CAMBRIDGE
Mists lift from the river as the town shifts gear post-summer. Repairs are being made to imposing College gates, stonework cleaned, yew hedges cut with spirit-level precision and leaves swept from pathways into red, gold and bronze tapestries. Gone is the glare of summer and streets overflowing with tourists, to be replaced by Freshers standing round in groups on overcast days, decked in autumnal outfits.
A gentle palette is on display in the University Botanic Gardens, where the silver birches tower over exquisite autumn-flowering crocuses and pink cyclamen with richly marbled leaves. In the Rose Garden, pinks of salvia and species roses shimmer, offset by red hips and the fresh green leaves of digitalis.
Over in the Autumn Garden, they have retained swathes of velvety brown rudbeckias for height, presence and pollinators. It would be all too easy to tidy away the browned stems yet they bring beauty alongside the grasses, sedum and seedheads and will sparkle like jewels against the dark grey sky when covered in frost.
Even on a wet October afternoon when the cows on the common opposite the entrance are sheltering beneath a tree, it’s a place to enhance wellbeing, slow your pace and luxuriate in being outdoors, listening to the call of an owl and the shouts of children on school outings.
‘I have a big garden,’ says the boy staring up at the teacher walking alongside him in the crocodile formation. ‘Because I live in a College.’
It’s one of the idiosyncrasies of the town, having young families enjoying the freedom of the Colleges, the architecture and grounds, arboretums, sunken lawns, orchards, tropical planting and duck ponds, able to kick through the leaves fallen from heritage trees.
There is something magical and mystical about the University and College green spaces, with their history and connection to nature, providing havens for visitors, residents and students, throughout the generations and seasons.
HOME RENOVATION
The garage took a back seat in the summer. Promises of emptying it out in the holidays didn’t translate and very little was achieved. Until mid-September, when rain was forecast, and it was announced that we should buy some primer, and sand down the exterior.
So, balancing on a step ladder, resplendent in goggles and gardening gloves, brandishing a paint brush, I told myself that it would be rewarding once finished.
With a bit of work, it could become watertight, damp-proof, and hopefully not too cold. It had a solid stone floor, yellow walls and a wooden ceiling from which drying flowers and seedheads such as poppies, alliums and onions could be hung for future wreath-making.
In time I could picture a camionette Citroën, parked up outside, much in the style of Jamb’s red Mercedes ‘van rouge’. The garage, once a working space, was earmarked for whimsy. Apart from its 1930’s style, it was virtually a blank canvas, ready for benchtops, shelves, vases, jugs and botanical illustrations.
FLORAL MECHANICS - JUMBLE SALE ‘FROGS’
‘Don’t take a purse,’ he says.
Undeterred, I head off to the jumble sale, with high anticipation of unearthing treasure. Despite the fact that nothing’s 50p anymore, I’ll join the queue, surge towards the trestle tables, targeting the bric-à-brac in the corner, and barter for anything that attracts my eye or piques my interest.
Bundles of knives and forks with bone handles are tied with ribbon and buried beneath jewellery boxes, Yardley lily of the valley soap and stacks of straw hats bound with colourful scarves. It requires nimble movements to scan and sort through the items.
A small child has settled down on the floor to play with the toys under the tables, while a tall teenager leans over to inquire after prices and a woman snaffles a basket of necklaces and brooches to take to one side where she can sift through without being jostled.
Unwrapping a fold of tissue paper, reveals two vintage ‘frog’ floral pin holders, perfect for steadying seasonal stems in a vase. I put out my hand to claim them, offer an amount that is accepted and squirrel them under my arm.
Hurrying back home, pleased with my spoils, I pass two ladies standing beneath a horse chestnut tree, one leaning into her walking frame to look down at glistening conkers and the other using her stick to pick over the cases. I smile and ask if they’ve found some good ones.
‘Spiders don’t like them,’ one lady said. ‘Put them in the corner and it keeps them away.’
‘I don’t mind spiders, so I’m ok,’ I say.
‘I’ve got better,’ says the lady.
And so I continue on to the house, curious about the floral frogs’ provenance. No doubt they will be deemed as surplus to requirement but they have offered some enchantment. The items, so carefully wrapped, deserved to be salvaged, even if they will now reside in the garage.
Thank you for visiting!