I was a very lucky child, with the sort of childhood that many can only (my own children included) can only dream about. I had so many mini adventures with my grandad that just make me smile when ever I think about them. One of them included being told about The Secret Garden – not the book (although I read that too), but a real life secret garden. Belonging to my grandad’s cousin and my grandad used to take me there to play when I was younger.
We’d have to tramp along the lane and then a busy road and then there, hidden in a hedge, was a door, with a proper door knob. A hearty push opened into this garden hidden away from the main road. Once inside it was an oasis of grass and wild flowers and blackberry bushes bordered by a pond and a small stream, with a tree over looking the pond that I used to sit upon, with feet well clear of the water in fear of the ‘child eating pike’ that lurked beneath the surface, I think that was a bit of a tall tale to prevent me from being too curious about the water. Sadly when I was 8 my grandparents sold the family home and moved out of the village and although my adventures with my grandad continued, we never returned to the Secret Garden. My grandfather passed away 13 years ago.
A chat with my mum revealed that though she’d spent all her childhood in the same village, she’d never, ever been into the garden. The garden at that point has beenrented by a local man in return for a peppercorn rent and was out of bounds to my mum and her brothers. So, with yesterday dawning warm and bright we decided a picnic in the secret garden was long overdue.
Parking by the pond, I wondered what state the garden would be in. Would I be able to even find a way in? A traipse along a now very very busy main road and there we stood looking at what could only be described as an overgrown hedge.
I shut my eyes and tried to recall those memories, where was the gate. I thought I remembered and although it appeared I was walking into a ditch, I found the earth bridge and the door to the garden on my first attempt. The door was now holding up the bough’s of the tree next to it, and no longer possible to open, but having found the door there was no other way I was getting into my garden. As I pushed through the overgrowth, I had a real sense of calm and peace. I was finally soon to be back in my secret garden, and sharing it for the first time with my mum, sisters, husband and children.
It was very overgrown.
Knee deep in fallen logs and bramble bushes in parts
Looking out of the garden
But we managed to find enough of a clearing to tidy away some of the brambles and lay out our blankets for our picnic lunch.
Sitting on ‘my’ tree overlooking the pond
A bit more clearing required
Our adventures didn’t stop there either! We all had a wonderful day, we had a great family picnic, also the first picnic of the year. It was my sister’s birthday (with the butterfly dress on). We celebrated Mothering Sunday in style and got to eat Simnel Cake too. 
Plus we got to walk around the garden of our old home by the owner who’d purchased it off my grandparents back in 1982. To see the willow tree my mum had bought for her mother as a Mothering Sunday gift over 35 years ago, to see the fruit orchard, the side garden, the bread ovens. All very special things, and to be able to show my children where I spent my childhood was just incredible. I can’t think of a nicer way to spend any sunday, and not least Mothering Sunday.
It shimmies in the smallest of breezes
Casting delicate shadows
of course, I shall tell everyone that I intended it to have a more rustic look to it !!
