The meadow would be my children's magic carpet: the chance to run wild down grassy corridors, chasing butterflies and the sun
It was my grandfather who dreamed of creating a lake in the valley below the house. He was a prisoner of war, and it was the vision of the lake that kept him sane during his years of captivity. In 1946, he made it a reality. When he died, the first thing I did was to return to my old room where, aged four, I would sit for hours looking at the lake. As I dwelt there once more, it became obvious what I should do.
Surrounding the house was a huge thuja hedge that eclipsed the hilltop view on all sides. This had to go. A year later, in
