Horndean, Monday, May 5. Cloudy, mild weather graced my first four days in England, but today is wet. Spring is well advanced, the darling buds all sprouted, bluebells in full dress, the daffodils already over.
My niece, Caroline, met me at Guildford station and drove me to their home near Petersfield. There isn’t space to tell you about their pretty and comfortable house and large garden set almost on the edge of a beech wood, in the grounds of an old estate. A small flock of fowls scratches under ancient yew trees. That night, the screams of a rabbit close by told of a fox’s hunting success.
