all.
Other staples were present and correct: sweeping landscapes, creaking pine trees, red kites soaring overhead and plenty of goggle-eyed sheep.
Nanteos Mansion came into view as we rounded a tree-lined drive, 10 minutes from the seaside town of Aberystwyth.
Peering through rivulets running down the windscreen, it looked straight out of an Agatha Christie – grey-red stone, Doric columns, sash windows, scrolled lintels and too-high chimneys.
Only the butler was missing. Nanteos is an opulent boutique hotel after a £5 million refit saved the grand old Georgian pile from ruin, the old roof and servants’ quarters having been lost some years earlier.
Inside, old stone flags shine with use and the timber floorboards creak with history. It’s the only hotel in Wales that’s Grade 1-listed. Were it a National Trust property the rooms would be roped off, but here you can wander freely among the ghosts that reputedly haunt the place.
The property has a remoteness that belies its proximity to Aberystwyth. No noise or light pollution here. It’s the kind of place where the stars always look brighter at night.
All 22 suites have names. You can stay in the Wagner suite and imagine how the composer almost came to stay at Nanteos. Or the cosy Nant Paith suite in the old bakery. Or the Mews, an eight-person apartment in the Greek-style stable block. For real luxury, try the Nightingale suite, usually reserved for newlyweds.
Nanteos means Vale of the Nightingale, if you were wondering.
This has 18th century sound-proofed walls (they’re stuffed with hessian), moisturecontrolled hanging room (for wedding dresses) and a bricked-up window through which Margaret, last of the Powell family who once lived here, waved off her son and only heir to the First World War. She could never stand the view after learning of his death.
We were in the Ystwyth suite, almost as high as it was wide, which offered views out beyond the ha-ha and scuttling squirrels across the Paith valley.
The bed was king-sized and fit for royalty. The bathroom was bigger than our living room and my wife was quick to discover the posh toiletries and fluffy robes.
At night the hotel is serenely quiet, save for the occasional creak of timber or distant rumble of its wood-fired central heating system.
It’s no surprise the house features in dozens of online top 10 “most haunted” lists. Watch out for the appearance of the Lady in Grey (we did, she didn’t) and listen for wailing infants, moving furniture and, outside, the woodland harpist and disfigured groom, murdered with a garden rake in the shrubbery.
Down below, in the 60ft-long cellar, more ghosts are said to lurk in the darkness. Now barred to guests, after an accident befell a visiting TV crew filming the supernatural, it is believed that seven monks lie buried in its walls.
Local history has it that the monks came to Nanteos with the dissolution of the monasteries in 1539, having fled the Cistercian Abbey Strata Florida.
With them they brought a sacred relic which, over time, would become inextricably linked with Nanteos.
Now housed in the National Museum of Wales, the Welsh “Holy Grail” lies some way down the league table of claimants to the title. However it is an important artefact, so much so that it once attracted scores of (gullible) aristocrats to Nanteos, keen to sup wine from the wooden vessel.
Held together by metal staples, the ageing grail is now barely recognisable as a cup. Some guests complain it might be prey to the light-fingered, not realising the item in reception is a replica.
After a fruitless night of hunting grey ladies and aloof harpists, we came down for breakfast in the mansion’s former kitchen. The room is wonderful.
One side is dominated by a huge Welsh dresser full of copper pans and pots, the other an old cooking range and hot cupboard (like an 18th century Hostess trolley).
A good buffet is supplemented by cooked breakfast options, from a full Welsh to eggs any way you like them. The food is mostly local and it’s a great start to a day of exploration.
Nearby Aberystwyth is always worth a look, and don’t miss Devil’s Bridge waterfall, where you might find a majestic red kite gliding alongside your car.
Don’t linger too long or you’ll miss feeding time at Nanteos. Afternoon tea is taken in the Billiards Room where a sign reminds you that smoking is allowed but spitting in the fireplace will incur a sixpence fine, to be placed in the Poor Box.
There’s a variety of teas to choose. Among them are Welsh, Estate, Heading West (some of the Powells emigrated to Canada) or Bubbles (a sweet tea inspired by the Far East).
I opted for Gentleman’s Tea, naturally, and it was stunning: I’ve not tasted pork pies that good for years – and that was before I got to the Welsh Oggie, chorizo Scotch egg and rum baba.
Tea prices range from £11 per person for a Cream Tea to £24.95 for a Cardigan Bay Tea. Not cheap but you can release your inner aristocrat for an hour or two.
Talking of which, you can take dinner with the great and the good of the Powell family, whose portraits stare haughtily from the dining hall walls.
There are five or seven-course tasting menus (£50/£70) or single main dishes from £14 to £25. All looked tempting, but having arrived rain-sodden and late, we missed out.
And amid all this old school spendour, there’s an electric car charging hook-up.
Times have changed.