IN A FIELD OF ITS OWN
Free childcare, a chic spa – and now glamping. This hotel redefines family friendly
Aclutch of kids — all ages, many with scuffed knees and wild hair —are elbowdeep in the emerald waters of Woolley Grange’s pond where they’ve been for most of the afternoon. Ours, Belle, nine, and cleo, seven, are with them.
the pursuit? tadpole-bothering, or as it’s officially billed here, pond dipping. Swooping for plump little wrigglers to decant into jam jars, where they can be properly eyeballed — before the almostfrogs are poured back in the pond.
Where are all the parents? With us, a few metres away on the terrace of this Jacobean country pile turned rural family holiday idyll, sipping tanqueray and tonic from elegant glasses and occasionally shuffling chairs to chase the sun’s rays. A grown-up, glass in hand, says what we’re all thinking: ‘When we hear a big splash, that’s when we’ll get up.’
the ‘happy kids, happy parents’ mantra has worked at 17th-century Woolley Grange, in 14 verdant acres close to the Wiltshire town of Bradford-on-Avon, since families were first welcomed to holiday here over 30 years ago.
ONE of the five hotels in the luxury Family holidays group, it promises Ofsted-registered childcare, a beautiful spa, relaxed dinners and dozens of outdoorsy pursuits including treasure hunts, welly wanging and egg collecting.
After a year of covid-inflicted tumult, which saw this handsome property deserted bar skeleton staff for weeks at a time, Woolley is hoping for a bumper summer, having transformed an idle acre of meadow east of the house into a swish eight-tent glampsite, with its own pop-up cafe/restaurant.
tonight, one of these sleek twobed pods, visually, a mash-up between a safari tent and the kind of wooden lodge you might find in an American national park, is ours. I couldn’t be happier.
What a way for a reluctant camper to banish erstwhile memories of baked beans cooked in tins on paraffin stoves.
Padding across the roomy wooden decking, past a pair of deckchairs, Belle and cleo slide back a bi-fold door cleverly fashioned from oak and perspex and we set foot in a room that has a proper, stylish sofa and armchair plus a double bed bedecked in crisp, white linen.
the kids pull back another door and find their own twin beds complete with blankets, books and a wide- screen view of the surrounding greenery.
While laura, my other half, declares the bathroom, which boasts a flushing loo and hot shower, ‘ bigger than ours at home’. It’s stuffed with products by upmarket Wiltshire brand Bramley, fluffy towels and robes. this is camping for people who hate camping, and I love it.
the site is the handiwork of the Pop- up hotel company. the plan is to keep it here until the english summer ebbs away at September’s end.
later, for dinner, we amble up to the restaurant, the hideout, which keeps it simple with a different foodie theme chalked up on the menu every night including paella, curry and pizza.
Tonight is BBQ night and the £13 burgers, served with triplecooked chips and house slaw, leave us with no room for anything more than a few charred marshmallows that the kids toast for us on the fire-pit outside.
By 10pm, Belle and cleo, screenfree since stepping over Woolley Grange’s threshold (no mean feat) are drunk on fresh air and fatigue and retreat to the land of nod.
how did we sleep? Pretty well. For all the cosy upholstery and artwork on the walls, it very much feels like you’re in the great outdoors when darkness falls.
Breakfast arrives at 7.30am, via a hamper left on the decking, and we devour smoked salmon bagels and fresh coffee in flasks while the kids tuck into granola pots and muffins. At just shy of £400-a-night depending on whether you stay midweek or at the weekend, these suites aren’t cheap.
You could camp for two weeks for the price of an overnighter at Woolley Woo ey Grange G a ge this summer but guests get all the luxe afforded to those in the main house, including access to the hotel’s restaurants, spa, outdoor and indoor pools and 90 minutes of free childcare a day.
After a morning swim, we return to the terrace.
‘You’ve got an hour before we leave,’ I shout after the kids as they scamper off to rejoin the tadpolebotherers by the pond. A voice hollers back: ‘can you get us a jam jar from reception?’