Why I'm finally downsizing from my dream home: They were a Hollywood golden couple, but a decade after Susan George's husband died in her arms, she reveals she's waving goodbye to her Somerset farmhouse idyll

From the large picture windows in my drawing room is a view of my beautiful secret garden. There, once-tiny shrubs filled an empty space when Simon and I bought this farmhouse some 24 years ago.

And the one that matters most to me now is as lush and wide as it is tall; a pine tree that stands some 25 feet high. It’s hard to believe that in 2009 it was covered with baubles and twinkling lights, a Christmas tree with presents stacked underneath and in this very room.

It was the most amazing Christmas that year but unbeknownst to my darling husband and I, it was to be our last together. And the memories like those above, they make my decision so hard to bear.

Hopefully, I can find a smaller home to cherish as much as I have this one when I move from the West Country. There will be the saddest moments leaving behind the comfort, familiarity and beauty of this 'haven-on-earth' place, but I also know the time is right for change.

Susan George on her idyllic 50 acres at Higher Eastcott Farm, where she has a stud farm and keeps Arabian horses. Picture by BRIAN ARIS

Susan George and late husband Simon MacCorkindale pictured in 1999, some 11 years before his death

Thankfully this move is not out of need, but, as with so many other friends, it’s a desire to explore and create new beginnings elsewhere, while I still have my health, strength, spirit and the energy to make that choice.

For all the gorgeous countryside that I am lucky enough to be surrounded by, the farmhouse is quite sizeable for one person, with five bedrooms, and it sits in 50 acres of a remote part of the Exmoor National Park.

I love light, and it’s south facing, so when the sun shines it shines in almost every room. The dining table seats ten but at Christmas extends to 20, which may be a squeeze but still works. We light floating candles in a glass chandelier and the room has such a romantic feel.

It was a dream to own a stud farm and breed Arabian horses. And was everything Simon and I once wanted. This was our peaceful place and sanctuary where from our bedroom window we could see nothing but the spectacular view of green fields and rolling hills. We were surrounded by dogs, horses and wild animals and just us for company. Life at home could not have been more perfect.

That was until 2010, when we received devastating news. After weeks of exploration Simon was diagnosed with bowel cancer. We lived, laughed and got on with life in hope, searched for answers that never came, and when he died in my arms in October 2010, I felt as if a part of me had died with him.

For years afterwards, I just got on with everything. I continued to make improvements on the farm, realising our dreams as I knew he’d want me to. I spent a lot of time at home where I felt safe and I suppose in others’ eyes, had become a bit reclusive.

So in 2017, when I was invited to take part in The Real Marigold Hotel, a BBC reality show on which I’d travel to India with nine other well-known faces, I surprised myself by accepting.

A view from Susan's 'haven' of a farmhouse, which is south-facing with beautiful French doors 

Susan writes: The dining table seats ten but at Christmas extends to 20, which may be a squeeze but still works. We light floating candles in a glass chandelier and the room has such a romantic feel

It was well out of my comfort zone, but a lifetime experience that I’ll never forget, and months after my return I slowly realised a change in me.

My spirit was back. When I smiled - I felt it! And I had a renewed thirst for adventure.

Our farmhouse has always been a great home for entertaining. We threw parties over the years, with music at their heart. We shipped my baby grand piano from California to England and for as many famous musician friends in LA who played those keys, so too did they in the West Country.

If only the walls could speak.

We bought Higher Eastcott Farm after five or six viewings - and always in the rain. Each time, we were invited for a cuppa in a homely kitchen, 80s-style wallpaper in many of the rooms with green swirly carpets and avocado suite bathrooms.

It was a happy home, though, to a sheep and cattle farmer and his young family, and the ambience (for us the most important thing in any house) was warm and inviting.

The house and stables needed a lot of work but Simon had great vision and knew he would make it perfect in time. It was, after all, to be our forever home. And on the day we moved in there was brilliant sunshine.

The first step towards our venture was to clean up the barns and install 12 stables for our then 12 horses before we arrived. After that, a slow build year after year to create more stables and to turn it into the fabulous farmhouse and equestrian facility it is today.

Our house has always been a sunny one, active, with very little silence. The light, bright kitchen is an endless pathway to people coming and going as endless cups of tea are being made. The day to day running of a stud farm is no mean feat and a lot of our friends never understood why I chose to walk away from the glamour and glitz of my former life.

Raising young horses, schooling and working with stallions, rewarding as it is, can be physically demanding especially in winter. I’ve delivered more than 117 foals, and in a month’s time we will welcome the arrival of another, and every time it is as thrilling as the first. I have loved every single minute of this life.

Every year we showcased our horses for audiences who came in their droves from all over the county; the excitement of watching our Arabians prance and dance at liberty, as only they know how, is extraordinary and captivating.

There were also touching moments. One, the sight of our mare Luzhana in authentic red and gold costume leading her foal at foot with seven other homebred mares around the arena, as over the speakers Lady In Red played. We invited riding groups and I remember vividly the little girl from the disabled riding school who fell in love with every horse and the indescribable smile on her face when she thanked us for the day and presented me with a bouquet of spring flowers.

Show days were fun if slightly stressful behind the scenes. Our housekeeper preparing culinary delights for our guests. All hands on deck as Simon and I, plus a great team led by our stud manager, ran ragged with last-minute painting, moving flowerpots and adding finishing touches to tables.

I was the presenter and Simon our DJ, sensitively choosing personalised songs for each of our horses as they entered the arena with a fabulous Welsh show trainer and another from France - these were such evocative, happy times.

In 2009, our famous stallion Artist turned 30 and I remember the pride Simon and I had carrying out his cake as we all sang Happy Birthday. That same year I made a tearful speech to our gathered friends about our stud farm, Georgian Arabians, the realisation of a dream and how one man’s love and support had made everything possible.

Susan hopes that a younger couple will buy the farm and embrace the dream she and Simon shared for so many years

In the corridor of the house, there’s a wall-to-wall gallery of film photographs and personal memories of my life with Simon. Friends say it must be painful to see these pictures every day, but they represent my life and a huge part shared with one incredible man. A favourite is a collage of Simon’s 50th birthday, and what a night that was!

He was filming the BBC TV series Casualty in Bristol and I had arranged a surprise party at the farm. Usually home by eight o’clock, our 40 guests arrived early, hid cars and were inside waiting for the big reveal. But that night Simon’s work ran over and he called to say he’d be an hour late. So now I had a party of guests who hadn’t even been offered refreshments. In hindsight, misguidedly, I gave the task of pouring champagne to one of our closest friends Jeremy Beadle, which he did admirably.

By the time Simon’s car pulled up, a fair amount had been consumed and guests were giggling as they crouched on the drawing room floor to hide from the windows. Just as Jeremy began some raucous joke, Simon entered the room and the surprise was pretty much lost for the noise. A shame, perhaps, but Simon was thrilled that everyone had travelled so far to be with us to celebrate.

Since then, I’ve had a wonderful array of offers to go back on screen but while some might be possible, others I can’t accept because of the distance from Exmoor to work places, especially London. I’d like to be closer to friends I’ve not shared time with in years, to enjoy more of a social life, to go for dinner, to meet up on a whim. I’ve missed going to the theatre and that’s something I really look forward to.

I’ve always been someone who enjoys the unexpected. At times it’s all a scary thought but there’s a real element of excitement for what might be, travel - new horizons.

My friends suggest areas they’d like me to live; there are myriad options to explore and I’ve begun the search for a new home in a different place, to plant memories and make new ones, both inside and out. I’ve looked at houses in the Cotswolds and one was perfect in so many ways but it made me realise that I don’t want anything quite as big. What I’d like to find is a smaller - everything-I-have-now.

Our stud farm, Georgian Arabians, is known throughout the world for housing some of the finest Arabian pure-bred horses and we’ve competed at the highest level.

But those days are over for me - just fantastic memories and my horse family, and those I brought into the world I simply treasure.

Depending on where I move to, some horses might be available for sale, but I would never sell any unless I feel the home they are going to is as good as the one I have given them.

A private wish may be that a younger couple would buy the farm and embrace the dream Simon and I shared for so many years.

The truly painful part will be leaving all our memories behind. But wherever I plan to set down my roots again - so will Simon.

For details of Higher Eastcott Farm email [email protected], www.georgianarabians.com