An English Country Garden ~ Gloucestershire 1

Gloucestershire

An English Country Garden

Chapter One 2004

A Quiet Corner of Southern England from a Northerner’s Perspective

A delightful way to greet morning’s arrival

I NORMALLY SIT on the lower lawn just to the left of the pond.

If you can imagine sitting on top of the Cotswolds and looking across a deep valley far, far to the other side where great trees still stand along a leafy country lane, you can get an idea. For that is what I actually have the joy to look at. It sweeps down steeply several hundred feet to the rooftops and farm buildings below which, at this time, are all but concealed by the horse chestnuts and beeches and ferns.

This is no ordinary garden. It is a true cottage garden – an English Country Garden – the type we all dream of owning or even just having the chance to visit and sit in – maybe at some National Trust property or English Heritage. 

The best time is when the sun bathes the lower lawn; the breeze moves across the pond causing the lily leaves to slide into each other, or one of them to lift gently and reveal a wonderful world underneath where all manner of life harbours, safe and protected. 

In front of you of course is a table with a pot of tea, and provided the wind is not too strong, a large green sunbrella beautifully designed and more like the roof to a marquee. 

You are surrounded by a most incredible display of colour and design. To your left and running the full length of the garden is a beautiful Cotswold stone wall built afresh by the family – on the garden side some three feet high, but on the other side more like six feet high! From its foundation line runs a steep field where horses graze. A long time ago I can remember sheep grazing there. 

But my interest is in the garden. Remember Wordsworth’s line?

And behold, a host of golden daffodils beside the lake,
beneath the trees fluttering and dancing in the breeze... 

And oft when on my couch I lay,
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude,
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.

Well, this garden is the same. To my left are foxgloves, in front of me are clematis, to my right are roses, and before me are hydrangeas. Surrounding them all are a host of herbaceous flowers and borders, and gorgeous bushes and foliage with little kerbstones poking out here and there as if by accident but in reality, designed to perfection – deliberate. 

If you look carefully you will not only see the occasional little armadillos scurrying hither and thither about their business, but a frog or toad watching and enjoying the sun and blending in with the rocks so well that you really do have to look carefully, and without moving too. 

And the butterflies! I have no idea how many species of butterfly there are in the world, but just the few I see here during the summer months are quite enough to make me realise that there is Someone greater than me.

To your right is one of many birdbaths – this particular one, close to the pond has its own history because it comes from a house in Leckhampton where it used to be the central attraction in a tiny, ever-so-tiny, garden but which was equally a cottage garden of sorts, although very accidental if I can put it like that!

If you look carefully you can see where pebbles used to decorate its base, a record of visits over the years to sea shores both here on our own island and from the Middle Eastern shores; a hint of those azure blue skies that are peculiar to the Mediterranean. It doesn’t hold its water so well for some reason these days – but it is still beautiful. 

And round its base is a wonderful collection of cacti - they really are amazing. And if you look back upon yourself toward the conservatory, you will see the ‘intensive care unit’ – where flowers and shrubs are being nurtured back to life after suffering the ravages of some suburban philistine! “Oh, did I have to water it too? I thought they did that at the shop!”

And as you move to look at them you just have to step up one step to the upper lawn.

… And as you move to look at them you just have to step up one step to the upper lawn …

Now this is the posh part for it sits proudly in front of the cottage itself and is often to be found the home of two lovely canvas chairs, themselves now well over ninety years old and lovingly restored – family heirlooms from the very early 20th Century–and which carry the memories of at least five generations in their seats. Here, you get a grand view of the lower lawn, the pond and the trellis that separates you from the vegetable garden which we’ll visit in a while.

In the meanwhile, there is the wonderful sound of the great and high trees that surround the lane and the cottage and form a perfect backdrop to where we now stand – all colours, a great vista of beauty – the whole of which is like a visual symphony.

And to sit there listening to the birds singing, and the blackbird, above all, who sits high on the gable of the cottage leading and conducting the chorus, is just something out of this world.

I’m told he takes his perch there every afternoon and sings. It is quite wonderful because you don’t hear any traffic. Nothing. Just the unspoilt sounds of the countryside.

To sit quietly, all your favourite music comes to mind. All your favourite thoughts.

The beauty of it all belies the endless toil and hours of backbreaking work – day in, week out, month in and year out. And this is not the townsman’s idea of work either – just an hour here and an afternoon there. No. This is constant work, eight hours and more a day and in all weathers. Muddy boots, wet necklines, floppy hats and for them, just the occasional opportunity to sit down together to have a drink and just take in all their endeavours and to truly understand that oft-quoted phrase, ‘the fruit of their labours’.

I often wonder what they think as they recall their arrival here on a journey that started over 32 years ago – and longer still if you count the fact that they first met in the 6th form of the old Technical High School where she was Head Girl and he an ‘outsider’ from Charlton Kings but who became a Prefect nevertheless. Let no one say that there is no such thing as true romance. I’ve seen it for sure even if I haven’t actually experienced it.

The Ivy across the wall is a deep green and beautifully harmonises with the grey stone.

… a fascinating walk along the path to the front gate

Now getting up from the canvas chair you can swing round and take a fascinating walk along the path to the front gate. What you see on your left is sheer heaven.

What you see on your left is sheer heaven. A glorious array of colours. Different shrubs; sonar lights that must make the garden look fantastic at night, and on the first step two real, yes real, leather boots that are filled now with soil and plants growing out of them. Boots that I have seen worn. Boots that have walked a million miles here at Rectory Cottage, and over in Siddington and down at another lovely garden in Charlton Kings too – a garden that has boat houses and little covens and hideaways that are the dream of generations of children, grandchildren and now great-grandchildren too.

Now if you backtrack and walk back into the garden, cross the upper lawn and make your way to the pond, you are invited, nay pulled, by a natural inquisitiveness, to go through the gateway into what I call the working garden.

Immediately to your right is the greenhouse where figs and grapes grow. To the left are rows of vegetables, all covered from the elements with some sort of Hessian cloth, regimented, perfect. A barrel of water. A watering can – one of many dotted around the land. To the right is a partially hidden path to an old shed that is bedecked by three large tin bowls – the double-handled type – and which is an artist’s dream. You can almost feel the brush strokes across the canvas in the mind’s eye.

Wandering deeper into this part of the garden, you come to a tiny orchard under which are some beehives although I don’t think they are in use anymore. But I do hear bees. In fact, I hear so many insects that I get lost in time. To be truthful, time goes out of the window when I’m in this garden.

As you return to the lawns, there lies Brandy, over here lies Jessie and over here lies Blister. Mother, daughter and grandson if my memory serves me right, three beautiful golden retrievers. Oh, what a day that was when I lost my balance, slipped over the hay bale that protected the litter and the next minute eight little bundles of fun, discovering the world, bounding across the soil to the cottage, all paws, bums, ears and tails.

Returning to the lower lawn, over by the wall there is actually built into it (on the path that leads to the kitchen door and the little church bell that rings upon the chain pull) a small slate slab to form a seat. Now that is a marvellous place to perch because then you can look right across the valley and also immediately in front of you straight across to the far side of this valley too. At dusk, you can just occasionally see a badger for there is a Set there. The golden retrievers like to rest there, often for long periods, watching the valley, and enjoying the peace.

… over by the wall there is actually built into it (on the path that leads to the kitchen door and the little church bell that rings upon the chain pull) a small slate slab to form a seat …

In the conservatory, the binoculars are always to hand, for you never know what you are going to see whether it be summer, autumn, winter or spring. Each season brings its own Act and Scene in this garden!

Living up north is where my home is and where I want it to be. But it does not alter my feelings for this particular English country garden. It is a haven of peace and tranquillity, a place to meet one’s Maker, or just to be alone. It is a place of frivolity, laughter and fun on the one hand, and on the other hand deep discussion, politics, and village life.

This short note just does not do it justice. There are so many things of interest and wonder there – including the stone cast of the old Volkswagen Beetle on the wall.

I remember eighteen months ago driving up there with a mug of coffee just to sit on the lower lawn even though I knew I’d be alone. It is where I feel closer than anywhere else to the family and when you live far away from all of them, I now truly appreciate this.

Best of all is sitting there with a good straw boater on or a Roosevelt hat on a fine summer’s day, the peak cheekily turned up in front in the way that that great man used to do when he led civilization back from the very edge of hell.

Even better, is just to sit and listen and rest. It is the most incredible working achievement to my sister and brother-in-law.

30 June 2004

Liverpool

Chapter Two

2013

An English Country Garden ~ A Decade Later

Since writing an English Country Garden

One or two or three have gone

It matters not

Most remain

And with it too

in this English country garden,

This epitome of family life

drawing in its members

from the world over

a new generation

Great grandchildren

Grandchildren

Daughters, sons,

nephews and nieces

Aunts and uncles

The laughter of

earlier generations

- some a lifetime ago -

caught in the air

a genetic wonder

Proof that life goes on

Proof that the future

will be in safe hands

The garden itself remains

little changed

a decade on

Life still peeps from under

the leaves in the pond

itself a favoured target

for a little boy tossing

pebbles in a pool

The table on the upper lawn

occasionally upturned

An impromptu goal

for bashing balls into

the back of the net

and sudden flutters …

Oh no! We’ve hit

Grandma’s Freesias!!

Don’t tell her.

She won’t notice.

Yes, Grandma will.

Only because you snitched on us!

On the lower lawn

around the garden table

beneath the green Sunbrella

and under the great and high trees

the backdrop, 

earnest discussions

of politics, changes,

The future

Their futures.

…ambitions…reflections…

…Or just sunbathing

13 August 2013
All Rights Reserved

Chapter Three 2019

October 3 2019

And so the door closed.

The key in the lock turned one last time.

Six stone steps.

The garden gate clicks quietly in place,

that gentle sound closed by hand or wind

always gentle, always homely.

A million memories standing at the gate

but now part of the cottage 

now in foreign hands

watching quietly, 

watching silently,

bidding a hushed farewell

their former owners.

Into the stones they will seep

Standing sentinel

Bur never advancing beyond the 

quietly closing garden gate

At the top of the six-stone steps.

The pedestrian gate is pulled quietly to its latch.

That gentle click.

The double gates, as always,

perfectly aligning as they close,

testament to their carpenter

their former owner,

the long rods bolting vertically and

with such precision.

One last look,

One last thought,

One sweep of the eye

across the great and high trees,

the upper and the lower lawns,

the pond,

the vegetable garden,

the old shed where once it stood,

safely stored for further use.

The Cotswold Stone.

the Gable - carved 2011

A myriad shimmerings

not seen except from the

corner of the eye.

There but not there,

apparent and yet absent,

the smiles, the laughter

the generations of discussions.

And so the door closed.

The key in the lock turned one last time.

Six stone steps.

The garden gate clicks quietly in place,

that gentle sound closed by hand or wind

always gentle, Adieu

3 October 2019

 End

18 April 2024
All Rights Reserved


LIVERPOOL

© 2023 Kenneth Thomas Webb

First written on 20 June 2004 on a quiet evening on the North West Coast of England within the sound of the sea and thinking on family times far down south over a lifetime and published in 2009 by Spiderwize

Later on, followed Cleeve Hill and which can be found here

A chance to relax, to take time out, to take stock, to keep everything in perspective … the author

On the lower lawn

around the garden table

beneath the green Sumbrella

and under the great and high trees

the backdrop, 

earnest discussions

of politics, changes,

The future

Their futures.

Author: The great and high trees are to the right, off-lens, and tower way above the gables of this Cottage and other cottages across the lane … KTW 2020

An English Country Garden, one of the last images February 2, 2016 high up in the Cotswolds

All Images Courtesy of the Author from his private collection and to whom all rights are reserved and which is not to be copied or used without the author's express (written) permission