Annabelle Turner heads to Yorkshire, hoping her homework on teen-friendly holidays pays off and keeps them sweet
With a young child, choosing a holiday destination is easy: they just go where you go and pretty much anything is exciting. As long as they eat and sleep regularly, have the odd heart-quickening highlight - such as crayons in a restaurant, or encountering a ‘bug hotel’ in a National Trust garden - they’re good.
Teenagers are much trickier. They have opinions. They need their own space. Pretty much everything is boring - bar their friends, their phones and food. So you have to think really carefully when it comes to a mini-break; if they’re gloomy, you’re all doomed.
My husband and I wanted to go to Yorkshire. We’d been before, both as a couple and with our daughter when she was small, and some of our dearest holiday memories were made in God’s Own Country. But whereas before we hadn’t thought twice about burying ourselves in the dales, 45 minutes’ drive from the nearest shop and without a whiff of Wi-Fi, that wasn’t going to work this time.
As we left London and headed north along the M1, my husband and I smiled nervously at each other. We trusted we had made a solid start. In the back seat, our daughter had a friend; both girls had their phones; and the promise of an M&S petrol station lunch (sandwiches, snacks, Percy Pigs and chocolate) was keeping them sweet. So far, teen boxes ticked.
Whether or not the self-catering property we had painstakingly picked would prove a success, we didn’t know. But The Fernery had promise: slap bang between the Yorkshire Dales and the North York Moors, and reassuringly close to civilization, just 6 miles from the market town of Richmond.
As we drew into the grounds of the private country estate, the setting seemed to be met with approval. Beautiful farmland spread to either side of a very long driveway bordered by wrought iron fencing. To the left were sheep staring at us indignantly; we’d interrupted their early evening munching. To the right was a show jumping course with dense woodland beyond. Past some farm buildings and a sprawling stately pile, we found The Fernery, our little bit of this 1,200-acre estate for the next four nights. And all around were horses. However, being of a breezier disposition than their ovine co-grazers, they weren’t a bit bothered by our arrival.
The simple, single-storey exterior of The Fernery belies a sumptuous interior. Leading on from the hallway - the perfect place to store cumbersome coats and muddy boots - is exactly the kind of sitting room one wants for cosy evenings in. Painted with a warm grey, it has a comfortable sofa and armchairs padded with cushions and strewn with throws; heavy curtains to draw; candlelight and lamplight to create atmosphere; and a wood-burner complete with kindling, logs, newspaper and matches.
We were barely in the door and my husband was lighting a fire and logging onto our Netflix account. Five minutes later he had his feet up with Buddy, our miniature dachshund; a blanket draped over him, a cup of tea in hand and the US version of The Office on.
Having dumped their stuff in the twin room and bagged the showpiece bathroom, the girls grabbed some snacks and went to check out the snug next door. A completely separate little building, it’s partly why we chose the place. Here they had their own sofa, Smart TV and kitchenette with fridge - a Wendy house for teens, if you will. And unlike most outhouses, it was toasty warm.
Back in the cottage, I was enjoying the big kitchen, particularly excited by its dining booth. There was a welcome hamper filled with local goodies (including some extraordinarily good salted chocolate) and a bottle of Prosecco. With everything painted a cool grey, and all of the white goods actually silver, its feel was contemporary and calm. This is exactly the uncluttered kind of kitchen I like: it has everything you need and nothing you don’t.
We kept our first day easy and stayed local. After a leisurely start we headed to Mainsgill Farm Shop, 15 minutes away, where we were all surprised and delighted to meet three Bactrian camels (Doris, Delilah and Granville), a very friendly donkey, sheep and llamas. This is not your average farm shop. It’s a huge, two-storey hall of local produce, gifts, countrywear and pet supplies.
We drove into Richmond for lunch. The housekeeper of The Fernery - the gem who is Jo - advised us to check out The Station, a former railway station which now houses exhibition galleries, a 3D art store, a three-screen cinema, a chocolatier, an ice cream parlour, a bakery, a microbrewery and a café/bar. Afterwards, having crossed the River Swale, we explored the town’s cobbled market square, overlooked by the impressive ruins of Richmond Castle.
Keen to take advantage of The Fernery’s pivotal position in Yorkshire, we divided the remaining two days between coast and dales. A 75-minute drive from the cottage is Whitby, a place I had long wished to visit. Having researched online, every single site I’d come across had said that The Magpie Café is the ultimate fresh fish and chip experience. I started explaining to the girls that we would start queuing for lunch, that they could go off and explore and we’d call them when we had a table, but they’d gone before I finished my sentence. They’d spotted one of Whitby’s many vintage clothing shops and nothing else now mattered.
We had a table overlooking the harbour on the upper floor of the distinctive black and white building that is the Magpie. The décor is as unfussy as Yorkshire gets; the welcome as warm as you’d expect. The freshest cod and haddock, portions of which come in four serving sizes to suit age and appetite, are deep-fried in beef dripping coated with the Magpie’s own recipe crispy batter. The more ‘sophisticated’ fish and seafood (including the tastiest skate wing I’d ever had) is somewhat at odds with the sides menu which reads a lot like a standard chippy: pickled onions, egg and gherkins; baked beans and mushy peas; garlic, leek and parsley sauces; curry sauce and gravy.
We spent the afternoon exploring. We climbed the 199 steps up to St Mary’s Church and Whitby Abbey, and stared back across the sweeping bay scattered with fishing boats. Bram Stoker’s connection with this seaside town started to make sense. In the 1890s he took regular holidays in Whitby, and it was here that he started to write his gothic horror Dracula. Whitby’s vibe - eerie and eccentric - clearly spoke loudly and inspired the author.
I wouldn’t be surprised if the girls didn’t even notice the spectacular ruins of the abbey, such was their immersion in Whitby’s enticing shopping alleys. There are numerous jewellers selling locally-mined Whitby Jet, as well as gothic and other alternative clothing and accessories, emporiums brimming with gifts, and art galleries. We did spot the teens once, refuelling, having a very animated conversation over an enormous, lurid-looking bowl of ice cream.
Our dales day took us to Masham (pronounced ‘Massam’), situated on the River Ure within the Nidderdale Area of Outstanding Natural Beauty. Sadly it started to rain, just as we’d parked and were marvelling at the honesty box in lieu of a Pay & Display. We dashed into Johnny Baghdad’s Café on the Square, an unexpected touch of the Middle East in a market town in Yorkshire. The interior is convincingly souk-like and the menu is an interesting mix of bacon butties and falafel wraps.
However, we had a coffee and avoided the culinary conundrum because we already had a lunch reservation elsewhere. A mile up the road from Masham, on the Swinton Estate, is The Terrace Restaurant & Bar. A sophisticated dining space - all pale tones, Conran-esque furniture, an open kitchen, and a wall made entirely of glass overlooking a terraced garden - its contemporary feel appealed to the girls. As indeed did the cuisine. One went for the Salt Aged Sirloin from the Josper (a charcoal-fuelled oven that cooks like an indoor barbecue); the other for the Swinton Estate Chicken Burger with Brioche Bun, Harissa, and Apple and Fennel Slaw.
The Terrace exudes a casual ambience, yet at the same time makes you feel you’re somewhere rather special. The seasonal menu is largely based on ingredients grown within the estate’s 4-acre walled garden, which you’re welcome to explore. After lunch we enjoyed a walk within the estate’s 250 acres of glorious parkland and lake-dotted woodland. The girls lagged behind a bit (the enforced walk initially met with a little resistance) though they seemed genuinely impressed to see hundreds of deer grazing, and intrigued by two stone coffins of possible Saxon date, one of which they asked me to lie on to see if I’d fit. I decided not to overthink that one.
The next morning we headed back to London, heavy-hearted that our staycation was over. Though not quite; our final treat to the teens was an afternoon tea at the famous Bettys in Harrogate. You do have to queue - cue, again, adult patience whilst the retail-driven, carefree teens roamed free - but it’s well worth it. Established over 100 years ago, Bettys maintains a poised air of the past through impeccable service delivered by super-polite uniformed staff. The girls did not scoff at the tiers of precision-cut sandwiches (including Coronation Yorkshire Chicken, and Cucumber, Dill and Cream Cheese), sultana scones with strawberry preserve and clotted cream, and the assortment of miniature cakes.
The girls were asleep by the time we were back on the M1. Teens, it seems, can be tamed by a staycation. As long as you don’t deprive them of their friends and their phones, and you line up a trail of foodie focal points, they’re open to toeing the overall line and having a little adventure.
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