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This is the true description of the garden of a small terraced house I once owned in Cambridge. Although a very small garden, I spent many happy hours pottering about in it and it could always surprise me with new discoveries.

Sadly the peach tree, its most unusual feature, after years of astonishing fecundity finally succumbed to leaf curl (despite my annual spraying) and had to be reduced to little more than a trunk. I had a running battle with ground elder and the honeysuckle bower was knocked over by high winds and had to be trained up again from scratch. But the door at the end of the garden, while in reality leading into a dingy little brick-built shed full of flower pots, ancient rusty tools and invading ivy tendrils, still retained its air of mystery.

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by Damaris West

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