All around in these glorious June days there is magic. The past and the present, and perhaps the future, merge as we get a glimpse of forgotten times, wondering if the future will bring change to our lives.
Everything happens at once; the strimmer gave a cough and died; the small blue tractor which we use around the garden refused to start; both chains saws are on the blink, and whilst David was mowing the long grass in the meadow, the top of the mower collapsed. All are at the machinery doctors. Not a good week….! Perhaps we should go back to scything and using a dog cart.
As you walk through the garden the scent of roses fills the air. Press your nose gently into the flowers, saving their gentle scent. Touch it with your eyes, for too many petals bruise with handling. Everywhere plants vie with each other in their glorious flowering. Mother says she feels a touch like Vita Sackville West “The garden broke her back and her fingernails and often her heart”. Despite all the trials and tribulations, mother feels life would be empty without her garden.
All good things must come to an end. For three decades the joy of living in this magical domain has brought Mother great joy and happiness. Now she feels the time has come to pass the mantle on. She wishes for the new chatelaine to cherish her beloved home, and that someone else will find, as she done, the magic which is Cothay, lying like a jewel in the vale of Taunton as a pearl on a string, lighting up this timeless house, hidden in a circle of trees. For nowhere can it be seen except by the birds who pass by.