"The scrolled iron gate gives a melodic clang as we turn the rusty handle and step into the courtyard, the air heavy with the perfume of roses. Noisettes, Sweet briars, Hybrid Teas, Chinas. An old fashioned white climber with great glorious blooms scrambles over centuries of red brick. Creamy nasturtiums tangle at its feet. Two stone dogs gaze faithfully on the lichen of ages colouring their backs. A narrow gravel path leads along the golden walk - a shimmering avenue of apricot roses, lemony lupins and orange lilies. Down worn steps, past pillars and urns, at each turn the senses are besieged - a shower of mauve clematis, a curtain of white foxgloves, lupins painted in every shade of pink." (The Painted Garden - A Year in Words and Watercolours by Mary Woodin)
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