Essays

Turning the Tide

| Gary Webb

On a slightly raised section of beach with high marram grass dunes behind me, I’m sat watching the sea briskly approaching high tide. Its advancing front line brings distinctive sounds of rushing and smashing as each wave folds over another, the odd leading wave pushing further up the beach and disappearing into the sand. A keen breeze fills my ears too, lifting the driest and lightest sand grains and streaming them into anything and everything – but all is peaceful.

I’m here because I need time to think and clear my head of worries I’ve carried for too long, and I’m hoping this will do the trick. Since peeling myself away from the family holiday and landing in this spot, I’ve written a little, tried listening to an audio book which dealt far too much noise, and sat quietly. Right now though I’m laid back on a tartan picnic blanket, its corners weighed down with chunky beach stones, and I find myself hovering just this side of sleep, not daring to drop-off completely.

With my head turned to the sun I welcome its breeze tempered warmth on my face and with eyes closed, I’m happy just now listening casually to the coastline sounds of people and nature. What if every day could be like this I think to myself, realising

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Hugging the house and garden

| Gary Webb

There aren’t many in the gardening world who’ve not heard of Munstead Wood, the former home of gardening icon Gertrude Jekyll VMH (1843 – 1932). As a place largely off the garden visiting trail, it’s more than a little charged with mystery and intrigue. It was something of a treat then to be given the opportunity recently to visit, and I couldn’t help but put pen to paper to record my experience.

After a warm welcome and much discussion, I stepped from some worn flagstone steps beside the house to explore the garden. Venturing across the soft moss-filled lawn I turned about, looking carefully to really understand the place, and began to see that it wasn’t indeed all about the garden.

Edwin Lutyens’ Munstead Wood
© Gary Webb 2023

Cut into the hillside terrace before me was a large and quietly confident local stone house, rooted as firmly as the trees all around. It was a long handsome building of simple lines and shapes which brought control to the predominantly leafy scene; it was the Lutyens architectural masterpiece I’d looked forward to seeing.

The house was longer than tall, an aspect emphasised by parallel runs of white edged leaded windows nestled in silvery oak frames. Up above though, a pair of tall chimney stacks contrasted, adding bold vertical strokes for balance. The structure for me

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A Swift Piece

| Gary Webb

The sky-scape is so dazzling I can only look up for a few moments each time, and only then through my darkest sunglasses. Across the brightness though some fast moving darker flecks catch my eyes, and in the moment I see them, I hear their cries too.

I’m sitting on a shaded bench behind my house you see, a comfy perch chosen to give me the best view of my garden and skies above. With some regal lilies flowering just a few steps away, the air is strongly perfumed and I wonder how far it drifts beyond the fences.

Those darker flecks of course, are swifts, a bunch of the speediest birds who despite their apparent toughness are positioned on the red list, meaning these birds

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Making time for me…

| Gary Webb

It’s been a little while since I put some time aside to write specifically for my blog but I have, just like those little buzzy things in the garden, been a very busy bee of late. Today though, for the summer solstice, I’d planned to spend a much calmer day, mostly by myself doing whatever felt right – even if that ended up being nothing at all.

Heading into 2023, I somehow knew it would be a challenging year as I continued to establish in a working role that for me, was very different to anything I’d done previously – in some respects it felt as though I’d started a second career. As the year would progress, I knew I’d need to find time that I could call my own where I could think, read, write or do whatever – you’ve probably worked out that it turned into a writing kind of day!

Defining my own style hasn’t been an easy process I have to say, and I’m sure many would quickly say I’ve some way yet to go. But if you’ll allow me a little self criticism, I’m first to admit that frustratingly, I often get bogged down in detail, and all too often

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Mowing Past

| Gary Webb

As the grass cutting season picks up pace, I’ve found myself contemplating my relationship with lawn-grass, and after spending so many days of my life being paid to cut it, I have to say I’m quite torn – maybe I’ve had my fill. In fact, if I had a delete button for the lawn in my back garden, despite the beautiful green look it presents, I might well choose to press it and do away with the lawn completely. For me then, might my home lawn mowing days be nearing their end?

Perfect Partners

Being around the middle of May, the grass growing season is racing away with itself, and so grass cutting of course is quite topical. Verges along roads and garden lawns have moved in just a few short weeks from being chilled-out to a state of relentless growth, and the

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Buds to Berries – A Handsome Hawthorn

| Gary Webb
Fresh new year shoots.

Out of cold grey metal-hardened bark, the softest greenest shoots miraculously appear each spring. Keen new growth for a new season appears from tangled stand alone trees, or from individuals intertwined within field hedgerow communities.

Wire thin, pliable and verdant stems along with tiny fan shaped leaves build and stretch themselves towards the light. As growing days pass,

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An Old Magnolia Flower

| Gary Webb

It was an arboretum day filled with the brightest sunshine that beamed down between dense, top-lit clouds. To my foreground amongst grassy blades clothing two falling lawns, dozens of grape hyacinths were enjoying their moment, each with clusters of flowers no bigger than my thumb nail and shaded top to bottom with the lightest powder blue almost to black.

The Japanese style resting house under whose roof I sat, looked out over those flowers and a larger expanse of mown lawn that continued to fall gently away, eventually connecting to a wide and spectacular

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The last difficult “goodbye”.

| Gary Webb

Describe the last difficult “goodbye” you said.

The last difficult goodbye was just like the one before, and the one before that: quick, cheery, almost effortless. Words spoken at my last goodbye rolled off my tongue because they had to, and that’s taken years of practice.

Going back a few years, I would most often whisper the words “bye for now,” which somehow seemed softer and less permanent, but I really knew that anything I said wouldn’t erase the twelve sleeps that would pass before we could be together again. So with a sinking chest and

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Respite.

| Gary Webb

It was the beach that drew us on a particular Thursday, whilst staying at Grandma’s house during school’s half term break. A trip out to keep two energetic boys occupied, to busy their minds, to stretch their legs, and to offer respite. Just a week before their Granda had passed away, an immense loss that they, all of us in fact, were still processing. Yet there they were, immersed in a week which on the surface looked like just another holiday week staying over at their grandparent’s house. Except that it wasn’t a normal week at all.

In the background adults were grieving, tearing up at the oddest of moments, and pausing mid conversation, falling deep into thought. We were being especially strong for the boys though,

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