An 1800s cottage in Derbyshire that helped a designer rediscover his identity

In many ways this cottage in Darley Abbey, a charming 19th century former mill village on the outskirts of Derby, felt like a homecoming. ‘This was somewhere I looked at buying my first house 20 years ago, before I ended up moving to London and working in the design world,’ explains Henry, who grew up in Derbyshire. ‘In a way it sort of represented something from my previous identity before I met Richard.’ Practical, not too big (three floors, with two bedrooms spread the upper two) and close to his parents, it met many of Henry’s requirements. ‘It wasn’t particularly run-down, just devoid of personality,’ he adds, recalling a bathroom that resembled a ‘metro-tile coffin’, a boxed in stairway that felt like a ‘tunnel of doom’ and a dark, distinctly 90s kitchen. ‘It became a quest to give the cottage back its identity and rediscover my own,’ he reflects.

The first task was to get the bones and layout in order. All of this was done in collaboration with Daniel Bland of The Upland Architect, an architect who Henry had previously worked with on a project, and Daniel handled the delicate issue of planning for the Grade 2 Listed cottage. Chunky 1970s windows were replaced with those that were closer to the Georgian ones that would have originally been there, while a small bay extension, fitted with full-height French doors, was added at the rear to transform the dark, east-facing kitchen into a light-flooded space that is now a joy to spend time in. ‘It was quite contentious, but we got there in the end and we worked very closely with the conservation officer to get all the detailing right,’ explains Henry. ‘I was probably a bit too much of a perfectionist, but I wanted to create a space that felt right,’ he recalls. ‘I was very romantic about it and approached it as if it would be my forever home.’

Seagrass squares, sourced from Pentreath & Hall sit atop the wooden boards, while a built-in bench is upholstered in Martyn Thompson's ‘Accidental Expressionist’.

Simon Brown

Although the house had big windows and high ceilings, the rooms felt a little gloomy, so Henry set about finding ways for the light to penetrate deep into the space. ‘I wanted a space that felt calm, comfortable and light,’ he explains. The staircase was reconfigured between the upper two floors and a door repositioned to allow more light in, while all of the internal doors were swapped for half-glazed ones to ensure a good flow of light. The first floor bathroom was fitted with double pocket doors, allowing light to pour through into the staircase when they are open.

A lot of choices were made on the basis that they made Henry feel good. ‘Indulgence is important and it was about having things here that I really coveted,’ he says with a grin. ‘It was a very important part of the healing journey.’ One such indulgence is the stonking antique French copper bath that takes centre stage in the bathroom under the window. ‘I bought it from a guy in Kent who finds beautiful old baths and makes them good again,’ he explains. ‘It’s impossibly comfortable.’ Equally high on the agenda was a pantry, which he squeezed in at one end of the kitchen and papered in Svenskt Tenn’s ‘Eldblommen’. ‘I was determined I couldn’t live without one,’ reflects Henry, who kitted it out with apple crates and slabs of marble. The kitchen itself is equally charming, fitted out with reclaimed units and pieces he sourced from local dealer Justin Flint and had modified by Ashbourne-based carpenter Richard Coates.

In the sitting room, a radiator is framed by old door surrounds, which were salvaged from a grand country house and modified by Ashbourne-based carpenter Richard Coates. The pair of rush, antique chairs are by Gemla Fabrikk, sourced via auction in Stockholm, while the convex mirror is by B&S Glass.

Simon Brown

The front door leads into the sitting room, with walls painted in Bauwerk's limewash ‘Smokebush’. Henry bought the midcentury English sofa from The Bluebird shop on the King's Road many years ago

Simon Brown

Outside, he turned an outbuilding into one-half flower room, one-half guest loo. ‘I just didn’t like the idea of guests using my bathroom upstairs,’ he admits. He has now kitted out the space with a vintage blue sink and loo that came as part of a suite that he bought from eBay for the princely sum of £35. ‘I don’t really need a flower room, but it’s lovely having it,’ explains Henry, who also, in close collaboration with gardener Steven Howard, turned the large garden into a charming cottage garden – a sort of ‘rural bolthole’ overflowing with cut flowers in the summer. ‘I reached the realisation through therapy that living is the point,’ explains Henry. ‘You can either live or stop, and if you’re going to live you might as well do the best job of it.’

Calmness was the driving aim for the decoration. ‘The trauma of being left with a big house full of stuff that I didn’t want to be in made me want to pare everything back and create a space that didn’t feel like it had too many identities,’ explains Henry. As such, walls were painted in a textural, neutral limewash from Bauwer – ‘Smokebush’ for the sitting room and ‘Chalk’ elsewhere. Beamed ceilings throughout were painted in one coat of Dulux brilliant white, allowing the grain of the wood to seep through. And then the point came when it was time to start putting furniture and objects into the space – a task that must have felt nothing short of monumental. Not only was Henry downsizing, but suddenly objects with a huge emotional significance from his life with Richard were suddenly back in his life. ‘I went through emotional cycles of not wanting anything from the past, but by the time we started heading towards the decoration, I started to become calmer, more rational and less reactive,’ reflects Henry. ‘While these objects could stimulate happy joint memories or trigger sadness, they also represented my personal memories and I found some joy in that. I focussed on the pieces that meant something to me and I liked aesthetically.’

Walls in Bauwerk's limewash in ‘Chalk’ provide a serene backdrop to the kitchen. The units around the sink were made from old chinaware boards, sourced from Stoke on Trent, which have a lovely dustiness.

Simon Brown

In the sitting room, pieces like a bronze bowl Henry found in Thailand in 2004 sit alongside a vintage Berthold Muller coffee table he found in a basement sale years ago at Selfridges and his growing collection of Astier de Villatte ceramics. ‘I’m addicted to them and they’re something I will take with me wherever I go,’ explains Henry who housed them in a cabinet that he’d spotted in Richard Coates’s workshop about five years before. ‘Somehow it never became the child’s dollhouse it was destined for and it just so happened to be the perfect width for the space.’ Above the logburner hangs a painting by an Icelandic artist, which he bought from an auction in Reykjavík. ‘Richard and I used to spend a lot of time in Iceland,’ he explains. ‘This painting feels quite spiritual and abstract for me, but it sums up all of those wonderful times.’ Textiles are something that Henry has collected for years and he sifted through boxes and boxes of them to pick a few pieces to use here. An antique Japanese patched-up hemp mesh mosquito net, sourced from Sri Threads in New York almost 20 years ago, has found its spot on the headboard in the main bedroom, placed atop a plain linen, while Henry’s Delft-esque bedspread is a treasured hand-me-down from his great aunt Alice.

There is a strong Swedish thread throughout the cottage – from the Svenskt Tenn patterns that appear on stools, chairs and cushions to the antique Swedish rush chairs in the sitting room. Henry had a project in Stockholm when he worked at K&H, but his links with the Scandinavian country strengthened when he met his new partner Christofer out there, who he married earlier this year. ‘From that point on, there were a few more Scandinavian auction purchases,’ he explains. Although Henry approached the cottage like his ‘forever home’, he has recently sold it. ‘Circumstances change, my mother died and Christofer and I hope to maybe split our time between England and Sweden,’ he explains. He has recently set up his own design studio and plans to continue working on interiors. ‘I’m not ready to run a full studio again, but I am looking forward,’ he says. And this cottage, which started as something to keep him busy became a way of processing grief and finding joy again. ‘I could have let the trauma define me, but life is for living and I’m starting to see that it gives back too.’

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