Had the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black been a little more tolerant of Andromeda's marriage to Ted, then young Nymphadora Tonks might well have grown up considerably better off and, one suspects, in a manor not entirely dissimilar to this. Because Hanbury Hall is, without question, the Hufflepuff answer to Malfoy Mansion: elegant, opulent, and completely and utterly BONKERS.
The gardens have been designed with real wit and vigour. At first glance, with its perfectly trimmed box hedge patterns, its repeating border of spring bulbs and its four corners each adorned with a small topiary tree, the parterre seems rigidly geometric. But a closer inspection reveals that each corner is different, that each topiary sculpture is unique (including one perfect orb atop a trunk so angled that it gives the bizarre impression of a drunken lollipop), and that the holly trees framing the walkways are each topped with a little golden bobble. Knee-high conical (comical) bushes are dotted about like the playing pieces of some unimaginable board game, or like the green hats of subterranean gnomes. It is a masterwork of barely revealed madness, a symphony of asymmetry.
Next, one encounters the Wilderness. This Wilderness is not what you might expect from the name. It is a garden of very tiny waist-height trees surrounded by some very tall trees indeed. There is also a hedge which is placed in a manner to invite you to peer around it, as though hiding some exciting new nook behind it. What it conceals is another hedge. They form a corridor, the straightest and easiest maze of all time.
Then there's the mushroom house, the orangery, the vegetable gardens (complete with market stall and honesty box), the beehives and nearby "bee bar" of soggy moss for thirsty bees, and the bowling green (upon which you are welcome to bowl).
The house itself is somewhat less batty, although the entrance hall with its giant Achilles fresco hiding a savage political message is far from conventional, and the sorry tale of the past landlord's revolver suicide lends the creaking boards some tragic air of mystery. The tearoom, unusually, is sited within one of the house's actual rooms, and there's a coffee shop selling fine ice creams out in the car park, but the highlight is for sure the Burtonesque bizarreness of the grounds. To miss this gem is to miss out. read more