On Spring Bank Holiday we went to a village fete in aid of the local church. It was held at Parsonage Farm and was a thoroughly English affair. We parked in a nearby field and walked down the farm drive to the jaunty sound of a small fairground organ. All the usual attractions were there; a plant stall, second-hand books for sale, cream teas and guess the weight of the cake.
But the main pleasure of Parsonage Farm is its garden. The house is set on a hillside and looks down over fields and hedgerows to a distant view of the church. It has a secret woodland valley with narrow pathways and bridges winding down past wonderful displays of azaleas and rhododendrons.
It was a lovely afternoon, one of those kind, still, warm days just made for print dresses, panama hats and tea on the lawn.