Round green door with daisies on the ribs

The door is finished at last, though Mr Pascoe says it will need a second coat before the rain stops getting in around the rim. You would laugh at me. I spent three Saturdays on my knees in the wet grass with a tin of green, trying to match the colour Dad mixed for the gate at Hollins Farm, and every time I thought I had it the light changed and it went blue.

The round frame came from the old cart wheel that rotted behind the chapel. Tom Pascoe sawed it to size and pinned on a brick-red ring from a tin of ochre he swore was the same one Dad used. The knob is a lump of blackthorn Gran carved years ago and never used. I set it in the middle where a keyhole should be, and the children from the lower row have been leaving daisies on the step, which is how I know they've decided it's a proper house.

Last night Billy Crane knocked at dusk, wanting to know if the little man who lived there had gone out. I said he had, and would be back for his tea. He looked so pleased he forgot to be shy and asked whether I could paint one in his bedroom wall too. I told him that was a job for his dad, not for a woman with green under her nails.

Do come at Easter. The daisies will be out along the verge, and you can see it for yourself.

Love, Nell