I pledged to spend at least ten minutes a day of February 2025 in Higher Cemetery, Heavitree. It’s a place of wonder for me and, having recently completed a year-long project, I wanted to immerse myself in freedom, experimentation and playfulness, unshackled by goals or outcomes.
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On my run, there and back.
Green Woodpecker.
Celandine.
Searching for the Witch Hazel – soon it’ll be in flower and then I’ll find it. It’s there somewhere but I can’t remember where.
Walking along next to the graves of sleeping children.
Winter-Rose, born sleeping just this last October.
Sun on my skin.
Gathering pieces to make a fascinator.
To begin with, it seemed that a new avenue opened up every day. I’d thought I might draw some of the trees; Nature Doodle; chart the arrival of Spring; make cord, ink, weavings … and I did. I did all of these things, fleedingly, as though greeting old friends, one after the other. The glory of permission to embrace my fickle attention span.
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With G, across to Polsoe Bridge, and back again afterwards. In by the Yews, out down the wall by the Ashes.
– Can you not talk to me cos I’m going to play with my imaginary friends?
…………………………..
– Is the Cemetery your special place?
– Yes, I think so. Where’s your special place?
– The Donkey Sanctuary.
…………………………..
– Are these graves new?
– Newish. They’re war graves.
– But the war graves are on the other side.
– Yes, that’s true. Now I wonder. We’ll have to find out.
Actually, what really opened up for me, was relationships. As a daily practice, I couldn’t often manage much time in the Cemetery alone. But with either of my children, I could pass hours. G and I told a story, wrote a song. A and I discovered a forgotten tale, a heartbreaking tragedy.
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A broken grave in the rubble mountain.
Archaeologists with sticks and Cyrpess brush.
“In memory of George Youldon who fell asleep in Jesus Oct … 1981”
Their tragedy unfolding beneath our fingertips
“Also of Mary Ann who died Oct … 1891. Children of Samuel and Mary Ann Youlden”
Slowly emerging shock; lump in my throat; time offering distance.
Archaeology revealing a story,
A mystery to be uncovered.
“Aged 4 years. Aged 2 years … months”
Why? WHY?
I wondered about the Lady in the Lodge; I talked to strangers, sought answers to questions from friends and neighbours who each know the Cemetery in a different way. Brought a Creative Nature Bimble here. I came at dawn, at dusk, in the dark – looked at the stars. And ultimately pulled Frankie into a deep and mesmerising search for the story of the Youlgen children, whose gravestone A and I uncovered in the early days.
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10 minutes in the dark,
drawing the trees
And the entire project was everything I thought it might be, and more, and yet it was only a beginning …
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Morning run.
Outbound – running:
– A Green Woodpecker
– Two men walking together, deep in conversation. I wish that wasn’t so unusual.
– Catherine Rees, Councillor. I always recognise her AFTER I’ve said hello.
Homebound – walking:
– Stopped to photograph all the Silver Birches in the bottom corner. Looping round and round and round. The whole Cemetery is too much. For now.
– We never mention Pigeons or Magpies, do we?
In Higher Cemetery is a personal project – an artist residency, if you like: an ongoing relationship to explore the wild, urban place around the corner from my home. You can’t put time frames on such a project but … I have given myself three years to begin with!
The Nature Doodles Project 