Tower and Town, March 2023 (view the full edition)March, according to Ronald BlytheA few weeks ago I was listening half awake to the Today programme and happened upon a man talking about someone who had just died at the age of 100. It wasn't the age that drew me out of my slumbers but the personality of the man being described, clearly in so many ways a truly remarkable person - and I wanted to know more. Ian Collins was speaking about his great friend Ronald Blythe, the author of'Akenfield, and well known to readers of The Church Times for his weekly column Word From Wormingford. These gems have recently been collected together in Next To Nature, and I can think of no better way of giving you a taste of the month of March than introducing you to snippets of Ronnie's meditations inspired by that time of year. "The March sun, once the March winds have stopped blowing it about, is enchanting. I feel it on the back of my neck as I clear the nut-walk, a surprising caress." He describes the first touches of spring: "They begin with steaming dawn fields and exhaling woodlands, with teeming birdsong and blissful atmospheric curtain-raisers before the hot sun is kicked into full view, and they end in glory." And then as the month advances: "Birds de-moss the lawns and daffodils totter about in the new grass...The air is strong and sweet... Ditch water pours away. Easter is coming." Birds feature frequently in his writing: "a wild goose is tacking against the wind, flying sideways in wide swerves"; "a woodpecker hammering away overhead"; "a pair of jays, dressed to the nines, swing warily from the holly bush." By his own admission he is a chronic cloud-watcher: "This morning the white cat and I cloud-watched together as the sun came up." He is up early to write a new Introduction to something by George Herbert: "A crisp white world. Field edges have been trimmed-off by frost. The oaks are creaking." He talks about the healing effect of nature: "I took some big doses an hour ago as I wrenched up nettle stalks and bird-cherry suckers from the edges of the top lawn and listened to linnets." It is Lent, and he reflects on Jesus' forty days in the desert: "My Stour-side land is not conducive to harsh religious behaviour at this moment being flooded with flowers and softened by low skies. I read of Christ's illness from that extreme self-testing in the Palestinian wastes with wonderment, as should we all." David Du Croz |