Deep in the heart of suburbia, in a small area of Warrington in north-west England, a secret garden of wonder lies out of sight.
Down an avenue that looks like any other lives Betty Smith, who has lived quietly there for just over fifty years. Originally from Liverpool, Betty was married to Gordon who passed away just six years ago.
During his life Gordon accumulated an eclectic mix of items ranging from clothes mangles to ornate seats, wooden carvings to metal birds, babies prams to chimney pots. And plenty more.
But this is no dumping ground, no scrap metal pigsty. Along it’s winding path through bushes and trees and plants the narrow garden weaves this way and that, and around every corner and alongside each pathway is an array of items that have an odd feeling of place despite the apparently random nature of where each item resides.
I met Betty through my involvement with the Lowton & Golborne Camera Club based about ten minutes drive from her home. The club meets on the first Friday of each month at Golborne Library, and Betty is a long-time member. Consisting on a good day of about ten members, we have a very low pressure, gently supportive competition and at each meeting we decide on the photograph that best meets the theme chosen by the previous month’s winner.
Golborne Library is small and well-run with a little garden out back where about a year ago I saw then Mayor of Manchester and soon to be Prime Minister Andy Burnham stood alone texting after a local meeting about a proposed railway station for the town. A little local press, no fuss.
Now Andy Burnham is shaping the future of the country, one way or another, and appearing on the world stage, but on this day he was just a bloke in a suit texting. Such is the understated way of Golborne.
However I digress, a little.
Betty invited us all to her garden to take some photos and I wrongly presumed she just had a bit of a wild garden with some interesting flowers. It took all of one minute for that perception to change. Most of my other club members felt as astonished as I was by what we saw. Among the items for example is a clock in a metal frame with metal birds surrounding it. In the face of the clock reads Grand Central Terminal, New York.
When I asked Betty how it got to her garden she shrugged. “No idea,” she laughed. “My husband just turned up with it. He did that a lot.”
Betty however takes it all in her stride, though it may be a little slower than it used to be. The garden has slowly evolved over the decades and to her is simply home. It wasn’t so much of what images to include here, as which to leave out.
Possibly the most moving exhibit however is the one below carved especially to represent Betty and Gordon and their two children.
Most others however have little or no direct family connection, just a head scratching but engaging mix that sort of draw you in.
Also included are a couple of trees of somewhat unknown origin, such as this one with a red hue to its bark.
It took the best part of an hour to fully traverse the wonder of this secret garden hiding in plain sight. But it would take a lot longer than that to forget. Suddenly all the other, neatly trimmed, perfectly aligned pretty gardens everywhere and anywhere seem dull and unoriginal.
Thanks Betty. And thank-you Gordon.
SONGS AND SCRIPTS AND DUNKING BISCUITS 
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