Newspaper Article

Oxford blues as the party ends For 26 years, it has been her perfect family home - a tranquil hideaway in the heart of Oxford, where children could roam and famous friends gather. Now, the novelist Angela Huth explains her painful decision to sell up and move on

Huth, Angela

2004

Overview

This was 1978. [James] had spent his bachelor years well looked after in his college. I had had eight years of blissful solitude in a hidden corner of Wiltshire. A marital house in Oxford was required. Neither of us fancied north Oxford. And as I had a dread of city life, I dreamt of a new hidden place. This, plainly, was it. An acre and a half of garden and orchard, planted with magnificent trees designed by some imaginative Victorian to shelter an oasis of silence beyond the birdsong. All this just a mile from Magdalen Bridge, 10 minutes from the Dragon School, a five-minute walk to the bus to London. Inevitably, for those who live in a house for a long time, memories become jumbled between the rooms and the people and what has gone on in those rooms with whom. My study, my workplace, is my favourite room. It's where I'm mostly alone, in silence. It looks on to the tallest and most magnificent beech tree, I swear, in the whole of Oxfordshire. It towers over the mulberry tree which was badly wounded in a recent storm, but half of it still stands. On the lawn, a green woodpecker spends more time than in any tree, and muntjak deer dart about with one eye on the tulips. Upstairs, the master bedroom mimics the drawing room, light dancing through the three tower windows. To my husband's horror, I converted the next-door bedroom into a huge bathroom with enormous cupboards, so as not to spoil the panelling in the bedroom. So those who suffer the modern obsession with en-suite could be happy. There's an equally large bedroom, overlooking the orchard - with a whole wall of shelves to accommodate our daughter's vast collection of books - and adjoining bathroom.

• Publisher: Daily Telegraph
• Subject: Huth, Angela