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The Beckford Arms | Wiltshire

The Beckford Arms

In August we were guests at a beautiful Wiltshire wedding. Our home for the weekend was The Beckford Arms, a country pub in the picturesque Fonthill Gifford near Tisbury.

Outside, the leaf-covered mellow stone and sash windows echoed the glorious surroundings. Inside, a delightful mix of traditional charm and modern rustic style set a relaxed tone. Our room though small, was boutique and beautiful with jute carpet, a luxurious rug and inviting bed.

It’s often the small things that make the difference. At The Beckford Arms, it was the little touches that let us know someone had thought about our comfort. From the handmade Bramley natural bath products to the fresh delivery of milk each morning outside our door.

The food, too, more than matched the stunning location on the edge of the ten thousand acre Fonthill Estate. We arrived on a beautifully warm summer evening, so we made the most of the golden light in the lovely pub garden. It didn’t take long to give in to tempting pizzas fresh from an outdoor oven.

When it came to main evening meals, everything was delicious but the steak definitely came out on top. Avocado and poached eggs on toast made the ideal pre-wedding breakfast.

English country weekends do not come much better. More sunshine than rain, lavender in the air and the trees in full leaf. Two happy friends having the time of their lives. People gathering to celebrate and feast.

In the background, The Beckford Arms. A comfortable place for the happiest of times. The perfect host for a wonderful wedding weekend.

Highlights

  • Try the freshly prepared and locally sourced food
  • Walk to the Fonthill Estate grounds and lake (we took the footpath through the field opposite)
  • Enjoy the rustic style with a drink in the grounds or next to the open fire in the pub sitting room
The Beckford Arms
Fonthill Gifford
Tisbury
Wiltshire
SP3 6PX
www.beckfordarms.com

 

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The cuckoo flowers are up and with them, the orange tips. This was meadowland once, before we called it a garden. We grow things wilder now and the plants remember. The flowers come back and so do the butterflies.
Within walking distance there’s a lane with an old farm on one side and a hedgerow and bank on the other. It’s the home of someone who looks like he has spent a lifetime outdoors. A weathered face under a threadbare hat and a repeating whistle. One winter day he was inspecting the hedge closely. “They’re almost out” he said quietly. “Snowdrops.” Now on January days I look for them there too.
It starts with the blackthorn. Out in the hedge before leaves, before even a hint of green. Bare, thorny scrub wearing nothing but stars.
I used to see nettles as untidy, ugly and slightly sinister weeds. Now I see tasty spring greens, useful to use instead of spinach. I see wildlife homes for the small tortoiseshell and peacock butterflies. I see an abundant, ignored kind of beauty. I know that weed is just another word for wild, and has been all along. 🌿🙌🏻
It’s easy to forget, on sunny spring days, that winter is waiting in dark and frozen corners. Each time you think, ‘will this be the last time, the last frost of spring?’
One dark, drizzly day back in January, I crouched under a hedge to find these tiny rain soaked stems. Snowdrops breaking winter ground, the first of the spring-bringers.

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