Expect the unexpected

The last time I had a wander through Hatch Grange I was suffering from a numb mouth after a bit of dental work to repair a cracked tooth. It was August 2019, I was training for a marathon walk, blissfully unaware that a little cold would turn into a chest infection disaster and my marathon would end at the half way point. COVID19 was not even a thing, or that cold would have been much more of a worry. My mind was full of research on Spanish Flu for a book I was planning to write. Two years on it felt as if the whole world had changed. The word pandemic had certainly taken on a whole new meaning. Now, the book was written and in the throes of being published, Commando was the one visiting the dentist and I had an hour to kill. Hatch Grange was the obvious answer. At least there was one thing that wouldn’t have changed, or so I thought . . .

The totem pole chainsaw sculpture I discovered in 2019 was still there. It seemed like a good start. Time was at a premium so I headed straight for the wooded area. One of the things I really missed during the pandemic was the chance to walk amongst the trees. Most of the pretty places had been too crowded for my liking but that day the whole park looked empty. The edges of the trail were awash with bright orange splashes of montbretia. This is not a native English woodland plant by any stretch of the imagination. In fact, montbretia, or crocosmia, is native to the grasslands of southern and eastern Africa, but I imagine these had their origin in the gardens of John de Hache, who lived here in the fourteenth century, or maybe the Gater family who created the Hatch Grange estate in the 1800’s. The latter is the most likely as it was fashionable to import plants back then.

A little further on, amongst the holly and ivy, I spotted another splash of orange. This was a far more normal English woodland plant, the cuckoo pint. The orange red berries look enticing. Birds love them. They are extremely poisonous to other animals, including humans, though, so I took a photograph but didn’t touch them. Instead, I headed into the woods for my much missed fix of greenery.

There is something about walking amongst broad-leafed trees that makes my heart sing. The light diffused through a canopy of green, the sound of birds singing and the musty scent of damp earth beneath my feet all feel good for the soul. I love the spine like shapes of fallen trees with their reminder that everything returns to the earth eventually. It reassures me that, whatever man does, Mother Nature always wins in the end. Pandemics, wars and disasters are all just part of the circle of life and the trees keep growing through it all.

The gnarled roots with all their little nooks and crannies have a magic to them. They seem like the sort of place fairies, or elves might live and it’s easy to see how the stories about them grew up when people lived amongst the trees. Of course, as a grown woman living in the twenty first century, I don’t believe in such things . . . not really.

Then again, the strange little stool like object I spotted beside a particularly convincing fairy door did give me pause for thought. Perhaps we all need a little magic in these difficult times.

The original three hundred acres of the Hatch Grange estate has dwindled to a small park and a tiny patch of woodland now. Over the centuries the houses of West End have encroached on it. In fact, across the road on the land that was once Hatch Farm, new houses have been built since I last visited. On that icy morning in 2014, I knew it was coming. Briefly, I thought about going to have a look to see what, if anything, was left, but time wasn’t on my side. Besides, I wasn’t sure I could take the disappointment. Instead, I crossed the bridge over the little unnamed stream and continued my circuit of the wood that remains.

The stream was no more than a trickle and I was running out of wood to explore. A fallen hazelnut on the trail reminded me that autumn was coming and the huge spiny rootball of a fallen tree reminded me of time passing. I should probably think about getting back to the dentist soon.

So I headed through the gate with the sign warning of cows, into the meadow. I’m not too fond of cows, but much to my relief, I couldn’t see any. Even so, I crossed the meadow warily, in case any might be hiding, waiting to ambush me. You never can tell with cows.

As it was there wasn’t a single cow anywhere. The only other living creature I spotted was a bee enjoying the nectar of the knapweed near the pond. He was so engrossed in his task he didn’t notice me sneaking a couple of quick photographs.

The plan, if there was such a thing, had been to walk along the avenue of lime trees back to the road and then return to the dentist to meet Commando. These trees were planted by Wareford Fletcher to celebrate the diamond jubilee of Queen Victoria. They probably led to his house, but the house has long gone and only the trees remain. In the spring the air here is filled with the heady honey scent of the lime flowers and autumn brings a festival of colour as the leaves turn and fall. Now, in late August, the delicious honey smell had long since passed and the autumnal colour was yet to materialise.

So far, everything about my short walk had been exactly as expected. Then the barking of a dog made me turn my eyes between the trees towards the grassy hill. That was when I noticed something different. At the crown of the hill there is a stand of pine trees. Long ago, some kind person provided a bench for old ladies to sit on once they’d struggled up the hill. Now I could see a new and intriguing bench beneath the pines. It seemed worth the effort of the climb to get a better look at it.

It was worth the climb. Given my recent preoccupation with 1918 and the end of the Great War, it also seemed quite fitting. These beautiful commemorative benches had been springing up all over the city for some time. It was always a joy to stumble upon a new one and this particular design, with its beautiful Red Cross ambulance was especially poignant. As I’d just climbed the hill, it was also rather useful.

I sat for a while, taking in the views, watching the dog who’d alerted me to the bench frolicking amongst the lime trees, and catching my breath. Change can be both good and bad. A little while earlier I’d been thinking about the changes to Hatch Farm and feeling disappointed at the loss of green space. This new bench was certainly a change for the better though. If only all change could be so beautiful and useful.

I could happily have stayed on that hill all day enjoying the views, but time was running out. Commando would soon be finished at the dentist and there was no convenient bench there for him to sit on to wait for me. With one last look at the seat i’d just enjoyed, I slithered down the damp grass to the bottom of the hill and went to meet him.

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