EVERSLEY GARDENS 



CHAPTER I 



MAKING THE GARDEN 



IT was a pink Wild-rose in a gap that decided 

 my fate eight years ago, as I stepped into the 

 bare little meadow. On three sides, east, 

 south, and west, were rough hedges of Furze, 

 Broom, Wild-rose, Bramble, and Hawthorn. 

 On the north ran an old bank, the ancient 

 boundary of cultivated land, with noble 

 Hollies, Crabs, and wild Apple trees, a fine 

 Elder, a big Hawthorn, a promising Oak, and 

 countless Briar-roses. Fifty years ago it was 

 a bit of common on which geese and donkeys 

 fed, and made a maze of little pathways among 

 the Furze bushes of fine moorland turf, where 

 the Camomiles gave forth their pungent scent 



