The labour necessary to keep up such a show must be immense

Saturday, and because Marie-Astrid is a Baptist of a particular sect (one that keeps the Sabbath on a Saturday) there is a limited number of things she can do. One permitted activity is to go out and look at nature. So an open day at a local garden represented a welcome diversion in what, to me, seemed a long and serious day.

It was a weekend when Marie-Astrid’s four-year-old daughter was with her (she alternates custody of the child with her ex-husband). We drove to the garden in my car, following a circuitous route down into a wooded valley where the little village was located. A home-made sign at the gates of the manor said “Garden open in aid of Church Fund”.

We went in and parked in a lumpy field. About twenty other cars were also parked there, and the attendant who took our £3 said visitors had been brisk over the afternoon. Grey skies, damp clammy feel to the air, half-hearted birdsong as the light gradually grew fainter (not exactly growing dark, but drifting inexorably towards dusk).

We more or less had the garden to ourselves as we walked around. Along curving gravel paths, through undulating topiary, into (and out of) a carefully arranged shrubbery. Overhead were tall trees - ash, silver birch, hornbeam – the side branches lopped so that the trunks went straight up and then widened into elegant canopies, big drops of moisture occasionally falling onto our heads.

By a series of small rustic bridges we crossed and re-crossed a busy stream, the rocks covered in moss and lichen. To the right there were lawns with areas of yellow aconites and white snowdrops (a hand-made sign apologising that the snowdrops were late this year). To the left were paddocks, with trees beyond.


In the distance we could see the house, a 19th century interpretation of 18th century neo-classicism (a revival of a revival of a revival). The building had a secretive air, accentuated by the drawn blinds and the fact that you couldn't walk up to the front facade because the lawn was planted with bulbs. The owners of the house have a tenuous link with royalty (hardly worth mentioning, except that later, when we described going to the place, everyone was aware of the connection - even the most removed association with the royal line seems to excite people).

Despite her promises earlier in the day Marie-Astrid's daughter complained she was tired and had to be carried by her mother most of the way.