What's Old Is New Again

Characterful and classic—yet never old-fashioned— the best new British hotels are infused with a beguiling sense of history. From a country mansion to a quirky seaside pub, these five standout properties illustrate why, in the U.K., what’s old is new again

Photographed by Tom Mannion

A sheep in the meadows surrounding Thyme, a rural retreat in the Cotswolds.

The reception room at the Fife Arms in Scotland, which is hung with artworks, including a Lucian Freud portrait.

A guest room at Heckfield Place, a stately Hampshire home now repurposed as a hotel.

Is there anyone out there who, when visiting Great Britain, doesn’t dream of staying in a grand, historic house? Maybe it’s the fault of Downton Abbey or our obsession with the royals. Maybe it’s a reaction to our techfilled, over-connected modern lives. Whatever the reason, it seems the hotel industry is listening, because the most charismatic, Instagram-worthy U.K. properties to open in the past few months have all been in venerable, time-tested spaces.

There will, of course, always be a time and a place for the classics—for Claridge’s, the Connaught and the Savoy. But to get a real sense of the prevailing aesthetic in the U.K. and the country’s fascination with reinvigorating history, tradition and craftsmanship, consider a stay at one of these nextgeneration old-school properties. A reimagined Victorian inn, an entire country hamlet, a sophisticated retreat in London: these are our picks of Britain’s most intriguing, atmospheric new places to stay.

A wall of hunting trophies at the Fife Arms, a Victorian coaching house that has been renovated by gallerists Iwan and Manuela Wirth.

The ceiling in the drawing room of the Fife Arms, by Chinese artist Zhang Enli, was inspired by Scottish quartz.

The Victorian Inn

The Fife Arms, Braemar, Scotland

When art dealers Iwan and Manuela Wirth took over the Fife Arms about four years ago, the Scottish hotel had a storied past—but its future was looking a little grim. Built in the village of Braemar in the 1850s to capitalize on the newfound popularity of the Highlands as a tourist destination (thanks to Queen Victoria, an influencer if ever there was one), this formerly grand property had not aged well. Busloads of tourists would stop in for a night at most; thanks to the hotel’s unsightly 20th-century additions, awkwardly carved-up public spaces, and leaky roof, there wasn’t much incentive for them to stay longer. However, in the hands of the Wirths, the Fife Arms has become a place you may never want to leave. I, for one, certainly didn’t.

In a renovation that took two years, the Wirths—cofounders of the Hauser & Wirth galleries—not only restored but significantly added to the hotel’s original splendor. Where once there were some 90 guest rooms, the Fife now has just 46, ranging from stately suites named after Braemar’s noble visitors (I was in the Duke of Fife) to jewel-box-like rooms inspired by Scottish crofter’s huts. The nowgenerous public spaces are peppered with the works of international artists (the walls of the Clunie dining room were hand-painted by Argentina’s Guillermo Kuitca; a Louise Bourgeois spider has taken up residence in the courtyard; and Picasso’s Mousquetaire Assis presides over the drawing room).

Though the period furnishings and artworks look like they could be original to the hotel, most—including an ornately carved walnut chimney piece depicting scenes from Robert Burns poems and a drawing of a stag by Queen Victoria herself—were in fact sourced by Russell Sage, the designer behind the Fife’s interiors. “Nothing is there just for decoration,” Iwan Wirth told me over traditional tea in the drawing room, as we gazed up at a ceiling mural by the Chinese artist Zhang Enli that was inspired by ancient Scottish quartz. “Every detail tells a story.”

In lieu of a concierge, a gamekeeper and a gillie, or hunting attendant, are at your service. For me, they planned a day that began with horseback riding at the nearby Glen Tanar estate, followed by lunch at the delightful Rothesay Rooms, a farm-to-table restaurant in the nearby town of Ballater, then a private tour of Braemar Castle.

As I warmed myself by the fire that evening, the edges of my brain beginning to melt from a potent cocktail of local spirits, I felt less like the patron of a high-end hotel and more like a guest at an enchanting country estate. Indeed, the hotel even has its own tartan and tweed— used not only for the staff uniforms but also the custom interiors of the Fife’s fleet of Land Rovers—and an official coat of arms. Its motto: “To the summit.” thefifearms.com; doubles from £161. — Alix Browne

The Seaside Pub

The Rose, Deal, Kent

The town of Deal, just 15 kilometers from the white cliffs of Dover, is one of a handful of Kentish seaside resorts that are once again becoming fashionable destinations for Londoners to move to. Creative entrepreneurs are quitting the capital in favor of the bracing sea air, advantageous property prices and growing arts scene; weekend travelers have followed close behind. And with a fast train to the area now departing from London’s St. Pancras, visitors can be skimming pebbles on the English Channel within an hour. So one frosty fall weekend, my family and I set off for Deal, eager to experience the place for ourselves.

Our lodgings summed up the change this area has recently undergone: until our hotel, the Rose, closed for renovations in 2016, it was one of the most notorious “boozers” in Kent. The bar used to open at 8 a.m. and had a reputation for brawls. Following last year’s relaunch, however, mornings find guests tucking into house-made granola and coffee from trendy roasters Climpson & Sons. Christopher Hicks, the new co-owner, has family roots in the pub business—his great-grandfather ran Thompson & Son brewery, which once owned 130 pubs across Kent. A former hedge-fund analyst, Hicks and his wife, Alex Bagner, a former design editor at Wallpaper magazine, spent nine months renovating the pub and creating eight beautiful bedrooms on the floors above, aiming to attract locals and out-of-towners alike.

The décor and feel are clearly the work of someone with a trained eye for contemporary design; there’s an abundance of corduroy and velvet, soothing, low lighting, and huge potted plants. The ground floor holds a restaurant (where old wood paneling has been restored and original banquettes reupholstered) and a bar area with 1960s sofas and armchairs and a wood-burning stove. Chef Rachel O’Sullivan, formerly of the London restaurants Polpo and Towpath Café, presides over an artful menu that ticks all the boxes: local, seasonal, organic.

Behind a heavy velvet curtain, a narrow staircase leads up to the bedrooms. Ours immediately delighted my husband and children with its quirky, thoughtful touches—a record player and a cool selection of discs (Joni Mitchell and the Beach Boys), a jar of penny sweets, and a shelf of carefully chosen vintage books. Each bedroom has a different color scheme. In ours, a vast burnt-orange headboard was offset by walls painted a deep sea green, while a roll-top bathtub was hidden behind sliding panel doors.

I was a little concerned that we might be in for a sleepless night—we were directly above the bar, after all, and overlooked the main street. But the double-paned windows and high-thread-count sheets worked their magic—though not even these could quite drown out the cries of the seagulls early the next morning, announcing that it was time for breakfast and a walk on the beach. therosedeal.com; doubles from £90. — Rebecca Rose

The lobby of the Rose, a renovated pub and hotel in the Kentish town of Deal.

The building’s façade.

The Country Hamlet

Thyme, Gloucestershire

A former rectory at Thyme, a hotel in the Cotswolds, now converted into guest rooms.

A bathroom at Thyme.

Southrop, in England’s bucolic Cotswolds region, is a gorgeous village with a 12th-century church and a 17th-century pub. At its southern edge, a cluster of eight honey-colored stone structures—including the pub—now make up a property named Thyme.

Founder Caryn Hibbert calls her creation a “village within a village” rather than a hotel. As I scrunched along the gravel drive on my way to reception, I could see why. In front of me was a group of barns set within expansive, partially walled grounds: a pastoral world unto itself.

When Caryn, a doctor, and her husband, Jerry, a film director, bought Southrop Manor (which is still their private home) in 2001, they had no ambitions to run a hotel. Two years later, they acquired the group of derelict farm buildings next door in order to protect them from redevelopment. In one, the vast medieval barn, they set up a cooking school. Over the next 15 years, Thyme evolved organically. Properties were added as they became available, and in 2015 a hotel emerged from a collection of barns and cottages, the pub, and a 1623 farmhouse.

The most recent addition to Thyme is an old rectory, refurbished in 2017 and now called the Lodge. That building comprises nine additional guest rooms, while a swimming pool, garden cottage and greenhouse make up Thyme’s restful, cream-and-green-toned spa.

The undulating landscape around the village is deeply peaceful. Thyme sits by the little river Leach, and from the doorstep there are many walks to enjoy through meadows and outlying fields. But mostly I just wanted to sink into this country retreat. Caryn personally designed all of Thyme’s 31 rooms in a style she describes as “calming but not beige.” My quarters in the Lodge were sumptuous, with a chandelier in the bathroom and dreamy views across the grounds.

At the heart of Thyme are two once-rundown barns: a lambing shed is now the sleek bar, and a cattle barn has become the striking Ox Barn restaurant. Here, chef Charlie Hibbert, Caryn’s son, devises menus based on Thyme’s abundant garden produce. I dined on dishes such as cauliflower-and-almond soup and local venison with plums and house-made pickles, all of which had a complex array of flavors as layered, and as appealing, as Thyme itself. thyme.co.uk; doubles from £300. — Harriet O’Brien

The Historic Hotel

The Belmond Cadogan, London

London has seen a rush of high-end hotels springing up in historic buildings. Few, however, have been quite so keenly anticipated as the Belmond Cadogan. The Belmond brand’s first London property stands at a junction that divides two of London’s most affluent districts, Chelsea and Knightsbridge. As I approached the hotel, which occupies several Victorian buildings on a prominent corner, I was able to make out each of its component parts. First, the former Cadogan hotel, which was built in 1887—a wood-paneled, 64-room property that Belmond took over in 2014. Also part of the ensemble: a former bank and three adjoining town houses. It has taken £36 million and three years to turn this gorgeous stretch of prime London real estate into one luxury hotel.

There is evidence of historic pedigree everywhere you look: a blue plaque is dedicated to onetime resident Lillie Langtry, actress, socialite and mistress of the Prince of Wales (later Edward VII). Oscar Wilde used to live in what was once Room 118 and is now part of the Royal Suite. There are nods, too, to Sir Hans Sloane—the naturalist and collector who in the 17th century established what later became the Cadogan Estate, on whose grounds the hotel sits—in the form of coral patterns on the carpets and a carefully chosen library of botanical books.

On my visit, winter sun streamed into the vast new entrance hall, where a grand central staircase leads up to the 54 rooms (most of which are suites). Chef Adam Handling of the Frog, in London’s trendy Hoxton area, presides over the restaurant, which has an open kitchen so diners can observe his team at work. The décor is as luxurious as you would expect: marble-heavy bathrooms, huge roll-top baths, and triple-glazed windows that ensure total insulation from the traffic below. My favorite touch was a wooden bath tray with a perch for my iPad and a slot for a glass of champagne. belmond.com; doubles from £378. — R.R.

The bar at the Belmond Cadogan, where original ceiling moldings have been carefully conserved.

The entrance to Heckfield Place, which occupies a grand Georgian mansion.

The Country Estate

Heckfield Place, Hampshire

Sitting on 160 hectares of prime Hampshire countryside, with distant views of Windsor Castle, Heckfield Place could have been purpose-built for international visitors hankering for a taste of life in an English country house. Indeed, as I stepped through the doors of the handsome red-brick main building with my husband and two young kids, we were greeted by staff dressed in Downton Abbey– style attire—bustling underskirts, sensible overgarments and so on. But the illusion ended there. The uniforms, we discovered, were made by on-trend clothing brand Egg, and Heckfield, which sits a handy 40-minute drive from Heathrow, is about as far from the drafty reality of a country estate as you can get.

Heckfield was built as a private house in 1760, and for most of the 19th century was home to the illustrious Lefevre family. Sixteen years ago, it was purchased by the Hong Kong–born, Boston-based financier Gerald Chan, who commissioned a painstaking renovation. The building’s original Georgian features, from the floor-to-ceiling patio doors to the ornate ceiling roses, were all carefully restored. But the décor is nonetheless defined by its simplicity and understatement, giving the hotel a distinctly contemporary feel. The walls are finished in rough lime plaster and painted in a muted palette: greens, ochers and neutrals in the guest wings; grays, a forest green and a dusky pink in the main house.

Marle, the daytime dining space at the hotel.

In the snug Moon Bar, a vast disco ball twinkles above midnight-blue walls, and a fire sizzles and smokes all day long. Complimentary tea and cake are served in the afternoons, which delighted our children. Chan’s 20thcentury British art collection gives the plush public rooms extra warmth, while corn-husk dolls for Do Not Disturb signs and key fobs in the form of embroidery samplers made us feel a little like guests in someone’s extraordinary home.

Skye Gyngell—the chef behind Chan’s London restaurant, Spring, and one of England’s most forward-thinking culinary talents—presides over Heckfield’s two restaurants, Marle and Hearth, ingredients for which are grown at the on-site biodynamic farm. At Hearth, a cozy room with exposed-brick walls and sheepskin-draped Windsor chairs, my husband and I feasted on a five-course tasting menu cooked over an open fire. We ate breakfast and lunch at Marle, a bright, sunny room with an à la carte menu of heritage vegetables and locally sourced organic meats.

The patriarch of the Lefevre family, Viscount Eversley, was a speaker in the House of Commons, and in his day Heckfield was known for its lively salons and political conversations—a tradition the hotel hopes to maintain in its plush theater, which has a rolling program of talks, films and events.

The gardens were designed by a visionary named William Wildsmith, who created the estate’s impressive arboretum and two vast ornamental lakes, one of which now has a floating dock guests can use to go wild swimming. The hotel has harnessed his spirit in its skin-care products, Wildsmith, which are made with botanicals grown on the grounds. They are used in Heckfield’s wonderful Little Bothy spa, which is due to be topped off with an indoor pool later this year. heckfieldplace.com; doubles from £300. — R.R.