120 WORK UNDER GLASS 



frames were in existence, when these small delight- 

 ful surprises outside the garden were the only ones 

 we had. Now, however, the first days of the year 

 bring many treats and luxuries. 



How tempting is a dish of forced asparagus eaten 

 in January ! It is not much to look at, only a few 

 slender, very pale, anaemic-looking grasses, but the 

 delicacy — refinement, one might almost say — of 

 flavour surpasses that of the kind eaten in April. 

 It leaves a recollection of spring behind, a waft of 

 remembrance similar to what the favourite scent 

 of a flower recalls in pleasant recollection. Then, 

 there is that pale-rose-coloured rhubarb, very 

 sweet and soft, which, like the asparagus, comes 

 from the rich storehouse of mystery behind a thick 

 Hessian canvas covering in the large greenhouse. 

 Hidden away thus in darkness, beneath the staging, 

 a casual visitor might pass by and easily overlook 

 the home from which these delicacies emerge. 



When first I came to live here, I was puzzled 

 how best to treat the lie of the ground below the 

 house and how to connect it with the central grass 

 walk and borders that were to be the important 

 features of the garden. In a previous chapter I 

 have endeavoured to show that the house stands 

 upon a small plateau, where irregularly shaped 

 paving-stones form a walk right round the building. 

 Opposite the central window some steps, made of 

 old disused railway sleepers, somewhat disguised 

 by dwarf spring flowers that nestle between them, 

 lead down the chalk bank, which was the debris of 

 the builders' excavations, to what is now a grass 

 terrace below. This was the piece of ground that 



