Mickle Lodge was my family home for 40 years. Mum and Dad moved to Mickle Trafford village in Cheshire in 1963, when I was one. My father was a consultant surgeon in Chester, and those were the days when professionals liked to nip home for lunch. As Mickle Lodge was two miles outside the centre of Chester, it was very convenient.

The house was set in four-and-a-half acres and surrounded by fields. Mickle Lodge was Georgian and like a doll’s house, because it had a lovely symmetry. It had warm red-brick walls, a grey slate roof and a yellow front door. We always used the back door. Behind the house was a yard and a second drive on to the main road. The yard was surrounded by outbuildings; in the centre of the yard was a beautiful antique cast-iron fountain that always had running water.

Through the back door you walked straight into the kitchen, which had flagstones and a blue Aga. There were two doors off the kitchen; one led to what we called the nursery. There, my two older brothers, Nick and Charles, and I would hang out with our toys and dressing-up box. The other door was to the dining room, which was my favourite room. It had oak wooden panelling, a lovely oak table and wheelback chairs.

Beyond the dining room was the hall, which always had a fire lit. At the front of the house was the drawing room, which Mum and Dad extended out to the left. Upstairs were two bathrooms and five bedrooms. Dad’s study was next to my parents’ bedroom, and my mother’s office was on the landing, where she had a beautiful antique desk that was once her father’s.

My bedroom was at the front of the house, and I had some multicoloured Liberty print curtains, a pretty dressing table and two single beds, because we always had friends over. My brothers’ rooms were at the back of the house. I remember in the 1970s, during the psychedelic era, one of my brothers wanted a psychedelic bedroom. We were all pulled in to help paint it. The design was like a lava lamp — lots of wiggles and three different colours: brown, orange and white. My parents were fabulous about it. Their feeling was: “It’s fine, as long as it’s in your bedroom.” The rest of the house was painted in lovely, muted neutrals and, originally, Mum made some of the curtains. The style was English country, which worked perfectly with the house.

When I was about eight, Mum and Dad put in a pool. It was where the vegetable patch had been, and you reached it from the back yard where there was a passageway through the outbuildings. Mum and Dad were very hospitable and good about letting us have mates over. As teenagers, we would throw great parties — we would deck out the outbuildings with lights and bring in a local discotheque.

The garden was always gorgeous, and there was a mature orchard. It was such a luxury to be able to go out and pick apples. Mum did the garden, but had someone to help with the heavy work one day every few weeks. My father had a sit-on mower, and I used to love sitting on his lap while he did the mowing.

I spent a lot of time out on my pony. There was a stable in our field and, at 10, I inherited the local Welsh mountain pony that did the rounds. Everyone in the village learnt to ride on him, and he was 28 by the time I got him! He was called Tempo and he was evil. He knew all the tricks in the book and never wanted to be caught, but he was the most brilliant little gymkhana pony. When I was 13 we passed Tempo on to someone else, as by then I was away, boarding at Cheltenham Ladies’ College.

Over the years, Chester expanded and grew out to surround Mickle Lodge. We were a little oasis in the middle of suburbia. I remember taking the dogs for a walk in our field and seeing stakes in the neighbouring field marking where new houses would go. I felt so incensed that I pulled some of the stakes out! And I was really cross about huge oak trees being sawn down.

Mum and Dad always said they would stay at Mickle Lodge and be carried out in a box but, four years ago, developers made a very nice offer, and they thought, “Why not?” I was gutted, as the house was a real constant in my life. But we all had time to wrap our heads around it, as Mum and Dad sold Mickle Lodge with a year to completion. This meant they could totally renovate the cottage they had bought in the Cheshire countryside before moving in.

My parents are happy in their new home, which they’ve made very comfortable. They have dogs and cats and a view of the country rather than of new houses. In the end, the developers kept Mickle Lodge as it was. I’ve driven past it, and it’s still there, a rose surrounded by thorns.

Interview by Rosanna Greenstreet

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