Features

Great escape: Stapleford Park

15 Jul 2009 by Jenny Southan

In the heart of the countryside, Jenny Southan gets to grips with falconry, the ancient sport of noblemen and kings.

A mere one and a half hours by train from the frenetic, jostling Kings Cross station in London, I find myself stepping into a waiting taxi and setting off through the rather more peaceful Leicestershire countryside. A short while later I am crunching up a winding drive lined with rhododendron bushes, in which the odd blue-feathered pheasant pecks around in the fallen leaves. I enter the grounds of Stapleford Park stately home through grand wrought-iron gates – a Union Jack flag hanging patriotically above the main entrance – and half expect a couple of Irish wolfhounds to bound out to greet me. All around are fields dotted with sheep and in the distance I hear the sound of gunshots – a hunting party, no doubt. Pushing open the heavy door to the mansion, I pass a rack of Wellington boots in the hall, and I can’t help thinking it doesn’t get more British than this. The hotel has 55 individually designed bedrooms, and mine is an impressive split-level suite with enormous windows facing across the estate. A small decanter of sloe gin sits next to the kettle, and classical music wafts welcomingly. Stapleford Park is one of a handful of privately owned country house hotels in England, and over the centuries it has been passed from duke to baron to lord to entrepreneur –US restaurateur Bob Payton was the first to open it as a hotel in 1988, tragically dying in a car accident six years later. In April last year, a multimillion-pound refurbishment of the public areas, meeting rooms, restaurant and three bedrooms was completed, overseen by London-based interior designer Russell Sage, who is renowned for his flair for traditional English décor. Walking down the mahogany-panelled hallway, I notice coats of arms representing the many families who have lived here since the 14th century, and downstairs in the Saloon, the damask silk-covered walls sport the heads of glass-eyed bison, moose and gazelle. The smell of wood smoke lures me into the library, where a dapper young gent reclines in a leather Chesterfield reading the paper. One of Sage’s quirkier contributions are the antique portraits that have had their heads repainted as dogs. It’s easy to see why Stapleford Park has attracted numerous royal visitors over the years. And since it has been given a facelift, it looks far from fusty – the furnishings are sumptuous, the chandeliers gleam and the vases overflow with flowers. While it would be easy to let a weekend slip away here with a good book, being a sporting estate, there are numerous outdoor pursuits to be enjoyed, from croquet, golf and giant chess to archery, fishing, mountain biking, tennis, horse riding and clay pigeon shooting. I have opted for the sport of noblemen and kings, falconry. Possibly the oldest and most aristocratic of all the field sports, it is said to date back to about 400AD, when it was first introduced to Europe by invading Huns and Alans from the East. Pete Sibson, Stapleford Park’s resident falconer, is waiting for me by a quaint stone house where he keeps his birds, just across from the main building. He introduces me to Bernard, a European Eagle owl, who perches on his forearm and grips Pete’s tough leather glove with vicious-looking talons. Walking across the grass, Pete rummages in his pocket and pulls out a scrap of chicken meat, which he tosses on to the ground. In a flash, Bernard unfolds his great wings and descends hungrily upon the treat. Pete tells me: “Contrary to popular belief, owls don’t have very good eyesight, but their hearing is excellent – they can hear a mouse’s heartbeat from more than ten metres away. In this situation, Bernard has to listen to where the food lands and then fly down and find it with his beak. Another myth is that owls are wise – in fact they are not very intelligent at all, either that or they are so smart that they pretend they are stupid.” Intelligent or not, Bernard is a spectacular specimen – he has fearsome orange eyes like giant golden marbles, furry legs, pointed ears and thick tawny plumage. He also weighs about 3kg, the same as three bags of sugar, so supporting his weight with your outstretched arm – as I discovered – is harder work than you might think. (Excellent for muscle toning, though.) Birds of this type originate from Siberia, so when summer comes Pete sometimes has difficulty encouraging Bernard to fly back to him as it is too hot. Instead, he waddles back, following the sound of the tapping of meat on the leather glove. “It can be a bit annoying, especially when I am doing a show and have a big audience, but generally he’s a good boy and flies back to me. It is a funny sight to see him walk, though, like a feathered dwarf,” Pete says. Despite Bernard’s comical gait, Pete tells me these kind of owls are natural killing machines. “They can lock their grip on to the head of a Labrador dog until it dies,” he says. “Of course, they couldn’t pick an animal of that size up, but they could squeeze the life out of it. Saying that, Bernard couldn’t kill a terrier – he is scared of dogs. If one ran towards him he would fly into the trees and hide in a holly bush for three or four days, bless him.” As I adjust the glove I am given and put my arm out for Bernard to fly to, Pete tells me more about their relationship: “I hand reared him from a chick, feeding him quail. This is quite amazing because you’re not usually supposed to be able to train European Eagle owls. But it still took me three years.” Laughing, he adds: “Actually, I think it’s the birds that train me. I have ten of them here, and eight more at home. I am up at 4.30 in the morning to feed them, and at work by 10.30am. I even take the well-behaved ones on holiday with me when I go to Scotland.” There is no doubt Pete has an impressive understanding of birds of prey, having owned his first kestrel at the age of six. And his humorous anecdotes really bring each of their personalities to life. Inside the stone house are a number of different birds, smaller than Bernard, tethered to little perches in individual outdoor stalls. “They have to be separated and harnessed by a leash, otherwise they attack each other,” Pete explains. “Chip, the Lanner falcon, is 23 years old and has serious rage issues – he tried to attack the general manager once. And Boo, the little white barn owl, is agoraphobic – if you take her out, she just flies back in.” Spending time with these birds is fascinating and a one-hour lesson with Pete costs £55 per person (£35 for 30 minutes). If you have a taste for blood, a two-and-a-half-hour hunting trip, using Harris hawks to catch rabbits, costs £175. It’s an ideal activity for groups of up to eight people. (Two weeks’ notice is required and it is available only between October and March.) As well as catering well for incentive groups, Stapleford Park offers an excellent selection of meeting facilities for corporate guests. Its 11 venues range from the Grand Hall, accommodating up to 200 delegates theatre-style, to the regal Harborough room, seating 20 for a buffet. And after a day out in the fresh air, you can’t beat coming down for dinner at the top-class Grinling Gibbons fine-dining restaurant. GETTING THERE National Express East Coast’s advance purchase return fares between London King’s Cross and Grantham cost from £18 standard class or £43 first class online. The journey takes about an hour and five minutes. Visit nationalexpresseastcoast.com, call +44 (0)8457 225 225 or visit any staffed rail station. PRICE Double bedrooms start from £288. CONTACT Tel +44 (0)1572 787 000; staplefordpark.com
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