Now, the wife of the much younger husband has died (a couple of years ago, at 93), another friend has gone into a nursing home and my aunt and the chap live there in their flats, very happily - taking, as she says, a day at a time. Thus (alas) this wonderful place is not my inheritance... but we count ourselves very lucky to be able to visit. It's the nearest place to heaven that I can imagine.
This is the door to the garden.
Sorry, wrong order - first we pass the dining room.
We walk down the garden and look at the house. Can you hear the doves murmuring constantly: "Tak twa coos, lassie"? (But in a Norfolk accent. What would that be: "Take two cows, girlie"?)
Back down towards the house and walk along in the direction of the walled garden - looking back where you came from.
Glance to the left up at the orangery.
Oops, wrong order again - ok, walk backwards for a while, contemplating the archway through to the walled garden.
Here we are, a bit nearer the archway.
Inside the walled garden.
Walking round the paths.
The bird bath.
A patch of honesty.
A few weeks ago, this was a mass of daffodils.
Back into the lawned area.
Every time we go there, I wonder if it'll be the last. And this time might well be. I don't suppose my aunt and her friend's widower can stay there for ever. But it'll always be there in my memory, blossoming away in my head. I love it partly because it's so beautiful and partly because we've been so happy there: Mr Life and I and our children. Our son was not quite three, the first time we went there.
Daughter 2 is now back in London, alas. Still, she was here from Friday till this afternoon, so we had lots of chat and cuddles.
Back to work tomorrow. Hmm.