Dear old Tyntesfield. I’ve spent a lot of time here with the family in recent years. Often distracted as the kids poke at each other with sticks, or worse. We even dried our family tent in the grounds after a somewhat moist holiday.
It always has that strange romance/creepiness to it, reflecting on Lord Wraxhall reaching the bitter end here, many of the rooms closed off, him living mainly in the kitchen with his 1970s floral cookware. Not a bad way to go, come to think of it, sat in the scullery, Cuppasoup in hand, reflecting on everything you have lost.
In fact we mostly live in our kitchen but this is because the other rooms of the house are full of bric-a-brac and children’s paraphernalia, scooters, bicycles, hang gliders and midget submarines.
At this time of year Tyntesfield is particular atmospheric as the staff light the fires to complete the sense of the cosy retreat. The rich colours, floral patterns and stencilling all come together, the interior very much suiting this time of year. Apparently the architect responsible for the its Gothic Revival style, John Norton had links with Pugin through his professional mentor.
The Vanishing Point 