One day, perhaps, a book may be written about the making of the garden at Sissinghurst, and it could well bear the same title as this book, for the garden is a portrait of their marriage. . Harold made the design, Vita did the planting. In the firm perspectives of the vistas, the careful siting of an urn or statue, the division of the garden by hedges and walls and buildings into a series of separate gardens, the calculated alternation between straight lines and curved, one can trace his classical hand. In the overflowing clematis, figs, vines and wisteria, in the rejection of violent colour or anything too tame or orderly, one discovers her romanticism. Wild flowers must be allowed to invade the garden; if plants stray over a path, they must not be cut back, the visitor must duck; rhododendrons must be banished in favour of their tenderer cousin, the azalea; roses must not electrify, but seduce; and when a season has produced its best, that part of the garden must be allowed to lie fallow for another year, since there is a cycle in nature which must not be disguised. It is eternally renewable, like a play with acts and scenes: there can be a change of cast, but the script r:emains the same. Permanence and mutation are the secrets of this garden.