Chapter One: From Small Seeds.
My earliest memory is playing outside on our street in the summer sunshine, I can’t have been very old as we left that house when I was four. Most of my childhood memories are outside. Playing in the garden, making dens in the ditches of our local park, walks on our local beach or along the seawall, and sailing with my dad.
The most prevalent memories from my early years are of staying with my Nan and Grandad. Grandad and Nanny were Naturalists; not to be confused with naturists as that’s something altogether different! They lived in a little village in Essex where Grandad was the warden for a 47acre woodland which their house backed on to.
My grandparent’s cottage was an enchanted home with beams, brick fireplaces and numerous ticking and chiming clocks inside, wooden windows and wooden clad walls on the outside. With magic around every corner, in every nook and cranny; the house, garden and woodland transported me to another world.
The house was filled with wonderous treasures and if I was really good, I would be given permission to open the glass doors beneath the stairs and play with the tiny ceramic houses that made up Nan’s collection. On the picture rails stood tiny brass figurines of squirrels and miniature elephants, which often would come to life and parade around the room; attacking those not welcome and having tea with those that were. The dining table was covered in thick woven blankets for tablecloths, there were tea towels on the chair backs (largely bought by me and my little brother as holiday gifts), and soft toys for company as you snuggled on the sofas. Nan would sometimes put two of the mismatched armchairs together in front of the open fire and I’d have my very own bed, ship, or castle. As we played, Grandad would be heard in the kitchen singing (also known as pomping “pomp pomp pomp”), playing the spoons and turning the crockery into an impromptu orchestra as he made a cup of coffee.
Between the sitting room and the kitchen was a stable door – perfect for peaking over and sneaking a look at the concert, also a handy bridge for the brass figurine cavalry.
Above the fireplace hung a horn, a long pipe, about a metre in length, with a wide opening on one end. One of the grownups would have to hold the end as it was too long for a little person to keep in the air. Lips pursed, a raspberry would be blown down the pipe; a few goes to get the mouth position right and PAAAAAARRRRRPP a strange, tuneless yet very loud noise would be thrown forth and would fill the room, leaving our ears ringing and me shouting “again again”. Side note; my dad still has the horn and now my nieces, HIS grandchildren, take great pleasure blowing their own raspberries just like their aunt and dad did when we were their age!
A small wooden door with an iron latch was the portal to upstairs, through the door, around the corner and up the stairs to bed. Turn left and it was Nan and Grandad’s room; admittance only by invitation. Turn right and walk into a palace; a double room with its very own grand brick fireplace and a library of old books, some my Dad and Uncle’s, others were retired library books still with the stamps and names of strangers, given to my grandparents from my Aunty who worked on the Library Van. The floor was wobbly with exposed, painted sloping floorboards that gently pushed you around the room. The bed was huge and soft, like something out of a Roald Dahl book, with a jumble of covers, sheets and blankets to clamber under before bedtime stories were read.
A small room sat off the bedroom and was home to an organ, which of course I thought I could play with great aplomb (the noise they had to put up with!!), and boxes of treasures covered in pictures of wildlife. These were in fact Essex Wildlife Trust products, sold by Nan and Grandad at events around the area to promote the Trust and the protection of our wildlife. Consciously the detail here passed me by, I vaguely remember seeing tables set out with all the wonderful items – pencils, keyrings, notebooks and mugs, all very desirable to a little girl with a love of animals and nature (particularly the pom poms with ribbon and felt feet!). Usually, my little brother had to sleep in the single bed amongst the boxes whilst I had the giant room and big bed!
Outside of the house the magic and eccentricity continued.
On leaving a homemade ‘carport’, that was actually filled with more seats and some plants rather than a car, we would venture under the conker tree planted by grandad when he was younger, and through the homemade wooden gate, up the bank and view the pond from the castle keep built by Grandad for my own Dad and Uncle to play within. As we made our way down the brick steps towards the garden we’d say hello to the plastic duck on the pond before running down the garden path, round and round in circles, ducking and diving through the undergrowth (to adults known as beautifully planted roses and perennials full of colour and fragrance!). Hidden within the maze of flowerbeds was another pond, this time small and full of tadpoles, it was just past the plant pot cubby where any item could have a second life as a pot for plants including shoes and teapots! Closer to the house was a small wishing well where we could pull up the bucket but no water or gold would be discovered. On one side of the garden was a pristine lawn surrounded by rose bushes, it was on this lawn that I was given my first bike (bought from the local petrol station) – it was shiny and gold and had magnificent stabilisers – I first rode it on that lawn, surrounded by my family’s happy encouraging faces.
The garden was long and thin, along the edge of the garden was a path that went right to the boundary at the end, this was called the “slip”, hanging over the start of this path was an enormous apple tree that in late summer would hang low with apples, further up the garden, away from the main lawn and beds, was a random car rusted by the hedge that one day was no longer there but stories of how it got there in the first place were never quite the same!
Bonfires were the biggest in the world when we got to the far end of the garden, grandad didn’t like to have them too often so they would build up and up, before it became a family affair to light them and bring light back into the garden. As we didn’t often have bonfires there was usually ample wood around to build tepees with grandad instead!
I was born in the late 1970’s so a child playing in the 80’s without the technology of today meant using my imagination and creating wonderous worlds that dreams are made of. It should be clear by now that creation of the alternate realities was assisted by my Nan and Grandad, and the eccentric world they already inhabited. I’m certain that the creative world I was encouraged to live in resulted in my career in marketing (that and the awesome tv adverts of the 80’s), but inevitably my subsequent life as a beekeeper was encouraged by their introduction to the natural world.
In fact, my first memory of tasting honey was in their kitchen. Grandad had a large pound jar which had an old fashioned “Essex Honey” sticker, it was filled with a white substance that when tasted was sweet and warm. I now know this to be soft set honey; a teaspoon of set honey is still one of my favourite treats!
I’m still not sure what being a warden of a woodland entailed for my Grandad but in my opinion, it was to make sure the paths were clear for walkers so they didn’t venture into the wildlife areas and pick the bluebells. To tie rope around areas that were home to rare moth caterpillars so the humans didn’t trample and squish. It was his responsibility to put Dormouse houses in the correct places around the wood and then to make homemade signs from old Kellogg’s Crunchy Nut Cornflake packs to ensure no nosing took place – even we weren’t allowed to look inside these sacred homes lest we disturb their slumber. He made sure the natural ponds were well maintained, collected chestnuts for us to roast on the fire in winter and protected a rare Wild Service Tree. He was responsible for the working parties who visited the wood and looked for those rare moths with white sheets laid on the ground. I vaguely remember him and Nan going to another wood and collecting some tadpoles to bring back to the wood too. He made many a bench from fallen trees and on occasion roped in the family to fell storm damaged trees with the yell of “timber”. And of course, it was imperative as a warden that he knew how to make tepees; passing down the construction technique to his grandchildren, and how to make quills from feathers that could actually be written with!
His job was an important one, he worked with nature to help it thrive, providing assistance for the vulnerable, whilst not intervening where he wasn’t needed, he provided balance between humans and the nature we seem to unconsciously and perhaps consciously destroy.
I’ve not returned to the wood for a long while, my nan died when I was 14 and my grandad died when I was in my early 30’s, he lived with my Dad for a few years when he’d developed dementia and couldn’t stay at the cottage alone, even though this terrible disease took so much of him, the eccentricity remained with plenty a song and gentle hum as he went about his day. He of course lost track of who I was pretty early on but I know he knew I was special to him, he just couldn’t always place me. Sometimes I think he thought I was my nan but it didn’t matter, as long as he was happy.
His ashes are scattered by the pond in the wood and a year after they were scattered, my mum gave me a photo she’d found of him standing right where he’d been left – quite the coincidence and a photo that I treasure. For the first few years after he’d died I visited the wood, but the magic seemed to have diminished. The woodland had been significantly coppiced and the pathways were no longer clear. The cornflakes packet signs had disappeared and the topiary animals that had adorned the cottage hedge and one just inside the wood entrance, had been removed or become overgrown, any sign of the decades he spent in those woods reclaimed by nature and the other humans that followed him.
With such characterful grandparents being such a big part of my childhood it would be understandable if they were the only ones that inspired and moulded me into the nature nut I am today, but like most people, I come from a family full of characters all providing their own special insights.
We lived a simple life - I’m still not sure if that is due to the time we lived in, or the creativity of my parents. We didn’t have a lot of material things when my brother and I were little, I think we were quite poor. I once found a book with handwritten lists of shopping mum had bought and the prices of everything down to the half penny. Mum has told me of how when I was small she bought a second hand toy pram and refurbished it as a birthday present for me and my doll, she made some of my clothes too, advised by my artist nan, also known as “Suffolk nanny”.
Days-out would consist of driving into London on a Sunday with a packed lunch and walking along the Embankment, or cycling to the beach in our village and building dams or rafts, spotting the occasional seal who’d ventured down the river. We’d dress up for village fetes, parade in uniform at family church services with my mum the Girl Guide Leader, me a Brownie and my little brother a Beaver. We were encouraged to play outside so would collect snails for the snail zoo, make perfume from mum’s roses or plant marigolds and admire their colour.
Holidays, when not Girl Guide camps, were usually us and our little caravan, often in the New Forest. Our favourite campsite was in Sway where the caravan would be parked amongst the trees- we’d step out of the door and were immediately in the forest searching out deer, attempting to track footprints and examine animal droppings for signs of unusual creatures. We’d walk a lot and enjoy the smell of the pine trees, me always searching out signs of movement behind the trees (something I still do). Some days we’d use our tepee building skills to construct a den which included a bed of leaves, other days we’d seek out trickling rivers which ran clear over polished stones and would paddle and splash each other! My highlight of these holidays though was when my Mum would get up early and create a nature treasure hunt…
Mum’s treasure hunts remain legendary. She even helped me create one in London for the 80 strong marketing team at one of the businesses I worked for, she’s created hunts in cars and hunts by foot, and has even created advent treasure hunts where each day of the advent calendar was a clue to find that day’s chocolate! But the best treasure hunt remains to this day the one from the New Forest. I can’t remember if there were clues but the main objective was to find the arrows and follow them along the forest floor, some were made from stones, some from twigs, my favourite – dung, pointing us the way!
Mum is also the person that sorted me out when I mistook an anthill for an ordinary mound of earth, dropped my dungarees and pee’d only to be ‘attacked’ by some angry wood ants who were not keen on their home (or hill!) being pee’d on! Mum is the person I go to when I want to know the name of a tree, this seems to be her magic power! I have inherited her love of walking for miles and miles; particularly in the woods, and wish I knew the names as she does! It’s her fault I now have dogs as well as cats as she’s had at least one as a companion since I reached my tween stage. She also inspired me to garden and isn’t afraid to get dirty whilst digging a bed or set to cleaning out the animals.
When we take time to look back, sometimes the person you’ve become can be for clear reason; my connection with and to nature has always been there, encouraged by those around me but it’s more than that, something deeply engrained. I feel more comfortable surrounded by animals and the outdoors than I have ever felt surrounded by people. Whenever I find myself getting that knot in my tummy (you know the one that builds and builds and gets heavier as it grows), I take myself outside and immediately the knot starts to untie, my breathing deepens, and face relaxes into something much more pleasant than the scowling red faced grump!
The natural world pulls on me and delivers emotions that are rarely seen elsewhere.
I gain great pleasure seeing the difference I have made for the natural world on my little patch. Whether that’s the hedgehogs multiplying in twig mountain (an area where old branches had been left by the field, it was about a metre high and full of life), the birds nesting in the bird boxes or feeding from the seeds hung around the garden, the butterflies and moths enjoying the nectar rich flowers alongside different bumblebees or the solitary bees nesting in the insect hotels hooked along the fence.
Sadly growing up can get in the way of the person you truly are, as I soon discovered, and finding your way back can be as exciting and interesting as the initial childhood experiences, if not a little confusing at times too as you discover your purpose in life.
