FIFTY FOURDEGREES | 49 ©Hufton+Crow I’ve always been a believer in being open to chance. You should always accept the third invitation to do something, whatever itmight be. That doesn’t mean refusing thefirst if it looks the right thing to do – but always accept the third. You’ll end upmeeting people you otherwise didn’t knowyou needed to meet. It’s when youmeet all these new people, learn about newperspectives and opportunities, that themagic happens. HORACEANDDORIS My thenwife and I went on holiday to Cornwall. It rained.Wewere passing an estate agent’swindowwhen I sawa house that caughtmy eye. The estate agent toldme I wouldn’t like it. It was exactly the kind of assumption thatmade memore determined. It was a totallymad idea: wewere living inBrixton and there was nothing to take us toCornwall.Within an hour of bumping into the owner – blocking his roadwith a tractor aswe struggled throughwet country lanes – we’d bought the house. Wewere living in a beautiful house, amoney pit, and penniless. I started to think about going back to university just as away out of the situation. Then one day a friendwe’dmade locally asked if we could look after their pig.We had space in the garage, sowe took charge of a black pig calledHorace. He liked to break out and smash hisway into the farmhouse where he couldwarmhimself against the Aga. Basically, Horacewas lonely. That’s whywe got Doris for company. They fell in love, were contented, andwhen they snored it was enough tomake the foundations of the farmhouse rumble. InNovember 1989, eleven piglets arrived. The snowwas horizontal that night, there was somethingBiblical about thewhole scene, the straw, the piglets, the glowof the heat lamps; it felt right, and I convincedmyself, somehow, that it was mymission to build a centre for rare breed animals. I found amanwith land easily enough, but he turnedme downflat.Wewere only making small talk after the refusal because I had a cupof coffee to drink, and it was scalding hot. I happened to mention I was an archaeologist. He said tome: “I have need of an archaeologist.” He’d inherited an estate next door that had been untouched for 50 years and needed someonewho could ‘read’ the landscape. It was a true secret garden, a huge rambling overgrown place, the trees all at every angle after gales of the winter in early 1990. I offered a no-money contract; we’d lease the gardens for a penny and completely restore the place, giving hima share of returnswhen it was opened to the public. Wemanaged to assemble a gang of peoplewilling to goon the adventurewith us. I’d learnt frommy time in themusic industry that (unless you’remad) if you love something then it’s likely there will bemillions of otherswho love the same. But you needmarketing. I phoned up the BBCand spoke toStefanBuczacki, the doyen of garden presenters, and told himhe hadfirst refusal onfilming the garden restoration of the century; what did he think? Heligan: Secrets of the Lost Garden ended up being documentary of the year. The only problemwas that it forgot to say the gardensweren’t yet open.We had
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