Linked with this is another picture I have in my head, of many a summer's evening when Cinders (our dappled grey pony) was harnessed up in our trap, (which must have been minute, but seemed roomy enough for the four of us), trotting along our road and down through the leafy estate of Copse Hill. Permission had been granted for us to use this route as a short cut and though it was tortuous in places and very steep in others, we used it regularly never needing to worry about anyone coming in the opposite direction (it could only have been one car wide). The fact that this would only have taken place between me being 7 and a half and eight and a half just shows how childhood summers lasted for ever and everything you did, however short, was seen as something new and exciting. Cinders was sold when we went to New Zealand for a year (Christmas 1967) and when we arrived back the days of this extensive estate were numbered. I think Colonel Brassy must have departed this life sometime in 1969 (although I've been unable to find the exact date of his death) and the house (minus its contents and wooden box) and estate were sold as a whole.