We-Nature

by S.C.Cullen

This poem, in six stanzas, addresses the impact of the development of Wallington from Nature’s point of view - ‘We - Nature’ - as the historic characters impacted the environment to grow their little empire, and created what we now know as the Wallington Estate.

i We - the Stones

Were you mindful

- you grand men of Wallington

that when you split Us - rock

from crag to wall

you severed something deep

to serve your want?

Used to replacement by Neolithic kin

now We - the Stones -

were dragged and flogged

from ground

to shore defences

- to make a place

you call your own.

We - Nature - bore the cost

of homes

held high

by hacking

baking

crushing lime

to mortar folds

of local stone

quarried, chunked and heaved

sweat-drenched

from Our inclement moor

bogged down

in heathered pits

of bliss we sense you never knew!

We - Nature - that you ignore

have held the impact of your force

through time-piled stones

as sheltered order

aching with compressive force.

We - the Stones - arch Ourselves

hunching against your physics

corbeling [1] your protection

to fortify your ever larger folds

against others of your human kind

… and greed

We watch and wait

You wet-footed men of Wallington

Footnote:

1.A corbel is a projection sticking out from a wall to support a structure above it.

Note: Bastle Houses (after the French word bastille or defences ) and Peel (or Pele) Towers were defensive dwellings in the border region. The remains of the Wallington stronghold form the basement of the existing Hall. Photos of a derelict Tosson Peel Tower, and the basement pot Wallington Hall.

ii The Normans

You barons Bolbec had dreams far beyond

your Norman Blanchland Brothers fold.

Plans to brave the bitter winds

to hack and pile Us - the Stones - high up

to thicken your nibs’ defence.

And thus a fortress house still further north

rose in the wild borderland

– so Bastle strong –

your indentured servants built the early Wallington.

This foursquare sécurité

made to stand against Picts and Scots

those rascal beasts hellbent on spoils of any sort

that you called yours

and they call fair game

– your riches from your Papist pomp. [1]

You othered them.

– and whomever else –

to boost your self esteem.

Your vista of realité

so scribed to justify

the might of you, strongmen,

over-lords.

So then

grounded o’er the Wansbeck

We – Stones enfolded you

when under threat

gathering low

with cow and sheep

hunkering in a low vaulted crouch.

Hugging to your Norman selves

the and – and – and –

of supplies galore

the locals could not enjoy.

We – the Stones – opened in narrow cracks

through which you peeped

out-waiting

any fearsome folk

beyond our six feet walls

If We – the Rain – downed heavily

earth’s water table rose

to flood your lime-flagged floor

dampening soles

- and spirits

in your dungeoned hold.

But you were safe and sound

as We – the Stones – stood strong

against your ‘Othered’ foe.

When We – the Clouds – did deign to part

We – the Sun – lit your low ceilinged fold

through arrow slits

that shed light upon your bounty

of high stacked stone shelves

bursting with provisions We – Nature – gave

to outlast the ‘Others’ boredom, greed…

Or was their’s simple unmet need?

You could survive

but could you live?

What delight adorned your hours?

As We – Nature – beyond your fortress hold

bred beauteous bounty most oft-unseen.

We – the Sun – rose and fell without end

unconcerned by your Norman will

getting on

with life on earth

We – the Grass – flowed freely

on unhampered heather moors

aside the endless times of peaty bogs

sucking in the carbon waste

of our rotting parts.

We rampant ragwort

beneath We - gnarled pine trees -

looked out at beacon-white dwarf birch

clinging to thin soils of upland expanse.

All still so very free.

Yet in the creep of your unending want

you claimed possession of Our land

And began to yank us hard

Yet, still, always ready to leap back

within your defensive folds

en-castled in your fearfulness

you fought each and every other foe

in lieu, always,

of Our embrace.

We – Nature – family of the natural world

gave shelter, berries

shrooms and cotton grass

to tend your wounds

fill pillows

and wick your wax

to light your dungeoned times.

Yet on and on

you took and took

what We – Nature – sense you did not need.

Footnote:

1. The incoming Catholic Normans had wealth that border Reiver’s may have felt was fair game.

Photos: Defensive Bastle Houses and Peel (or Pele) Towers in Northumberland

iii The Fenwicks

And then came you

pugnacious clan.

The greatest thieves in northern lands.

You phoenix ‘John’ [1]

married wealth

and birthed your fortune

by aggression’s hand.

Sabring scruples so lucratively.

Awakening Our dozing wilds

with battle cries

you fearsome flocks of Fenwicks

fielded your endless want across the border-line.

With spears and bows bent

towards your foe.

You took no prisoners

but bagged the loot

expanding ever bulging chests

… and egos

gloat

throughout Our land.

Such lucrative onslaught of Scots folk

in forays from your Fenwick fold.

And then – John no.2

first Baronet of Wallington –

you rode your quiet bloat

to Hampton Court

to breed

both envy and your mighty mares

that pleased King Charles no end.

Chuffed with pride

you Jacobite

then turned back north

to carve and clear Our natural slopes

below your Fenwick stronghold

for galloping your thoroughbreds,

until hard times caused a heavy fall [2]

from grace.

Footnotes:

1.The Fenwick (or Fenwicke) family were Border Reiver , and played on the fact that the name Fenwick sounding like phoenix.

2.King Charles took a fall from one of Sir John Fenwick’s thoroughbreds. Having sold Wallington to the Blackett family, Sir John fell out of favour, and was eventually beheaded as a Jacobite traitor.

iv: The William Blacketts [1]

We – Nature – sighed

as wealth-heaved souls

made bids

to grasp Our place – Our home.

The man who won

– Sir William B –

moved up to grasp

the Norman lair

and spilled his purse throughout the land.

And with a sigh

Our Bastle stones were hauled away

as eyes rolled

at Wallington’s new growth

into a four square hunting box

to which you brought the hoards of folk

not tiptoeing

but arriving in a stomp,

trampling throughout Our wilderness

with guns aloft.

Untethered hounds

tore limb from limb

while We – unfettered growth –

negotiated amongst Our nature-selves

of how to be

and who to bow our branches

and our boughs towards.

We tussle – sure – within Our whole

a balance,

We sense you do not know

with your earnest rationale

– a disconnect from Our milieu.

And further still

estrangement came

as we watched on

as Wallington quaked with rollicking times

as the teenage orphaned Will [1]

brought to Our place debauchery

We – the Stones – at Shaftoe Crags

Witnessed as your ‘drunk maddened crowd’ [2]

with whom you drank and raved

and smashed

both glasses and Our rock alike.

Footnotes:

1.Sir William Blackett (1690-1723) inherited Wallington as a teenager.

2.William Robson of Cambo, cited in Wallington, Northumberland, National Trust; London 1994. p.11

v. Sir Walter’s World-building [1]

As We – Nature – held our breath

the brute force of unfettered will

came as whiplash to Wallington

with Sir Walter’s far-reaching hand.

Grabbing the britches of Blackett booty

( … and many wenches too, We saw! …  )

You stomped your grand vision

upon Us all.

Exercising pleasuring power

led you to broadly reach your grope

for wealth and power

as you galloped on from role to role -

mine owner to merchant mayor.

High Sheriff to MP.

We – Nature – at Wallington waited

to be yanked towards the Georgian vogue

for Capability’s grand parks

and Palladio’s palatial poise

that splayed its form

across Our fields

from clocktower to stable-ranges

and the heaving hump-back bridge

below the splendour of your reorientated hall

turned to face the dragon guard

– an era of omnipotence

Re-conceived as weedy wildness

We – Nature – must be withdrawn,

We heard, from the view of wealthy men.

So Sir Walter you lashed out at Our reality

re-mapping it with your clenched fist.

Our openness enclosed as fields

Our woodland resown as parkland pearls

of majestic Oak and Beech

around Our altered water courses

dammed into pleasure ponds.

In every way We – Nature – were transformed

to civilise Our wild side.

Footnote:

1.In 1688 Sir Walter Blackett (1657-1705) (son of the wealthy merchant Sir William Blackett -1620-1680) bought Wallington and pulled down the defensive Bastle house - leaving only the basement level.

vi: The Trevelyans

With the echo of your grip

Still on your remote-held whips

lashing lives across the wide Sargasso Sea

We – Nature – felt your new nibs’ fist relax a little

here in Wallington.

Amidst your occupation with your administrative service

your women folk sometimes found their voice

and space to take the lead

glazing over inclement exposure

at the core of Wallington

Roofing your courtliness

We – Flora – came to dance painterly upon your walls

as Ruskin’s moral perspective

smudged your views

with the Pre-Raphaelite brush

elevating common men onto your walls

with - at last - We - the Women Folk

When you, Sir Charles, took vast hikes

across Our heaths

beneath Our brooding skies,

step by step We - Nature - buoyed your mood

from plummeting deep into the blue. [1]

But over time you grew to know

We – Nature – offered ways to be

other than obsessed by wealth

that beat Us – at least – inadvertently.

What was trapped was freed

so you could delve

into the shadows of your wealth,

wherein We - Nature of Human Kind -

had lived, bruised, for millennia.

We wonder did your Nature walks

shift your demons – and your view?

Because We felt compassion grew

as you wandered through Our crowds of common folk.

We - Nature - sensed you hear Our needs

emerge from shadows of un-gentlemen

until We – Nature – watched you climb aloft

the clock tower that could not count the cost

of your vast pile weighing on Us all

as We waited to hear you call

for freedom, equality and brotherhood.

And then you declared you’d share it all

… as if, indeed, Wallington were yoursThe !

Footnote:

1.Sir Charles Trevelyan suffered from depression. this is explored in poem, The Blue Devils