I must have been one of the first recruits to the inspiring yoga class Margret held at Fieldend, usually in her lovely house, but sometimes outside in fine weather so that we could stretch to the accompaniment of Richmond's noisy parakeets. The regular end-of-term yoga parties were picnics on the floor after a class, and always featured her signature broccoli quiche. In her Christmas card this year Margret enclosed a photo of one of my (indoor) shoulder stands - not at all flattering, but a lovely memento of those years.
Over the years we became firm friends and many, many Sunday afternoons were spent drinking tea in the sun in a secluded corner of her herb-filled garden, sometimes with a warm fig from the tree, setting the world to rights and discussing Goethe and Colette and her dislike of Proust. Or we would squash into my small red Peugeot and go to Richmond - I particularly remember visits to the lovely Finnish clothes shop on the Hill, which specialised in the sort of clothes and necklaces she loved.
Margret's move to Olney (and ours to Aldeburgh) meant keeping in contact much more remotely, though pretty regularly, by phone and letter.
I shall miss her.