Tuesday 17 July 2012

Where do ghosts live?


I must start with a couple of apologies, firstly, this blog is being posted about two weeks late so not quite topical, and secondly for the quality of the photographs, they were taken with my iphone - not my usual camera of choice.

Between the torrential downpours, flash floods and tornadoes, we've had some very nice evenings and some glorious atmospheric phenomena as a result; mists that move like spirits across the meadow, low and legless, leaving body-less heads of all they pass through, or a rainbow - a perfect arch that touched down in the field opposite sitting in front of the trees like a coloured heat haze.



Anyway we’ve been making the most of these breaks in the weather to take long evening constitutionals to some of our favourite haunts.

Swaby valley, always a special treat but after the inclement daytime weather it felt like a blessing on this particular sunny evening’s walk. The top field is wheat this year, still green and spiky from lack of sun no doubt, but beautiful all the same. This sea of green gives way to a section of set aside that has grown to an ethereal cushion of dandelion clocks that take silently to the air as we pass through them.



The valley itself is as intriguing as ever, sneaking up on you as you walk through the dark cluster of trees at its entrance. A few years ago they had cleared it of a lot of the vegetation to allow for cattle grazing, though a less suited place for this purpose is hard to imagine.  A babbling brook cleaves through the two halves, with the far side a steep terraced meadow, almost perfect for cattle not of a nervous disposition, but the side we walk through is more sheer with chalk faces interspersed with hardy hawthorn bushes.

Well there is an absence of farm animals this year, which has meant nature has crept back, grasses have grown tall with a perfect dusting of pink seed heads, red and white clover polka dot the floor with the occasional wild orchid thrown in for good measure, cow parsley seems to tower above everything and  the hedges are sprinkled with dog roses.

As always we rested at the bench that some kindly soul has placed at the bottom of a loose chalk face, a comfortable throwing distance from the stream with an abundance of ammunition to hand. I threw a few pieces over to the water but the lack of activity at this particular play spot has meant the brook has become over grown and lost some of its babble, so it took me a few throws before we heard the reassuring splash of a perfect hit.

Another night, another trek, this time by the Great Eau, I happened to turn from the river and my thoughts to look back over the meadow only to see Belleau aflame, our little village cinders against the fire in the sky, a sunset so intense it looked like an eruption. I could almost feel the heat from the red-hot clouds as they rolled like magma across the sky



We pulled ourselves away from this majestic event and squelched on through the meadow, creating noisy white ripples in the sheep as they ebbed and flowed around us. While taking a moment to have a seat on the wooden bridge a strange thing happened, from the nervous frothy flock a ewe approached me with her lamb, nuzzled my hand and put her head on my knee, a very touching and some how calming moment.



In comparison the river was a torrent, making it easy for the family of ducks that had taken residence at one of the prime swimming spots to escape our unwanted attention by shooting the rapids downstream. Other animals seem to be taking advantage of the conditions and circumstance that has meant a general lack of walking through the fields and inhabited the trails. The hare seem to be travelling in uneasy gangs, as I saw 5 of them on the night in question, I'd never realised what beautiful creatures they are, bunnies are cute but they are most definitely handsome.

After the brief encounter with the sheep and with no particular place to go we ended up at the Tavern, for a pint of cider which turned into two or was that three?

 It was about 10.30 when we made our way back, walking across the track between the monstrous rapeseed, so tall this year that it tunnels your vision towards the dark spinney that bars your way home. Tonight there was not an ounce of fear though, I even stopped in the wood throwing a stick or a stone into the water for nostalgia and no doubt habit sake. 

However, the sticks in the river were unfetched and the ripples from the stones unchecked and even though I could feel her with me every step of the way, we had actually just been me.

So often had we walked these walks, crossed the river and scaled the valley that the memories were so fresh, each look and touch was still there. I watched her down in the dark river, treading water like an otter before swimming towards the splash of the stones I threw like a snorting tug boat, I heard her splashing in the brook and snuffling up the sheep pooh in the field.

I even crouched down and waited for her to catch up, giving a reassuring stroke as she passed by me, my fingers almost feeling wet from the water from her coat.



Last week was the first time I'd been alone at the cottage, Holly was either always with us on our journeys to London, or if only one of us had to be there, she baby-sat the other at home. There was a strange sensation of the similarity of difference.

The interesting thing is that it was somehow comforting and made me remember other similar occurrences that I had taken comfort from. One such time was when I had been sat by mum in the hospital, holding her hand as her body went through the motions and fought for breath hour after hour, I had slipped off into half thought and half sleep where I saw mum and her friends as teenagers on bicycles, cycling down a country lane, the sun bursting through the branches of the trees, lighting their faces with laughter, I was brought from this happy thought by the family saying 'she's gone.'

Also recently, I went to Lincoln and was wandering around 'uphill' and had a similar thought, it was of my friend who died a couple of years ago. I saw us laughing and joking in the castle grounds, sitting on the grass and enjoying the sun. It was a time when tomorrows were tomorrow, not something you have to deal with today. Worry was tempered by the time that stretched a head of us and the future was to be found.

I don't mean this to be morbid in anyway, but I thought if ghosts do exist, surely its not in the distortion of death, but in those happiest of places and times and us and our memories are the psychic switch that turns them on.

16 comments:

  1. Do you want to hear something strange? Today is the day my Roxy died, July, 17, 2008. For a long time after she was gone, I thought I could hear here paws on the hardwood floors. Early in the morning, I thought I could hear her dog tags as she shook her head awake. At night I would reach my hand down over the arm of the chair as was my habit, to rub her neck. It's strange how they are still with us. Beloved family members or devoted family pets. I think when you love someone so much and are loved in return they are with us all the time. Beautiful post as usual.

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    1. Hey that is strange, I hope it brought back lots of happy memories of Roxy. I think you're right it's great to think they are with us all the time.

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  2. Anyone or any animal alive in your memory never really leaves you, and that a _good_ thing. Not weird, not spooky, not silly, just comforting. The bigger the hole that another life leaves behind, the better the proof that you valued it properly when it was with you.

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    1. Very well put sir and I agree whole heartedly

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  3. I don't think it is morbid at all. It is a comforting thought to think of those we have lost to be reliving their most joyous moments.

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  4. I think your right and morbid was probably the wrong word

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  5. A deeply poignant and sensitive post; every time I go out in my garden, the ghosts of all my animals walk with me all the way, past every rose bush and every fruit tree they are companions of my soul.....you lay your thoughts out like a living tapestry, and it makes my heart glad to read them....to be remembered and not be forgotten is the best "ghostly" experience I can think of in life. Thanks so much, Karen

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  6. Thank you for such lovely comments and your not so bad yourself in the word department.

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  7. I love how you write, it's just beautiful. I believe our memories keep us going sometimes when life becomes difficult, because let's face it, it can be. It's amazing how much our pets can bring to our homes, Holly will always be in your hearts and memories, especially when you are at her favorite spots.

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    1. Thank you, so much

      What has been great is that everyones experiences seem to be very similar, which is reaffirming and reassuring in equal measure

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  8. I'm so enjoying getting to know a part of the country I have little knowledge of through your posts. I'm a bit West coast centric so it's good to be reminded there are other glorious spots. Another poignant piece of writing that goes straight to the soul. That first photograph of the mist is superb.

    I still miss our wonderful dog who died about 15 years ago, but when I think of him I always smile - so many happy memories.

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    1. Thank you for the lovely comments and it how great you remember your dog with a smile.

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  9. Your evocative post reminded me it is not just the sight we sometimes get of a much loved but gone friend but also the sounds we associated with them like a joyful greeting and that comforting touch...

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    1. Absolutely know what you mean and how lovely it is

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  10. Such a beautiful reflection on the echos left by our loved ones when they have gone where we cannot yet go ... it IS the good moments that return more often than not, yes? Your post makes me look at my loved ones more closely and tenderly. My mother once quoted a famous writer by saying, 'The ultimate compliment you can quietly pay another is to miss them before they go.' This quote came back to me as I read of your walks with your Holly girl. Hugs.

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    1. Hi Susan

      Thank you for your comments and sharing such a lovely quote

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