A 15th-century farmhouse in Carmarthenshire filled with riotous colour
“It’s a house that smiles”, says Willa Lloyd of her renovated 15th-century farmhouse in Carmarthenshire, south Wales. And assuming you agree that intensely bright colours and patterns upon prints upon ornamentation are the design equivalent of a warm, broad grin (and we do), then she’s not wrong. “Because it’s southwest Wales, houses are usually one colour: magnolia,” Willa explains. “[But] I just love colour. I like people to walk in the door and smile.”
Originally built around 1460 by a soldier returning from the English army, the building began life as a defensible farmhouse and has been extensively remodelled over the centuries, including most recently by interior designer Willa and her husband Tom. As a result, it contains manifold layers of history, but has been clad according to Willa’s own tastes (Willa runs Drumkilbo Designs; the house offered that rare opportunity to work without compromise that can be catnip to designers). It is bright and bold, but still demonstrates all the aesthetic consideration one would expect from a design professional, and Willa agrees that she is a maximalist – sort of. “On the whole, I think I would be, probably, a contemporary traditionalist. I want everything to tell a story.”
The story in this instance is as follows: the farmhouse originally belonged to Tom’s family, who have lived here for nearly two hundred years, and Willa moved in in 2015 (“I couldn’t think of any more excuses not to!”). Before Willa and Tom took up residence, the house had been occupied by his parents and grandparents, and it was more traditional, and perhaps a little uptight. The informal agreement between the couple was that she’d move to Wales on the understanding that she would be allowed to apply her own inimitable style to the house’s interiors. “When I first visited, Tom’s mother was very, very possessive of it. I couldn't possibly wander around. I didn't really see very much of it until I'd actually practically moved to Wales, which is rather ridiculous.”
The work took a year, and Welsh weather being what it is, the house was clad in a huge tent cover for eight months of that. Willa began by swapping some of the ground-floor rooms around, moving the kitchen from the back to the front of the house, and drawing up plans for a conservatory beside it. The house is so old that it was far from the first tweak to the design – dozens of elements have been changed or added over the years – and Willa explains how in the original farmhouse, the ground floor would have housed cattle whose body heat would then rise and heat the first floor where the house’s inhabitants lived (a ladder to the first floor would have been pulled up at night for protection).

In the mid-18th century, the building was much enlarged and remodelled, creating the Georgian front elevation it has today, before doubling in size in 1830 to accommodate a large, prosperous Victorian family and their servants. An ancient room became a chapel with a vaulted ceiling, then was turned into a bedroom again in the 1950s. The history of the farmhouse was always just under the surface during the renovation, sometimes literally: when Willa and Tom dug up the floor in the main hall, they found the original 16th-century stones about two feet down.
Amid this planning minefield, Tom, an architectural historian, was invaluable in securing permission to change things by demonstrating that the house was originally laid out in a particular way. Willa only got permission for her conservatory, for example, because Tom “produced quite an old drawing” that proved there had been a similar room there in the past. That was lucky, because today it is Willa’s favourite room – though it likely looks rather different to whatever room was there before in its place. Stepping in through a doorway up from the kitchen, itself full of riotous colour, it’s impossible not to note the intensely bright space. “It’s completely rather chaotic, and very eclectic.”

Other elements of the house’s design were more serendipitous. While living and working in Edinburgh, Willa would often head to the Edinburgh Tile Shop for clients, where she picked up “rather saucy mermaid tiles” painted by someone called Kate Glanville. The tiles were branded “Bethlehem, Carmarthenshire”. “You remember a name like Bethlehem,” says Willa. “I said to Tom, ‘Is that near?’ and he said, ‘Yes, it’s about eight miles away.’ So we went and found her, and she’s actually become a great friend.” Kate’s saucy tiles now adorn one of the upstairs bathroom’s walls. “I gave her the wallpaper and said that I wanted it to be wonderfully bright.”
A Scottish-Welsh axis runs through the house that reflects Willa and Tom’s respective backgrounds: the furniture and many furnishings comprise a deliberate combination of their various possessions, and many of the portraits depict their respective ancestors. “All the furniture and all the pictures are merged. Half are Welsh, and half are Scottish.” She points to a portrait of a small boy in a kilt hung over the staircase as one such Caledonian touch, while in the dining room, there’s a painting of “a man and a woman who used to live here. Tom’s ancestors from years ago.” As such, the house has become a sort of incarnation of their twenty-year relationship.
“I do like people to walk in and not feel intimidated,” says Willa, for whom the space is the perfect melange of her professional work and personal taste, all expressed within her husband’s ancestral home. “When you’re a decorator, and you’re working for other people, you can’t inflict very bright colours on them unless they want it. When you’re doing your own house, you can.”