The Children At Green Meadows

I'm going to tell you a little secret. It's called The Children at Green Meadows, and you'd better pick up that book right now, because in the next hour or two it's going to crack your stony little heart.

Francis, Clare and Sam, three poor kids on the block, have grown up with a tired mom, a crochety dad, a moody grandma, and the haughty Mister Black, who won't play with the children so much as condescend to allow being stroked and spoilt.

Green Meadows is a sad memory of what once used to be a rambling old menagerie cum farm cum happy home with fantail pigeons flying around, animals wandering everywhere, and fresh air and flowers enriching the lives of people living there. Now it's a dilapidated world where the garden is a forgotten piece of undergrowth, and while Mother works ceaselessly, and Great Bravery medal winner Dad now inhabits a humiliating wheelchair because of war wounds, Grandma hides a kind heart by grouching endlessly and rather unfairly at the constantly helpful children. The only recourse for their troubles will be to sell Green Meadows and move to a smaller place, but stubbornly nostalgic Grandma will hear none of it.