Tag: garden

Visiting Sandringham, the Queen’s Country Home in Norfolk

Visiting Sandringham, the Queen’s Country Home in Norfolk

Sandringham House was built in the 1860s in the style of a Jacobean country hall.

Sandringham House has been in the news over the past week as the setting for a royal ‘summit’, held to discuss the crisis over Harry and Meghan’s decision to break away from the family firm. Having been to Sandringham as a sightseer, I thought readers might be interested to know what the house and grounds are like, and how to visit them.

Sandringham is in the county of Norfolk, about two-and-a-half hours’ drive from London. The house and gardens are open to the public daily from early April to mid-October. In winter, Sandringham is the Queen’s private country residence and therefore closed to the public, although the country park (243 hectares, mainly woodland) remains open all year. I was lucky enough to see the house and grounds on a private, after-hours tour with only about 30 other guests, which made the experience wonderfully relaxed and exclusive. You can read more about the various options for visiting Sandringham here.

The private evening tour included a champagne high tea in the old stables.

Purchased in 1862 as a family home for the newly married Prince of Wales (later Edward VII), the eighteenth-century ‘Sandringham Hall’ was almost completely rebuilt by 1870 to become the Victorian country house we see today. So, although Sandringham House, as it was renamed, has features that suggest older architectural traditions – such as the impressive Jacobean-style Saloon – in fact this royal residence isn’t particularly old. Nor is it especially grand, as such things go. Although a royal residence, Sandringham isn’t a castle or a palace. It is simply a pretty and very comfortable-looking country house.

It’s not the age or architecture of the house that draws visitors here. They come because of Sandringham’s close personal and domestic association with the last five generations of the British royal family. As you walk through the house, you can see many traces of the habits and personalities of the inhabitants. There’s always a jigsaw puzzle on the go on a side table in the Saloon, which also contains elaborate instruments for measuring wind speed and direction, to help with planning outdoor activities. Tupperware containers of breakfast cereals are set out, somewhat incongruously, in the elegant room where the royals have their morning repast – apparently the Queen is quite thrifty and doesn’t like to see opened packets go stale.

We weren’t allowed to take photographs inside, but my souvenir guidebook shows the interior furnishings.

Personalities from the past come to life here too. A beautiful folding screen in the Drawing Room is inset with photographs of visitors who came to the house in the late nineteenth century, including many celebrities of the time such as the poet Lord Tennyson. And a jockey’s weighing chair near the entrance shows how Edward VII measured the success of his hospitality. Guests were weighed upon arrival and departure, and were expected to gain weight during their stay – otherwise all the fine food served was considered to have been a failure!

Sandringham is much more than a house. It’s also an agricultural estate of nearly 3,000 hectares, which includes lavender fields, apple orchards and a horse stud. The grounds include about 25 hectares of beautifully landscaped gardens, and these are well worth visiting, regardless of whether you have any interest in British royalty or not. The gardens have been open to the public since 1908 – a great example of how the privilege of a few can become a benefit to many. During my visit, on an evening in late summer, I loved seeing the rich greenery of the gardens and woodlands, the luxuriant flower meadows and the reflections of house and sky in the lake. In fact, for me the gardens were more memorable than the house, so don’t miss these by any means.

The lakeside retreat built for Queen Alexandra, which she called her ‘Nest”.

If you’re planning to be in the UK in July (this year, or any year), you might consider making the Sandringham Flower Show part of your itinerary. 2020 will mark the 139th SFS, which makes the event quite a bit older than the more famous Chelsea Flower Show, held in London each May. Another way to experience the Sandringham estate is to stay onsite, either in a self-catering cottage or at a campground; see here for more information.

I find it significant that the ‘Megxit’ summit was held at Sandringham. Of course it makes sense that, this being the Queens’ winter residence, a January meeting would take place here, but I believe there could be more to it. Unlike grander royal residences such as Buckingham Palace and Windsor Castle, Sandringham is a beloved family home for the Queen and her close relatives. Maybe holding the summit here was meant to remind Prince Harry of his family ties, at a personal level? Another interesting connection is that his mother, Princess Diana, was born and spent her early childhood at a house on the estate. Who knows what emotional connections were evoked by the summons to this particular royal residence?

Did you know?
The ‘Sandringham Company’, a military unit formed of men who worked on the Sandringham Estate, fought at Gallipoli in 1915, where all disappeared under mysterious circumstances. Their story was the subject of a BBC television drama, ‘All the King’s Men’, and is also told in an exhibition at the Sandringham Museum.

The Yodelling Choir

The Yodelling Choir

The turret of Oberhofen Castle extending over Lake Thun, Switzerland.

This is the story of a sound.

While travelling around Switzerland with a group of writers in 2016 I had an encounter with a sound as wonderful as any sight we saw in that spectacular country.

We were in the charming small town of Oberhofen, on the edge of Lake Thun (one of the two lakes that Interlaken sits between), and were walking back to our hotel after having dinner at the restaurant beside the castle.

Oberhofen Castle seen from the water. The restaurant is the glassed-in building on the left.

The restaurant sits on the absolute lakefront, right beside the pretty bridge and turret that extend the castle over the water. At sunset the stonework is bathed in golden light, while tiny figures of paddleboarders and swimmers dot the burnished surface of the lake. To get back to our hotel we had to cross the playground of the local primary school. Night had fallen and the old-fashioned school building stood in darkness, except for one lighted second-floor window. And then we heard the most extraordinary sound.

It was the sound of stately and melodious singing, unlike any I’d ever heard before. The melody unfolded at a slow tempo, supported by solemn, resonant harmonies. These were human voices, but I couldn’t place them as emanating from man, woman or child. We stopped in our tracks. What could be producing this heavenly sound?

We were practically holding our breaths, awed by the majesty of the singing, when the many parts of the harmony started to fill out a vaguely familiar musical shape – something that felt like hillsides and cowbells. At the same moment, two of us exclaimed in astonishment, ‘They’re yodelling!’

The beautiful gardens at Oberhofen Castle.

Yodelling – a style of singing which alternates between the head and the chest voice – is practised in many cultures around the world from Africa to North America. I’m afraid I’ve always thought of it as more or less comic. It tends to be performed by people wearing kitsch costumes, whether dirndls and lederhosen or rhinestones and cowboy hats. You can make any song funny by doing a yodelling version of it, and you can make pretty much anyone laugh by throwing a few yodels into a comedy scene skit.

The seven dwarfs yodel when they sing their ‘Silly Song’ in Snow White, and the sound of yodelling punctuates Goofy’s mishaps in The Art of Skiingand other classic Disney animations. It’s sweet and funny when Fräulein Maria and the Von Trapp children yodel ‘The Lonely Goatherd’ in the Sound of Music, all self-conscious Alpine stereotypes. It’s gross and funny when a yodelling song makes the heads of the alien invaders explode in Mars Attacks, thereby saving the world.

Yet there was nothing remotely comic or kitsch about the singing that floated over the darkened schoolyard in Oberhofen. It had charm, it had grace, and more than anything it had dignity.

The majestic scenery of Lake Thun, with Oberhofen Castle glimpsed in the foreground at left.

My friend Tamara went off to find a vantage point from which she could see into the upper-storey window. She reported back that the singers were all adult males and that they seemed to be having a choir practice. What kind of idyllic community is this, where the children play and learn by day within sight of the castle and the lake, and the adults gather by night to celebrate and sustain their folk heritage? And even if we don’t invest the moment with so much meaning, how interesting it is just to discover how people in different places choose to spend their free time, and what things please and matter to them! I didn’t need to see the singers to be intrigued and delighted by their practice. For me, this was an experience of pure sound.

How do you illustrate sound? To me, the yodelling choir sounded like this.

I feel that in our hierarchy of travel-sense, sound has the middle position. Of course, sight comes first, dominating everything. Then, in our food-obsessed culture, comes taste – people talk about tasting their way around a country – although in the age of Instagram it often feels as if the look of food is becoming more important to travellers than its flavour. And then, just ahead of smell and touch, but not by much, comes sound.

Yet music, voices, calls of birds and animals, the noises of wind and sea and even traffic, can epitomize a travel experience, sometimes better than any picture or view can do. I have a small archive of treasured sound souvenirs from the past couple of years. Cowbells and the rustling of grass in an Austrian mountain meadow. The roar of the Rio Grande hurtling through a deep gorge in New Mexico. Sweet-sad accordion music in a Sicilian street. The liquid call of whip-birds in a sub-tropical Australian rainforest.

And it sounded like this.

I don’t imagine that ‘sound-hearing’ will overtake ‘sight-seeing’ any time soon as our primary travel activity, but here’s a plea for paying more attention to the soundscape when we travel, and maybe even recording some of it. Thank goodness on the evening we heard the yodelling choir, once I’d got past my initial amazement I had the wit to find my phone and turn the voice recorder on. So now I have, preserved forever, an aural memento of that night.

And it sounded like this too.

There’s about sixty seconds of it. The music is just as sweet as I remember, the choral sound swelling and subsiding with the movement of the song. And, unintentionally, I’ve captured other voices as well – our own low whisperings as wonder what it is we are listening to. There’s Kees’s deep voice, speaking Dutch-accented English. Diana and Tamara are conferring in German. Then comes the moment, when the music shifts in tone from its initial unearthly majesty to something more folkloric. Exclamations as we realize that it’s a yodelling choir. Soft laughter, not at the singers but with the delight of discovery. And then, at the end, my own heartfelt sigh of pleasure, inadvertently recorded alongside the music that prompted it.

On your travels, have you had a ‘sound-hearing’ experience that was as memorable as your ‘sight-seeing’?