Walk up past the last of the hedges and the lane gives out onto grass that hasn't been cut since spring.

By June it reaches your knees: yellow rattle, red clover, the white plates of yarrow, and above it all the skylarks, who never seem to land. Meadows like this used to be everywhere. Most were ploughed or reseeded in the last century, and the few that are left are kept the old way: cut once, late in summer, after the flowers have set seed.

If you go, go early. The light comes in low over the ridge and every seed head catches it.