Waddesdon

It was very autumnal at Waddesdon down the branch line from Marylebone by way of Harrow-on-the-Hill to Wendover and Aylesbury.   The house looked, as always, magnificent and faintly surreal, a version of Chambord in the Vale of Aylesbury, its yellow sandstone melting into the surrounding yellow trees.   I had forgotten how many wonderful Reynolds’s and Gainsboroughs there are which were bought at top dollar by Ferdinand de Rothschild to hang amongst the fine French furniture.

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