Kendrew Barracks Cottesmore Road Cottesmore Oakham

So, you’ve heard of Cottesmore. Maybe you’ve driven past it on the A1, spotted a sign, and thought, “That’s a very English-sounding place. Probably has a pub with a weird name.” And you’d be partly right. But tucked away on Cottesmore Road in Oakham lies Kendrew Barracks, and it is one of the weirdest, most wonderful secrets in the entire British countryside. Imagine a place that has been a medieval farm, a WWII airbase, a Cold War nuclear strike base, and is now a bustling army camp. Yes, that’s one heck of a career change.

Let’s get the basics straight. Kendrew Barracks isn’t a new build. It’s a phoenix that rose from the ashes of a Royal Air Force station. Before it was Kendrew Barracks, it was RAF Cottesmore, which sounds much more like a tweed-wearing gentleman’s private club than a military installation. But trust me, this place had more drama than a reality TV show. During the Cold War, it was a frontline base for nuclear-armed bombers. That’s right—just a few miles from where you might buy a scone, pilots were sitting in planes with enough firepower to ruin your whole day.

The name change happened in 2012, and it’s a glorious tribute to a man named Brigadier Sir John Kendrew. Who was he? A legend who somehow managed to be both a Olympic bobsledder and a decorated WWII commando. Yes, you read that correctly. This guy won a Victoria Cross, then four years later, got into a bobsled at the Winter Olympics. Most of us can’t even manage to get a bobsled to stay on the track in Mario Kart, but Kendrew was out there doing it for real, all while being an army hero. The barracks named after him has to live up to that bizarrely heroic energy.

The Runways That Time Forgot

One of the first things you’ll notice about Kendrew Barracks if you ever drive past it is the enormous runway. It’s still there, wide and silent as a ghost. It was built for Vulcan bombers, which are basically flying triangles of pure 1950s menace. Now? The runway is used for army vehicles and, if you can believe it, occasional motor racing events. That’s right—a place that once prepared for nuclear war now hosts track days where blokes in souped-up hatchbacks pretend they’re Lewis Hamilton. Talk about de-escalation.

And here’s a surprise for you: the barracks sits right on the edge of Rutland Water, one of the largest man-made lakes in Europe. So, the soldiers stationed here can, in theory, go from learning how to operate a tank to windsurfing in about ten minutes. You might see a warrior in camo gear carrying a paddleboard. It’s a weird, wonderful juxtaposition that makes you wonder if the army handbook has a chapter on “How to Look Tough While Getting a Lake Wind in Your Hair.”

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The barracks is home to the 7th Regiment Royal Horse Artillery. “Horse Artillery” sounds like something out of a Jane Austen novel—gentlemen in big hats firing cannons from ponies. But don’t be fooled. These are modern soldiers using self-propelled guns that are more like mobile video game bosses. They’ve swapped the horses for tracks and engines, but the name sticks, because the British army loves a good bit of heritage. And let’s be honest, saying “I’m in the Horse Artillery” makes you sound way cooler than “I operate a very loud computer on wheels.”

The Great Porridge Mystery

Now, a word on the local area. Cottesmore village itself has two pubs, a church, and a primary school. But the real star is the Rutland Food & Drink Festival, which sometimes sets up near the barracks. You can eat a massive banger and mash while watching a Chinook helicopter fly overhead. It’s the only place where your lunch might be interrupted by a whirlybird delivering pallets. And the locals? They’re used to it. They’ll just pause, wipe ketchup off their chin, and say, “Bit noisy today, innit?”

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One of the best surprising facts is that Kendrew Barracks has a 0.0001% chance of still having a secret underground bunker. I made that statistic up, but it feels true. The base had hardened aircraft shelters that look like concrete igloos. They were built to survive a nuclear blast. Now, some of them are storage sheds for ping-pong tables and old filing cabinets. The sheer gap between “doomsday prep” and “where’s the spare balls” is the most British thing imaginable.

Let’s not forget the wildlife. Because the base is surrounded by farmland, you can often see red kites circling overhead. Once an endangered species, they now soar above the same airspace once used by atomic bombers. It’s poetic, in a slightly schizophrenic way. One minute, a bird of prey is hunting a vole; the next, a massive army lorry rumbles past honking. Nature adapts, or at least it learns to wear earplugs.

If you ever find yourself on Cottesmore Road, pause for moment. Look at the massive gates, the guardhouse, and the red flags that sometimes fly. Remember that inside those fences, there are soldiers who share a history with bobsledding heroes and Vulcan bombers. They’re training hard, but they’re also just people who, like us, occasionally wonder why their base is named after a man who basically dared winter to do its worst. Kendrew Barracks is a glorious, bonkers piece of England—part museum, part modern army hub, and 100% a place where a Victoria Cross winner and a windsock share the same sky.