Home » Poems » Sidney Beck » In the Bluebell Woods ( Part I )

In the Bluebell Woods ( Part I )

IN THE BLUEBELL WOODS AT SHOTLEY BRIDGE

Shotley Bridge woods must  no longer exist
Though I looked for them often as an adult.

Eventually  I stopped looking fior the woods.
However, I often recalled them in my mind’s eye,
And relived the events of one afternoon
When I must have been about four years old.
It was summer, and like all summers
Recollected from one’s early childhood
It seemed an intensely hot affair.

No indication that mum and I were going to escape
The constricted terraces and cobbled streets of Gateshead,
The vinegar factory and the tram lines
Which were burning to the touch
That hot summer’s day.

How far? How long? Who knows?
My child’s lack of time sense…..
To tell the truth I may even have dozed  off.

But we must have walked some short way –
All I can recall is suddenly
Being in the tranquil cool shade of the bluebell woods :
All the glaring heat 
And noisy constriction were gone. 

The air of the glade was deep and cool. It was given a life
Other than just moving molecules of gas
By some distant stream’s  faint swirling sound -
Like woodland fairies dancing on tissue paper,
The air seemed to speak to me
In the whispered language of the stream,
And its soothing tones
Caressed my hot four-year-old cheeks.

With shoes and socks thrown off,
My bare legs were soon damp from the knees down
With brushing through the moist grasses
Of the woods’ floor as I ran here and there
To whichever bunches of wildflowers caught my eye.

My eyes were drowned in the sea of green.
Above my head was  a sky completely filled
With translucent leaves of birch and beech,
And all around at shoulder height there seemed
To be waving ferns at the foot of every tree.
Undefoot, a spongy carpet of last year’s leaves
And this year’s grass crumped slightly
And sprang back into place
As I passed by, 
As if I’d never been there at all.

I can recall picking armfuls of wildflowers
And dumping them on mum’s lap.
So many kinds of flowers 
Came to my over-eager hands,
And their names in those days were unfamiliar to me.
There were spreading red campions
In places where a little sun shimmered
Down to the woodland floor.
There were ox-eye daisies swaying proud
And tall above the crowd
Of golden coltsfoot.

Post Comments

Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.