Margaret Lane
Tatton Park, Knutsford
Deep within the countryside and rolling plains of Cheshire
Stands a stately Mansion, a classic, hidden treasure
It gazes down across the lawns and ancient woodland trees
And sounds of deer within the park are carried on the breeze.
The doorway is a portal to a bygone age of splendour,
Where light from sparkling chandeliers reflects in golden mirrors
Highly polished tables are adorned with finest china -
Each room transports the viewer to another, even finer.
The elegance continues through the woodland plants and flowers
Where peace and solitude can be enjoyed for many hours.
One path leads to a tranquil English lakeside, so serene,
Whilst further on you come across an Oriental scene.
In Summertime marquees are filled with flowers of every colour
And all around a gentle hum, the sights and sounds of Summer
At times you may encounter there an armoured knight or Viking,
Or see rare beasts down on the farm – if that is to your liking !
But in December, when the dark and wintry nights arrive,
The Hall takes on another guise, it glows and comes alive
Bright stalls adorn the Courtyard, all selling festive fayre
And trees, bedecked with Christmas baubles, shimmer everywhere.
Throughout the seasons Tatton is a boundless source of pleasure,
With such delights that will impart enjoyment beyond measure.
From peaceful gardens, woodlands walks, or visits to the Hall,
A day at Tatton will become a memorable one for all.
Knutsford
Slippery black slate and
Accrington Brick terraces
chasing the rain down
to the railway embankment
past the man who mends
punctures, the other man
who made me a catapult
for cats, to where the ICI wagons
flit sideways & squeal like a
thousand catapulted cats
and steam engines
squash our brown pennies,
interrupting Man United
against the night-time lamppost
my grandparents responsible
as Knutsford, awash in
Cheshire rain, call time
Tatton Hall Gardens
Tiny glossy seeds spill from my purse
and I am removed in time to
drizzle day in Tatton.
Lion guardians kept as pets in kennels
mutely roaring in rose garden unheard.
Always it was thus for louder roars were heard from
unkempt uncouth hermit spitting obscenities at
privileged few whilst minions organised their own hierarchy
as strictly followed above as below stairs.
Hand in hand we heard how
Head Gardener viewed
his essential domain
keeping variety and healthful food for table
waging war on pestilence and disease
through natural companion planting
picking invader from each leaf and bud
to thwart malevolent onslaught
in pre-chemical days.
Hoping for downpour in the Japanese Garden
for luck and good fortune we turned our faces
to the almost rain. I have it still,
the autumn-red maple leaf
picked to remind me of this afternoon and you.
It is fragile and brittle but lasted longer
than the declarations on that day
whilst we watched the turtle swim upstream.
I ponder what the future holds without you
crumbling leaf and turn my hand to let the
fragments fall.
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