MacDonald Randolph Hotel, Oxford UK

Martyrs' Monument is on the left

MacDonald Randolph Hotel, Oxford UK

Want to be treated like royalty? I’ve got just the place for you to splurge.

The MacDonald Randolph Hotel in Oxford, UK. A wonderland of a hotel with a homey feel and friendly, helpful staff. Terrific restaurant and lovely bar. Regal exterior in a style I call modern gothic.

Even better, It’s right across the street from two Oxford landmarks, the Ashmolean Museum and the Martyrs Monument. Talk about town center! The Randolph (as it’s been known since it opened in 1866) is a short stroll away from colleges, shopping streets, museums, pubs and every other reason you have for visiting this world famous university city.

Added to that, the hotel is an easy five-minute walk from the Central Bus Station. Very handy if you’ve come direct by bus from either Heathrow or Gatwick airports.

Mr. Moore, with his top hat and morning dress, will meet you with a smile at the bottom of the steps at the front entrance, then grab your luggage, with a very gracious, “Sir, let me help you with that.” Great fellow and I’ll speak more about him later.

What exactly is morning dress? In short, morning dress is formal wear for the daytime, consisting of a dark coat with tails, a vest, white shirt with tie, striped gray trousers, and a black top hat. These days it’s mostly worn for weddings or other significant occasions, or in the case of Mr. Moore, it’s his uniform and your introduction to a top class hotel. 

Check-in is a breeze. Lots of smiles from Daisy, our receptionist, who forever after called us by name. Yes, it’s that kind of hotel and deserves its five stars.

An elevator, within ten steps of the reception desk, whisked us to our 3rd or 4th floor room, depending on whether you’re thinking like an American or a Brit. What we ‘mericans call the 1st floor, they call the ground floor. That’s button 0 on the elevator panel when you decide to come down. And by the way, our luggage got there immediately and it’s a good thing because we were thirsty for something other than bottled water or hot tea. Button 0 here we come!

Back down to reception and another ten paces to The Morse Bar, with the elegance of wood paneling and deep carpets, also featuring a wonderfully warm fireplace and plush armchairs and oil paintings. Fire going? Hey, this was deep into November, in England! 

The Morse Bar is named for the character created by Colin Dexter, of whom I wrote earlier. Many scenes from the TV series, Inspector Morse, along with the follow-ons, Inspector Lewisand Endeavour take place in this bar.

https://stroudallover.blogspot.com/2018/12/two-famous-oxford-pubs.html

The barman, dressed in a dark suit, white shirt and gray tie, quietly and unobtrusively came directly to our table. We ordered Janneau Armagnac. You know about Armagnac, yes? Brandy from southwestern France. Oldest brandy region and right next to Brittany.

So the barman was young, but showed his stuff and earned my admiration in one quick question: “Shall I make that a double, sir?”

It’s no wonder many celebs have stayed here: Mikhail Gorbachev, Jimmy Carter, Bill Clinton, to name only a few. But one visitor stands out, and he should. After all, he is the reason the hotel was built.

Construction began in 1864 and was completed in 1866 in time for the arrival of the Prince of Wales, the heir to the throne and the man who would become King Edward VII. Quite a guy, this king. Loved motorcars and was the first in the family to own one, a Daimler. Drove it himself around London, back in the days when celebrities were courteously left to themselves, even a bad boy like King Edward VII. These days, can you imagine any world leader driving himself or herself around town in an open car? By the way, the Royal Family used Daimler cars until 1960, when they changed over to Rolls Royces. 

I’ve written about the oldest purveyor of wine in London, Berry Brothers and Rudd and it plays a part in this story. A member of the Royal Family persuaded the wine merchant (Who says no to a royal?) to concoct a special drink to keep Edward warm on his drives. The result was the King’s Ginger. Very tasty and still produced. Heavy, with the sweet bite of ginger and the kick of Dutch gin. Anytime you’re in London, drop by Berry Brothers and pick up a bottle. In this day of instant gratification, you may also be able to find it online and not have to go through the terrible trauma of a trip to England where people are polite and helpful and use the language to it’s full fluency.

https://stroudallover.blogspot.com/2015/03/berry-bros-rudd-londons-oldest-wine.html

But, there’s something else about Edward VII. He liked women….A LOT….and as he grew in girth, he was afraid his bulk might crush them. Soooo, he had a furniture maker in Paris create a special chair (siege d’amour) to support his paramour while the two or three of them made the breast of the afternoon. Presentation of the crown? Played hide the scepter? Queen for a lay? 

Even in the pre-kingly days, the Prince of Wales was known as ‘Dirty Bertie’ and ‘Edward the Caresser.’

I’m sure he and his guests chair-ished the moment. And the list of names of the prominent women, most of them married, would fill the book of Whores Who.

Today, of course, he’d be the Prince of Apologies and the King of Rehab.

So much to think about when you stay in such a refined hotel. And, I know you want me to get your mind off ‘Dirty Bertie,’ so let chat about food. Wonderful fare.

Breakfast is expensive, but it came with the room, so I feasted on a Full English every morning. Below is a link to let you enjoy your own Full English. Only had one evening meal at the hotel and after an afternoon with Mr. Armagnac, salads were in order, along with an exquisite crème brûlée. 

https://stroudallover.blogspot.com/2012/04/full-english-breakfast-tradition.html

Now back to the doorman, Mr. Moore. I always say the best part of any trip is the people you meet. Turns out Mr. Moore spent eighteen years in the Royal Air Force’s Regiment, which is the RAF protective force that works hand in hand with the Special Air Services (SAS). For those of you who don’t know, the SAS is the Brit equivalent of Army Special Forces/Navy Seals. Mr. Moore had been stationed in Germany and other overseas location, but his biggest test was in the United Kingdom, in Northern Ireland during what is known as ‘The Troubles.’ He told me that while there is no overt violence now, it’s still an armed truce and while he was there, there was blood in the streets. I was in Belfast last summer and know exactly what he meant. Even today, in Belfast, there are Protestant areas and Catholic areas and some mixed areas. There are pubs where you don’t go if you’re of the wrong religious affiliation. At night, the gates between the different areas are shut until morning.


He and I also bemoaned the shrinkage of the RAF, which is down to less people than could fill a high school football stadium. We also chatted about misspent funds and he told the story of The Regiment being tasked with field-testing newly developed (and purchased) rifles. Mr. Moore was quite emphatic that the new rifles were, to quote him, “less than satisfactory.” Pieces of plastic came off, jamming was not unknown and when the regiment took them to Norway for a winter exercise, the trigger only produced a ‘click,click,click.’

Now let’s talk about the hotel again. Elegant, from the furniture to the central stairs to the exquisite, high ceilinged dining room, hung with the coats of arms of all the Oxford colleges. And we certainly can’t forget the tearoom and a wonderful afternoon of High Tea. Leave a hotel like this without High Tea? Have you lost your mind? Yes, I have, but I took tea anyway.

How do they manage to keep such an old establishment in such wonderful condition? Part of the answer is a fire that destroyed a portion of the building. The Chef was flambéing beef stroganoff and the ceiling caught fire. What was he using? A flame thrower?

The result was a make-over, inside and out. Some 235 artisans worked for a year reconstructing everything from elaborate stonework to delicate furnishings, the equivalent of a team of plastic surgeons and syringes enough for full-face Botox. But the patient lives on and is as beautiful as ever.

What an experience and worth every penny of my wife’s money. And now that I have the full scale plans to Dirty Bernie’s chair… But, first, an Armagnac or maybe a tot of the King’s Ginger.