The Grove

A Perambulation of the Estate

At the heart of the estate stands the Grove House, home to five generations of the Jaffa family and the place from which the entire operation is quietly overseen. It is not grand in the way some country houses insist upon being. It is simply old, well-kept, and surrounded on all sides by the trees that have defined the family's purpose since 1877.

From the house, walk south through The Corridor of Uncertainty, the tree-lined avenue that runs through the centre of the grove. The name is borrowed from cricket (that length on off stump where the batsman cannot decide whether to play forward or back) and it suits the avenue perfectly. The light filters through the canopy in a way that makes you slow down, which is rather the point.

To the west of the Corridor lies the Packing Shed, where the grove workwear is prepared. Each cap and gilet is embroidered and carefully packed for dispatch. The work is meticulous and unhurried. The Groundsman does not believe in rushing, and given the quality of the output, nobody argues. Browse the workwear.

Behind the Packing Shed, in a corner of the estate that visitors are politely discouraged from entering, is the Groundsman's Private Research. What exactly is being researched has never been formally disclosed. The raised beds suggest horticulture. The notebooks suggest obsession. We have learned not to ask.

To the east, the Marmalade Quarter and the Propagation House sit side by side. The Quarter is where the estate's preserves are made in small batches, thick cut, no shortcuts. The Propagation House is where new varieties are coaxed into existence behind glass, the Head Grower tending seedlings with the patience of someone who measures progress in seasons rather than weeks.

Further east stands the mast of Estate Radio, which has broadcast Test Match Special across the grove since 1954. The Head Grower insists the fruit responds to commentary. Aggers and Bumble produce a particularly sweet harvest. Anything involving a batting collapse tends to sour the crop.

Beyond the radio mast, at the far eastern boundary, you will find The Anomaly (est. 1877). It is, unmistakably, an enormous cricket ball, half-submerged in the earth beside The Duck, the estate's small pond. Nobody has ever adequately explained the Anomaly. It has been here as long as anyone can remember. The family position is that it was the original ball that split open and revealed the citrus. Its size has never been satisfactorily accounted for.

Head south to the Cricket Pitch, where everything started. The square is still played on every summer, the outfield mown in stripes that the Groundsman considers his finest work. On warm afternoons, matches run well into the evening, and nobody keeps the score as carefully as they pretend to.

Beside the pitch sits the Tea Pavilion, where afternoon tea is served during the interval. The clink of china, the quiet hum of conversation, the universal agreement that the scones are better than last week's. It is the most civilised twenty minutes in sport, and on this estate, we take it seriously.

Finally, to the south-west corner, the Members' Enclosure. By invitation only. We are opening the gates soon. If you love cricket the way we love cricket (more than is probably reasonable) then you belong here. Leave your name at the gate.