For several years we had been working to improve our 200 year old cottage and as the work on the house was more or less finished we had turned our attention to the garden.  A wonderful plan had been drawn up, partly my own design with additional ideas from a professional designer, and from this we were gradually creating a large country cottage garden. Included in the plan were ornamental raised beds for vegetables with little gravel paths running in-between, a rose arbour, a little picket fence, curvy lawns, an ancient wrought iron gate entwined with sweet peas and a large natural looking pond, surrounded by reeds and native marginal plants, many of which were in flower.

It was June, and the abundance of summer growth was everywhere. Plants grown from tiny seeds sown indoors in March, and hardened off in May were now covered in exuberant blooms bursting from the many pots and baskets around the cottage. The once miniature vegetables which had hung on through the cold windy wetness of April were now standing solid and erect, their heads following the sun through her daily arc of bountiful light and warmth, their edible fruits already evident and swelling rapidly!

During the years of house restoration and garden planning I had been studying traditional and creative embroidery, exploring new directions in textiles and art. These explorations had borne fruit and my work was being sold in shops around the country. Part of the restorations involved an old barn next to the house, and this had become my studio where I worked and could display my colourful creations.  This June was to be the first time I was opening the studio to the public, in conjunction with other local artists, and although I was looking forward to welcoming people, I also felt quite nervous about the prospect!

Throughout the years of repairing and extending the cottage, and the planning of the garden we gradually became aware of a greater purpose behind our efforts. We discussed ways of sharing the peace and beauty which we sensed around us as we tended the plants or painted the window frames. People who came to visit us talked of the tranquillity here and the feeling of sanctuary. There was a harmony in all we did, so that things ‘turned up’ at the right time, and the ‘right’ craftsmen and women seemed to appear to help us, always in tune with our aims, and through the work, and tea-breaks, relationships of depth emerged.     

When June 2002 arrived the garden was more or less complete, although it was in its infancy, with young trees and some of the flower beds not yet cut from the bright newly seeded lawn areas, but it was a garden, and the tranquil pond lay at its heart. A pair of mallards arrived and spent each day swimming, bathing, preening or resting until leaving at dusk, to return every morning to resume their routines.

The Studio was to have an official ‘opening party’ to which we would invite local friends and neighbours, as well as some of the people who had worked on the house and garden in various ways. A close friend who was a well-known actress was to cut the ribbon and say a few words. The local press would be there to help to promote my art.

I was feeling very nervous about the party as I find it difficult to mingle with lots of people, whilst trying to ‘look after them’ with food and wine etc.  I am a background person, more than happy to be washing up, preparing food, or setting out the chairs! On this occasion I knew I would be the focus of the party and would have to chat to people and be a ‘live wire’ throughout the evening.   

I could not sleep the night before the big day. I lay in bed and heard the clocks strike twelve, then one, then two and then three.  At about 3.15am I looked across to the curtained window which looks out over the garden and noticed a bright golden frame of light around it, brighter than I sensed it should be, for that time. At that moment the words ‘Jocund day is standing tiptoe on the misty mountain tops’ came into my head. It is from Shakespeare – a favourite line of my father’s who had died the year before, only it was not quite right.  It should be ‘Jocund day stands tiptoe on the misty mountain tops’ and as I realised this I understood at once the message I was being given: it is happening now, this very moment, and I must be there to be a part of it. Jocund Day is waiting for me, now! No time to lose! Go, go now! It was an urgent call to get up, get out of bed, and go out into the garden, with haste. I just knew, with absolute certainty that I was being urged to do this. I threw on my dressing gown and made my way out of the house and into the garden.

It was silent and still, but not cold. There was enough light to see where to go and I wandered about slowly aware of a peculiar sense of heightened reality. I tiptoed along, wondering what I might see; the transformation was almost frightening; this was a different place to the garden with which I was so familiar.  

I made my way to the little wooden arbour, where I sat, remembering that this was a special day for my great niece, who would be one year old today.  I waited.  I knew I was about to be shown something. I was in the front row, an audience of one, summoned to attend I knew not what. I heard a small bird begin to twitter somewhere behind me, and then another, and another. A blackbird started up, loud and strong, a melody of warbles and fluty notes rising and falling, all the time being joined by more sweet sounds. I couldn’t see the birds and there were not many places they could be hiding, but the sound built up until it was very loud indeed, and then the garden became suffused with a golden light. I began to wonder why the light was so strange, was there dust in the air being lit up by the sun’s rays, or was the light bouncing off something golden? Nothing seemed to add up; I just couldn’t make sense of what I was seeing. It wasn’t just light either, it was golden, but more than that, it was a brightness that went through me, into me, into everything, every leaf, every flower, even the stones under my feet.  The light was warm, it was love, it was the most joyous light there could ever be, and it was everywhere, soaking into every crack and crevice of the garden. I could hardly bear to be in it, and I closed my eyes, although they were not in any way hurt by the brightness.  I sat there, transfixed, knowing that every second was precious and wondering what would happen next.  If fairies had started dancing in front of me I would not have been the least bit surprised.  The garden was another place, in another time, and I was there with it; I had been called there.

Then everything began to subside.  The birdsong became quieter, and the light faded. The golden ‘love feeling’ ebbed away, and I knew I could not prevent it slipping farther and farther from me. Within a few minutes the garden was as I had always known it. The sun was up now, and everything was light, but it was just sunlight, plain old ordinary sunlight!  The show was over. I knew I had to sleep to prepare for the big day; I was very tired. Back in my bed I lay down and immediately drifted off to sleep.  Saturday unfolded with the usual preliminaries for a party. The studio was officially opened and there was much celebration and happiness.

I am left with memories of my Golden Dawn which was not just a sunrise with a dawn chorus; it was a glimpse of heaven. Through restoring the old cottage and creating a garden we seem to be creating a haven where people find rest. The peaceful garden eases a troubled heart and provides sanctuary for flora and fauna. It all seems to be part of a greater plan, and as we travel along, this place, with God’s help, and our gifts will become whatever it is to become. I believe the Golden Dawn was God’s blessing on our labours.