For the birds

My sky is never empty. At dawn there may be just a lone crow beating a steady path north, or at dusk, the curiously undulating, huge wings of a heron heading to roost in a willow above the ditch. Duck

I WOKE up after a vivid dream of Eleanor. I’d had quite a few recently. Eleanor was my half-sister. She was older than me – the daughter of Dad’s first wife, Dorrie. My mum only found out he had a fir

Julie stared out of the window at her garden, mostly bare branches with only a few spots of colour in the deep red of the dogwood and silver cineraria. She sighed – it was that unsettling period after

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WOULD you look at the man!” Maggie said. She wasn’t much to look at herself, being as black as sin from the coal dust. She’d just finished a shift at the colliery screens, picking lumps of coal out of

The founder of White House Farm Garden and Arboretum in Kent on his enduring love of woody plants and hopes for the future I grew up amid rolling farmland, surrounded by birds, flowers and trees, and