A deeply personal reflection on childhood belief, memory, and the quiet rewilding of a lost garden space known as Pogle’s Wood.
When I was young, everything was black and white — except the Wellingtons were red.

Skipper was a fox terrier, and I belonged to him. If either of us got a biscuit, we ran to a secluded part of the garden and shared it. It was a quiet pact between species, unspoken but absolute.
I was small, and young, and I could read and write, though badly. But I could listen. And I did — every day — with ‘Listen With Mother’ on the wireless: “Now children, march around the room like little soldiers,” and we did, obedient to the voice from the box. Later came ‘Watch With Mother’—before 4pm, always on the old rental black and white television. And one programme in particular held me entirely: The Pogles. Later renamed Pogle’s Wood.
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