The house Peggy, (Winifred), and John found at Magagnosc, in the countryside near Grasse, has passed into the history of the popular literature of the 1930s and 1940s. It, and the life around it, are described in Peggy's humourously extravagant yet poignant style, in her autobiography There's Rosemary, There's Rue and above all in Perfume from Provence, books that made her famous throughout Britain and its colonies. The Domaine Fortescue, as they would call it (rather grandly for its size), was a simple house set on steep terraces of exceptionally fertile and well-cultivated soil, gazing out across a valley onto two rounded hills. Bathed in sunlight for the greater part of the day, peach and other fruit trees grew abundantly, healthy vines filled the property and, above all, there were fireflies - for Peggy a prerequisite of any home in Provence. As a good omen, on either side of the gate to the Domaine were two tall cypresses signifying Peace and Prosperity. There were few Provencal farms or estates without these sentinels of hope at the entrance to their property, but it was said that Peace was always smaller then Prosperity, for there is never any peace in the world. Was it wise to take on a house that clearly would need restora­tion and substantial extension? To suit their needs it would require, in addition, 'a library-dining room and two large bedrooms over it', involving much building work and expense - and John was sixty-nine years old. But he was entranced by the idea and, with 124 francs to the pound, 'we should do it easily and we can write a few articles to pay for extras'. So the house was bought from its owner, a Belgian count, and contracts signed for the whole project.

In spite of continual financial worries and the disastrous removal, from England to Nice, of their delicate furniture, various pieces of which were damaged, involving yet more unwanted expense, they were happy at the Domaine. Lucky in their servants, they were well and amusingly cared for. The rhythm of the sunlit spring days in their now completed home filled them with delight. Peggy, blessed with green fingers, planted and sowed vigorously, creating an 'English garden' in the long piece of land leading to the house and a well-stocked rose garden at the back. Photos taken a couple of years later show the sturdy terraced walls swathed in great clumps of cascading aubretia, not a usual sight in Provence in those days. When not writing, John tended his vines and fruit trees and oversaw the progress of the vegetable garden for, under Felix's care, they were self-sufficient in vegetables. In fact the crop was so abundant they were more than happy to sell the surplus to a hotel in Grasse. Hens and rabbits, installed in cages on a lower terrace, added to the food supply. The nocturnal mating call of frogs echoing from the water storage tanks all over the hills and valley, followed later by the soaring beauty of the song of the nightingales from the branches of fruit and olive trees, filled the nights with Provencal, if noisy, charm.

From 'Escape to Provence' by Maureen Emerson.

'A great fire of olive logs was crackling in the open fireplace at the apsidal end, and our round table, standing upon its circular green carpet, was laid with white napery, glass and silver. I had arranged a bowl of floating red roses in the centre, lit invisibly by the radiance of the hidden lights within the three arched mirror-lined niches above it, in which my collection of glass was displayed. Tall standard lamps with apricot silk shades cast a glow upon old bindings of books at the other end of the room, and shone upon the faces of his [John's] 'Gallant Company portrayed above them. They looked very fine against their background of buffy-cream wall.' From Perfume from Provence by Winifred Fortescue.