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You know what they say about buses… well here’s another thinkingardens piece before you’ve got over the last…..

I wonder what will happen to our home and garden after we’re dead? I am not ill, nor is Charles, so this is not actually about dying, just yet. But…

We have no children, by choice, and no dependents, so there is no compulsion for the house to be sold for other people’s benefit. We will not be humiliating ourselves by applying to any charity or organisations to take the garden on, but we don’t have a plan and we have no idea what may become of it. We do intend, somehow, to stay here until we do die, for all that that will be a costly business in every way. It’s about love.

Charles expects the garden to be bulldozed and even seems to relish the idea. I kind of hope for someone here not unlike me, but my thoughts about who they might be go no further than that. Even if we knew who will be here, it would be impossible to predict what they would do.

I know people will dislike this discussion. I mention The Stone when I introduce the garden to visiting groups and I notice how a certain – hmm, yes, – deadness will hit the group. This is not a welcome topic. No-one has ever spoken to me about such notions touching them. The Stone quotes T.S.Elliot:

“Old stone to new building, old timber to new fires,

Old fires to ashes, and ashes to the earth.”

(Here is more of the original, if you wish to be reminded)

Room for our end dates, and room below for whoever follows.

And I don’t welcome it either – my nightmare is the end of this lucky, lovely, loving life (I do love a little alliteration, like the Anglo Saxons) when we don’t manage the unlikely feat of dying within a day of each other. But I do believe in facing things rather than running, so I do attempt to do that now and again: hence The Stone.

But other things go on spontaneously and unexpectedly. I find myself in the garden wondering what will outlive us and perhaps surprise someone new. It might be as little as a snowdrop, perhaps. Or an unexpected wood anemone:

Or a path suddenly revealed by an excavation of what has become a lawn? We have been touched by signs of our predecessors, so someone may respond to – what? – in some distant future. The shears which mysteriously vanished many years ago?

Our predecessors
and what they left… (more history here)

This kind of thing happens already, to ourselves. I recently turned up some old photographs from our very early days. There was the beginning of the nursery I built, to grow on the seedlings and cuttings which eventually populated the garden. I made a concrete base for the benches, and short of money and therefore of concrete for a long time, I littered the place with the bottles which somehow we were managing to afford. Here was a picture of them lying in wait for my concrete and now they are well buried, out of sight, and until I rediscovered the picture, out of mind.

Some 30 years ago – my photographs were somewhat wanting….

Strangely I do know something of the current fate of a house and garden we left in London. It opens for the National Gardens Scheme and I understand the house itself is quite untouched; my Jocasta Innes inspired paint effects still there. And the garden, I am told, retains some of the plants, including the ‘Gloire de Dijon‘ rose on the house wall which I had been so sad to say goodbye to. It seems very strange. Should we visit and find out how that feels?

These seem appropriate thoughts for a drizzling winter day with the garden lying in wait for spring. It surely, hopefully, looks as if we will see another spring, which is always a delightful thought. But meanwhile I indulge a little sadness. There is a little Latin left from my schooldays: “sunt lacrimae rerum et mentem mortalia tangunt” 

By the way, there are usually more comments on Facebook than ever get added here, particularly on the great group Dutch Dreams. Suggest you join if you’re interested, but I do love comments here best.

Anne Wareham. website

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