"Stop, Madge, stop!" I called in excitement.

"Can`t. Hill's too steep, road's too narrow,' my sister said as she negotiated the bends in the moorland road. The day was grey with rain, as it seemed to have been for months, sweeping in endlessly from the west, across the channel. Sheep huddled in the ledges left along the road, beneath gorse and heather. Finally Madge pulled into a passing place on the grass verge, and stopped the car.

I swung my long legs out from under the dashboard where they had been coiled, exclaiming somewhat petulantly, "We'll have lost it. Have to climb the hill on foot, I suppose."

"Lost what?"

"The house, Madge, the house!"

Steadying myself against a tussock, I looked through the binoculars. There was a sudden gleam of sun, and there it was, glowing yellow like fresh farm butter. A long, low cottage, with tall rounded chimneys.

"This is IT, Madge," I exclaimed dramatically. "Just as I've always seen it in my mind."

My sister sighed as she joined me on the bank. "What? Again?! Thought you said that of the last place we saw, by the river."

"Yes, but look, Madge. It nestles under the trees which will give shelter from the north, and I think, though it's difficult to tell at this distance, that it may be thatched. Do please let's see if it's for sale."

I thrust the glasses into her hand, and she looked obediently.

"You'd need a car," was her only comment.

Finally, I talked her into seeing one last cottage,and we drove through the lanes to the nearby small town where there was a house agent.

The man behind the desk thought we were mad of course, wanting to see somewhere we`d only viewed from a hill. Madge tried to explain where the cottage was, and finally his eyes lit up. "Oh, the old beechwood plantation place. Yes, I think we still have it on our books. Why ever didn't you say so first?" Madge didn't bother to reply but pulled two chairs forward, saying, "Sit down, Mary. This will obviously take some time," in a discreet murmur.

After wading through a drawer in one of the filing cabinets, tossing out brochure after brochure with a derogatory sniff and shake of the head, the estate agent produced a folder.

"Lets see. Yes, here it is. 'Sally's' they call it. The old man died some while back I believe, and his widow only recently put it on the market. Nice little property.' His enthusiasm wouldn't have sold an ice cream on a hot day. Madge lifted an enquiring eyebrow at me.

"Could we have the keys?" I asked. "We'd like to see it today."

"Got 'em somewhere, I s'pose. Hang on. The boy will know." He shuffled off through a doorway, calling, "Alf, did those keys from 'Sally's'place ever come back?"

"On't peg. Under me mac. Brought 'em back last week, George .

The keys were retrieved and handed to us.

"How do we get there?" Madge politely asked, as the chap returned to his paper, seemingly no longer interested. "We've only seen the house from the hill."

"Five miles or so out of town that way." He pointed a tobacco-stained finger from the direction we had come. "Bear sharp right, up a steep hill, marked Coombe Brake. It's at the top, on your left. Can't miss it."

He was right. We couldn't. The little old car crawled up the one in four hill in first gear, negotiating the sharp 'S bends with some complaint.

"Lonely in winter," muttered my sister, as we parked beneath a huge old yew tree. It was obvious she thought we had come on a fool's errant, and I was the fool!

There it stood at last. The place of my dreams, and as if to agree, the rain stopped, and the sun shone brightly on the lime washed walls. Long and low, the house did have a thatched roof, and I hoped, oh I hoped, there would be roses round the door. There weren't. Just a leggy passion flower in a pot, and some sad mauve geraniums leaning drunkenly against the wooden porch.

As instructed, we pushed the huge old key upside down into the lock of the thick wooden door, and entered. The air smelt musty.

"Been shut up for ages, I expect," I said brightly to Madge.

On the left of the tiny hall was a door up two steps, leading into a huge sitting room. Oak beams, black with smoke, low ceiling, bread oven, the lot. I was ecstatic.

"This is IT, Madge, this is really IT."

"Well, let's see the lot. Should be a kitchen somewhere," replied my sister.

There was. Three sides of it were obviously the outside walls of the house; enormous stones limewashed over, out of which had been cut a channel for the chimney of the ancient stove. The floor sloped towards the outer door, so the large wooden cupboards had been wedged to remain straight.

A double window over the sink looked across to the moor, and I exclaimed in delight. "Madge, look at the view. It's superb! I must have it. I can always put in an electric stove and there's probably an immersion heater for the bath. Couldn't be better, Madge."

We climbed steep winding stone stairs to the next floor. Two large bedrooms, at least twelve foot high, with arched and blackened beams, their windows with broad stone cills looking out over the same fabulous view of the moor. A bathroom over the kitchen boasted an old iron bath, with a toilet that had seen better days, and would need replacing.

"Marvellously big, Madge," I said happily. "I can lie here reading my latest proofs and wallow in hot water as well. We wandered downstairs again and out to the garden. It was long and narrow. Woods behind it meant I'd always have sufficient fuel. Here I could sit and write. Here I would be happy. I felt it in my bones.

Back we went to the house agent. He was out.

"Be back in an hour," said the boy Alf. "Why don' yer get yersels summat to eat?" he suggested. "Smashing little caff down the road. I uses it sometimes, wiv me mum."

We passed the cafe, looking through its steamed up windows, and entered 'The George' further down the road.

"Well," said Madge. "Sounds as if you've decided."

I nodded, my mouth full of toasted teacake. As we drank our tea, we studied the particulars of the house again. "Offer a thousand less," commented my practical sister.

We returned to the agent and did. I bought the house for just about the price my bank balance would stand, once my redundancy money was paid.

Shaking her head in disbelief, my sister finally left me at the railway station thirty miles away.

"I hope you know what you're doing, Mary luv. It's all been too easy," she said as we waved each other goodbye.

"Can't wait," I replied. "It's super, really super, and I can move in a few months. Come and stay once I've found my feet, got things snug and tidy. You'll see. It's just what I've always wanted, always longed for."

Three months later, in 'Sally's' at last, I was digging the garden behind the tool shed. The musty smell had gone from the house, with all the windows opened, and the whole place scrubbed and painted. In the garden though, the smell still lingered. I mentioned it to a neighbour down the hill.

"There's not a dead sheep in the wood behind you, is there?" he enquired. "They sometimes lie there for a bit before the farmer sees ' em."

No, it wasn't a sheep, I said.

"Mebbe you've got a dead rat or summat then. Ask old Fossick to come up. If there's a rat he'll find it."

I sent down word by the postman next day and shortly after breakfast, Fossick arrived. He nosed around for a bit, then came to see me.

"Rats," he said, with a satisfied air.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Rats, lady. Them big four-footed fings wiv a long tail."

"How can you tell it's rats?"

'Waal, they has a smell, see. They relieves their-selves frequent like. Yer carnt mistake it."

I shuddered. A friend's husband had died with Weil's disease. He had accidentally contacted rats urine whilst clearing the overgrown ditch alongside their garden.

"You'd best get the rat-catcher, lady. Hem sudden death to rats." The old man gave a grim chuckle. "Once you has rats, you has trouble. I'll send 'im this arternoon. He lives along 'o me, does old Billy. Reglar terrer he be to rats - he and hisn dog, they caint abide 'un.'

I thanked the man. gave him a pound and off he went, still muttering to himself in a macabre way.

"Rats, that's wot you got. Caint mistake 'un. Knew it were rats, soon as I smelt 'un."

I returned to the kitchen and made myself a strong cup of tea. Sat down in the rocking chair and thought. This was my dream house, wasn't it? Thatched roof, beams everywhere; all mod cons soon to be added, and roses and clematis planted round the door as I'd always wanted. Was I going to let rats beat me? I was not.

Four o'clock came and with it, old Billy. He touched his cap to me with a grimy finger.

"You be the one wiv rats, I take it, Missis?"

I said I was. His terrier, by his side on a piece of thick string, jumped with excitement at the coming battle. He obviously knew the word 'rats'

Old Billy gave a toothless grin. "Dont 'e fret, Missis. Us'll rid you o' they. Jest set yoursen on that there wall and watch. We be praper champions, Tiger and me."

Within half an hour the old man and his dog had a pile of rats: big ones, little ones; fat ones, thin ones. I went indoors and found the whisky. If the old man didn't need a drink, I did. The pile of corpses grew. Suddenly there was a startled shout.

" `ere! Well, I nivverl Thought there was summat queer I did." He came round the corner of the house, a pitchfork in his hand. "Got a strong stummick, lidy? You've got trouble. I'll say you has. Got one o'they 'phones, have you." I nodded.

"Then you'd better call the perlice. Dont 'old wiv 'em, ordinry'like, but this aint no job for me, no longer."

Glass in hand, I went to look. My stomach heaved. Quickly I ran to the 'phone and dialled 999.

I will say this for the country policeman. He never turned a hair. Just went white. But I gave him a stiff drink anyway. And another for myself.

The rats hadn't left much of the body.

I moved house of course. Well, wouldn't you? My dream house had suddenly become a nightmare.