The Lodge

Would you like to see more of my aunt's garden? Strictly speaking, it's not my aunt's - this is a long story which I have told before, but basically she and two friends plus (crucially) the much younger husband of one of these ladies retired to this house in Norfolk thirty years ago. The friend's husband was then 39 and he retired too! Being a whizz at DIY, he divided the house up, the top being three flats and the bottom being communal for visitors, entertaining, good works and so on. My aunt lent part of the money to buy the house but wanted the husband to own it, since he's likely to outlive them all. So she lives there, rent free, and does most of the work in the garden, which is remarkable since she's now 86. (The much younger husband does the chopping down of trees and cuts the lawns, and there's a gardener two mornings a week; otherwise, my aunt does it. Amazing.)

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.

Towards the wood.

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.