When my people retired, they moved from their beautiful thatched house in a small Sussex village, to the above house in Shropshire. It came with a small coach house, a few brick-built sheds, greenhouse, paddock, large orchard, pond, well, formal gardens, vegetable garden, and a netted soft fruit enclosure (which contained goodness knows how many rare varieties of gooseberry).
Their residency didn't last too long, and sadly my parents are both now resting in the neighbouring churchyard.
I sold the house to a local farmer who I knew. He had two major hobbies; owning racehorses and flying his helicopter.
I heard later that the gardens didn't suit his needs, and the 44 tree orchard, which contained many very rare varieties of apples, had simply been bulldozed and levelled.
There are few things in life that make me mad, but this was certainly one. On reflection I should have asked him what plans he had for the place. Had he mentioned anything about destroying the beautiful ancient orchard, I would have looked for another buyer.
I recently looked at the house on Google Earth, and noticed that a second house has been built in the paddock. No doubt the racehorses have gone, which somehow makes the orchard's original destruction even worse.