What is so fascinating about a well-made bench? Truth be known, I probably rarely noticed them for the first two thirds of my life as I rushed by. Lately, however, it is a very welcome sight when out walking the dog and breath becomes short. As you inhale the fresh air you can read a book, sit in the sunshine, soak up the rays or shelter under a tree for some welcome cooling shade. Simply watching other people is a grand pastime, maybe exchange a greeting, or make small talk about the weather whilst marveling at the surroundings - this makes a bench a valuable social asset.
I particularly welcome a bench that contains a brass plate commemorating a life. My favourite bench is in the centre of Bradgate Park, way up high on a slope surrounded by crag and bracken. Though my favourite months are spring and summer, the bench is at its most splendid in autumn, when rust, red and golden tones frame it. There is a magnificent view of Old John, and a dry-stone wall shelters the bench from behind. Beyond the wall, the reservoir ripples as it mirrors the surrounding woodland, a feast for the eyes and the senses.
Anyone passing is introduced to a gentleman and his two dogs who once wandered the acres of open countryside. I ought to remember his name and that of his two Labradors, but no matter, I absorb the atmosphere and visualise the lively rambles relished by this trio.
My local park bench commemorates Sylvia, an old school friend. In recent years she had moved to the same village. Sixty years had passed since our childhood encounters. We spent time together walking our dogs on the park. She announced her devastating news on such a walk, she was suffering from terminal cancer. On dry days I can sit with her memory for a while. When it is raining, I simply call out “Hello Sylv,” as I pass by the wet seat. Damp trousers are not a good look at this age.
As summer fades, the leaves are starting to litter the ground. They are pale and insipid shades of green and yellow and have yet to take on the brilliant pallet of Autumn.
It will soon be time to collect conkers. My sister believes that they keep spiders away from the house. A fresh crop is collected each year. The lower branches of the horse chestnut tree have already been stripped by children, the tree branches showing signs of missile attacks from wooden and steel bars aimed to dislodge the spikey nuts. I will await the larger ones high up in the tree that will be blown off on a gusting windy day when very few people are out.
Bird boxes are another nice way to be remembered. Sheet Hedges Wood in Groby has many of these boxes, each a tribute to someone’s life. In spring, one can find a host of bird species collecting nesting materials to raise a brood. What better way to be remembered, than playing host to a family of chicks?
Do not bother with a gravestone for me, just pick a nice spot for people to take in the living views for a while and possibly glance my name.
Carolyn Wheatley
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