Preparing to Fly

Works Inspired by and Dedicated to John Clare 'The Nightingales Nest' and 'The Valley' Revisited Was it Radio 3 or 4, I don't recall... It was over 15 years ago, but other memories are fixed and still endure. I remember work by Ivor Gurney was listed to appear on the programme and I had initially tuned in with a hope of hearing one of his hauntingly beautiful song settings. However, it was to be Clare's 'The Nightingale's Nest' which I was hearing for the first time, that was to hold, connect and resonate with me. Clare's exquisite lyricism so convincingly evoking place, time and atmosphere, seamlessly interwoven with a vast knowledge of the natural world in all its minutiae: an actual reality so accurately conveyed that it echoed and chimed with my own experiences as a young northern lad growing up over forty years ago. The poem was the thread which links my own past to Clare's The reality of my own location was the 'The Valley' circa 1969-1971. This valley was formed as a deep natural bowl, no more than fifty metres in diameter, on land which bordered Alinson's Farm on the outskirts of my old home town in North Yorkshire. It was entered via a hardly visible overgrown footpath. Trees closed in forming a tunnel, as one entered it, opening out to reveal the central clearing, the arena of its interior. In the centre was a steep mound, clear as it was of all hawthorn and undergrowth, its grassy banks covered in wild flowers in the summer. A haven for butterflies: Peacocks, Blues, Admirals and Orange-Tip all abounded. 'Creeping on hands and knees through matted thorn' I would enter my den and observatory. Alas, no nightingale ventured so far north up country to join me in my Eden. No bother: I was happy and content. Dunnocks (always Hedge Sparrows to me) offered up entertainment a'plenty. From my vantage point I'd watch them in early Spring. Their endless, exhaustive, fluttery displays in the central clearing, disappearing into the undergrowth on the bowl's steep sides to consummate their union (or multiple unions as I was later to discover), Hedge Sparrows and Spugis (House Sparrows) are still to this very day my favourite birds, so subtle and unshowy in their quiet beauty. Fortified by a Mars bar or Curly Wurly I would remain in place for hours. I never met anyone else in 'The Valley'. Occasionally from my den I'd spy the odd individual skirting the top rim but never descending. It felt like my own kingdom. Hornet and Bee hum and the chatter of birdsong appeared amplified in the stilled air. All extraneous noise, from the outside world, silenced by 'The Valley's' steep sides. Retracing my steps as I made my way home, I would cross through an open area of scrubland and cut across the allotments, always remembering as I passed through to close the two sets of gates gently, so as not to disturb any bad tempered guard dogs. 'Hush! Let the wood-gate softly clap...' The Beak Over the years I considered numerous ideas in an attempt to produce a series of works exploring Clare's relationship with nature. …