Rose

We bought our house from Mrs L, a lady of 86 who was a keen gardener and plantswoman. The house was thoroughly neglected, but the garden was immaculate. In the last 11 years, we have contrived to reverse that position.

Before she moved to Arnside Mrs L had had a 6 acre garden in Hest Bank, and she was used to gardening on a grand scale. She carried on in the same style when she moved here, making no concession to the limited space. Eventually the screening conifers and specimen trees all grew too large for the space, and knowing she couldn't manage them, she perhaps felt it was time to move. It has taken us quite a few years to thin out the Leyland cypresses and the other conifers of little botanical interest, and we are left with some lovely trees that are too precious to take down even though they are now outgrowing the remaining space. While many of the herbaceous plants have succumbed to shade and competition, the roses though remain flourishing.

Mrs L told us all their names, but stupidly I didn't write them down. And now we have no idea. This one grows at the entrance to the drive, it has an exquisite scent and a colour that is so subtle and delicate that even the Nikon couldn't do it justice.

It's past this rose that our visiting deer pushes to get at the delicacies within the garden. She must have been back again last night, despite the car arranged over the drive to try and block her access. She had climbed the top steps into the front garden and her hoof prints were in the vegetable bed, and some of the runner beans have been reduced to stumps. The first couple of visits were a delightful novelty, but this is serious - I don't want to contemplate a summer without runners. So this evening, we shall try more elaborate blocking tactics. While we can keep her out at night perhaps, during the working day when the drive is empty, there is nothing to stop her. We have no gates, and never thought we would need them.