Frances Hodgson Burnett

Winter Comes to the Secret Garden. December 4th

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The only sound to be heard in the soft, still air of a late November morning was the regular swish, swish, swish of Ben Weatherstaff’s broom as he brushed the last of the leaves into a pile. They had gathered in the doorway to the Secret Garden, and he liked to keep it clear for the children so that they could visit their garden whenever they wished. Even though the door was still kept locked with a great iron key Mary and Colin knew where to find it whenever they needed to. 

‘That’s the last of ‘em,’ he said, straightening up and holding his back. ‘And I’m glad on’t. My poor owd back’s not what it once was.’

‘We’ll help you,’ said Mary, taking a shovelful of the wet, brown leaves and placing it in the wheelbarrow for the old man. Colin moved the wheelbarrow closer to the pile and picked up the brush.

‘Here’s an old friend!’ Ben said, lowering himself carefully onto a stone bench and pointing to the ivy on the wall. Mary and Colin looked up from their work, to see the little robin watching them with his beady eye. He chirped, as if to tell them that they were doing a good job – and if they happened to have any beetles or worms to spare for his breakfast he wouldn’t say no.

‘I don’t think we’ll be able to come and help you tomorrow,’ said Colin to Ben as they started picking up the leaves again. ‘We’ve got a new governess arriving on the express train from London.’

‘Another one?’ the old man said, scratching his head. ‘Eh, they come and go like moles in a lawn, just as you get rid of one, up pops another ‘un. I hope she’s got more sense than that daft Frenchwoman had.’

‘Poor Mademoiselle Blanche – she didn’t really like Yorkshire, did she?’ Mary said with a giggle. ‘She hated the weather – and the wildlife.’

‘Well, from what I heard, you didn’t exactly help her, the pair of you.’ He pulled his cap firmly back down to keep his head warm.

‘I don’t know what you mean!’ Colin said, though Mary could tell from the glint in his eyes that he knew exactly what Old Ben meant.

‘Well, I heard from the gamekeeper, who had it from the cook, who was told by Mrs. Medlock herself, that you two ran rings around her. Collecting moths and setting them free in her bedroom. Spiders in the schoolroom. I even heard tell of a mouse let loose in the breakfast room one morning.’ He wagged his finger at them, but his eyes were merry.

‘That’s not exactly true. We didn’t let it loose, it was there all the time,’ said Mary. 

‘We just made sure she saw it, that’s all,’ Colin added with a conspiratorial glance at his cousin.

‘We didn’t learn much French from Mademoiselle Blanche, but I did learn one thing,’ Mary said. ‘I do know how to say Regarder! Une souris!’

‘And what’s that when it’s at home? Rigadoon Serris? Is that French?’ asked Ben, looking puzzled.

‘It means look! There’s a mouse,’ Colin translated. ‘We only had to mention it three, maybe four times, and Mademoiselle was straight back on the train to Paris. If we don’t like the new governess, then we’ll give her the same treatment. Maybe Robin’ll help us find some worms for her!’

The robin chirped in agreement and they all laughed.

‘Well, I hope she’s more to your taste than that Maddy-Mosel woman,’ said Ben, getting to his feet again, now the wheelbarrow was full. ‘I’ll take this round to the compost heap.’

‘I wonder what she will be like?’ said Mary, as she turned the old key in the lock of the Secret Garden.

‘Never mind that now. We’ll find out tomorrow!’ Colin replied. ‘Come on, I’ll race you to the fountain pool!’

And away they ran, the cold wind from the moors blowing all thoughts of governesses clean out of their heads.

By Liz Taylorson

Winter Comes to the Secret Garden. December 1st

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Mary Lennox opened the gate into the Secret Garden. No longer the scrawny, pale child who had arrived at Misslethwaite Manor from India, Mary bloomed with health and her eyes sparkled.

‘Come on, Colin. He’s already here!’ she called back to her cousin, Colin Craven, who was following behind her, walking slowly. He didn’t walk slowly because of his disability – that was long ago now – but because he was studying a bird’s nest that grew in the ivy on the wall. 

Inside the Secret Garden, Dickon was waiting for them. Dickon’s pet fox rested at his feet. They both looked up, saw Mary and Colin, and the fox settled back down to rest. He was used to them by now. Dickon got to his feet.

‘There you are! I was beginning to think tha’d both forgotten me.’

‘We would never forget you!’ Mary protested.

‘It’ll be a while afore I can come again,’ said Dickon. ‘It’s a long way in winter when t’ weather’s cold and I need to help our mam. There’s firewood to fetch and other jobs to be done at home. This storm was the first of the winter but it won’t be the last.’

They looked around the garden at the damage the storm had done. The last of the autumn leaves had been whirled down by the wind, and the branches were empty and bare, silhouetted against the heavy grey of the November sky. It was hard to remember what the garden had looked like in summer, only a few short months ago, when every corner of the garden had brimmed with blossom and roses and the heady scent of the flowers had brought the bees to gather nectar for their honey.

‘I don’t like it in winter,’ Colin said. ‘It’s dismal and grey.’

‘Even if I know that underneath it everything is wick, it’s hard to wait for spring,’ Mary agreed.

‘Eh, now, don’t you fret. Winter doesn’t last forever, and it has a special magic.’ Dickon looked at the sky as if to conjure magic from it, and the fox gazed upwards too.

‘It does?’ said Colin. ‘I can’t see any. I just see cold rain and mud.’

‘The snow and the ice has an enchantment of its own,’ Dickon said. ‘My mother says snow brings brightness when the world seems darkest. Everything’s bright and fair when it snows, and it’s like a second spring of white blossom on the branches. Even if it doesn’t snow, winter brings frost ferns on the windows. Eh, there’s so much magic in winter – if tha knows how to look for ’t.’

‘We didn’t have winter in India,’ said Mary. ‘It was hot, always. I don’t like the cold.’

‘Then tha’s in for a long, miserable time of it!’ Dickon said, but his eyes twinkled as he spoke. ‘Though I reckon tha’ll find summat to please thee at Christmas!’

‘Not me. Not since Mama died,’ said Colin, sounding petulant. He had grown so much kinder and gentler since the Secret Garden had worked its magic, but still, at times, he could be the old Master Colin, quarrelsome and keen to have his own way. ‘We haven’t celebrated Christmas properly since then. Father won’t have it.’

‘Well, it seems I can’t find owt to please the pair of you!’ Dickon said, whistling to Fox, who was snuffling through the leaves and fallen branches under the big apple tree. ‘I mun be going. I’ll try and be up here again afore Christmas. But I’ll make no promises.’

‘Goodbye, Dickon,’ said Mary, sadly, for she did not have so many friends that she could easily spare one of her best. 

She and Colin walked back along the broad gravel walk towards Misselthwaite Manor. 

‘I don’t think I shall like it,’ said Mary, kicking at the leaves which had fallen onto the path, ‘when winter comes to the Secret Garden.’

By Liz Taylorson

Winter Comes to the Secret Garden

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Starting on Sunday – watch this space!

Advent begins on Sunday, 1st December and so does my serialisation of my children’s novella, ‘Winter Comes to the Secret Garden’. It’s based on the classic story by Frances Hodgson Burnett and follows Mary, Colin, Martha and Dickon as they face the coldest part of the year in the Secret Garden. I’ll be posting a page a day from Sunday until Christmas Eve.

‘There’s so much magic in winter – if tha knows how to look for it.’

Join Mary and Colin as they try to find magic in the darkest days of the year.

You can read along by following this blog or checking back every day at about 7.00 in the evening when each new instalment will be released. I’ll also be posting a link on my author Facebook page every day.

See you in the garden!