The Tawny

Our trip to Staffordshire began with one thing: Alton Towers. We needed to find somewhere civilised to base ourselves while taking our two kids for a whirl around the theme park. Anything to shorten the pain, we thought, and the further removed from the madness, the better. Pickings around here are fairly slim (we didn't fancy the Cadbury-themed Chocolate Room, nor the Coca-Cola Room, within the park, though the children could probably have been tempted). When The Tawny is on hand, no other options are necessary.  

We turned off and began to wind down a little country road. Despite being only moments from the motorway, we suddenly arrive in a wild(ish), Stourhead-esque landscape of lakes, mature trees, winding paths and follies. It felt remarkably established for a hotel that isn’t actually very old at all (it opened in 2021). 

The landscape, however, is. We learnt that it was inherited from a centenarian named Mr Podmore, who seemingly spent a lifetime creating it, entirely for pleasure. There is something wonderfully eccentric and generous about the whole thing. I couldn’t help thinking what a brilliant grandpa he must have been. 

Its latest custodians are locals Fran and William Scott-Moncrieff and their close friends Ben and Sarah Reeves, who grew up running around Consall Estate’s 13th-century gardens: racing twigs down streams, hiding between follies and laying low to spot its wilder residents. It wasn’t until they’d grown a little older and the well-loved land went up for sale that they decided this arcadian corner of Staffordshire’s Moorlands deserved a wider audience. And so, The Tawny was born — named for its nine resident owls, and every inch an homage to the 70 acres of land it sits on. 

We soon come across a huge, glass-fronted, faux-rustic modern monolith that I assume replaced Mr Podmore’s rather more unremarkable house. This is the mothership: restaurant, lounge, wine bar, terrace and event space, but, importantly, none of the bedrooms. The Tawny describes itself as a ‘non-hotel’, with its rooms scattered throughout the landscape in various shapes and sizes (shepherd's huts, cabins, treehouses and boathouses). It sounds like marketing speak, but actually makes complete sense when you get here. 

No sooner had my family of four stepped inside the main barn than we were whisked off in an electric VW to our lodgings, a Boathouse Family suite hovering over a duck pond. It had huge glass windows. Plenty of ducks. An enormous balcony and the most tasteful zinc hot tub (if ‘tasteful hot tub’ isn’t an oxymoron). We all piled in. Bubbles, bubbles, and more bubbles. Cups of tea for Mrs Smith and me, sparkling apple juice for the kids, followed by a game of chess overlooking the lake. Alton Towers already felt like a very long way away. 

Recharged, we set off to explore the grounds, armed with a cute illustrated treasure map of ideas about where to head. Follies are dotted all over the estate, each with its own particular reason for being: a life-size camera obscura in one, a long view from the tower of another, giant draughts somewhere else. There’s enough going on to easily spend an afternoon hopping around the landscape without it ever feeling remotely like a ‘children’s activity’. 

Then, it was time to locate the pool. This was a fairly long walk, particularly if you’re one of our Junior Smiths and are very hungry, so perhaps something to bear in mind, especially in a heatwave. But when you get there, it’s rather lovely, sunken into a courtyard, sunloungers and Aperol Spritzes everywhere. 

Cocktails for Mrs Smith and I are ordered via an intercom, which resulted in a slightly hilarious conversation with the barman over a crackling line. But when the drinks eventually materialised, they were knockout. Herbal, sweet, garden shoved in the top, clever things that tasted exactly right in the heat. Around us: beautiful, strong, semi-clad footballers and WAGs, no kids. At all. We certainly didn’t fit in, but importantly felt completely welcome and somehow at home regardless. 

Back to our boathouse, then off to dinner, getting our step counts up. The restaurant is pretty bonkers: a riot of living walls, patterns and bright leather everywhere. The food follows suit. Foams, smoke and all things in between. Ordinarily this could all be a bit much, but somehow here it worked, and we loved it. The children’s food was fresh and delicious, too. Although the other Junior Smith largely rejected the premise of children’s food altogether and insisted on ordering from the adult menu. He was clearly getting a taste for The Tawny life. 

Alton Towers did its job the next day. What a place — I would love to see a Mr & Mrs Smith review of that! But returning for another night at The Tawny was, unsurprisingly, the highlight. 

We had drinks on the terrace, played table tennis in an old ruin and then rode electric bikes back through the grounds to our boathouse. There’s a super feeling that this place doesn’t take itself too seriously. It is luxurious, but there’s always something slightly silly or surprising around the corner. 

And perhaps that’s what stayed with us most. The Tawny could quite easily have become a collection of flashy cabins and hot tubs scattered around a nice bit of countryside. Instead, it feels genuinely playful, and somehow still connected to the eccentric landscape dear old Mr Podmore spent all those years making simply because he fancied it. Our stay is a very happy memory from a very, very hot British summer.