The Field Beyond

By Dean Parkin

Lindsay has lived in Beyton for 39 years and moved there from Lincolnshire. She got a job in the nearby middle school while her husband, Andy, still works as a landscape gardener. This is where they brought up their three boys and have always been involved in village life.

What does she think of when she thinks of Beyton? Lindsay replied, “Peace and comfort, trees and birds and bird song. We also have lots of pheasants and we’ve got one in our garden that perches on some high place and preens himself every day. We call him Henry because he has six wives.”

When asked to describe a favourite place in Beyton, Lindsay told me about her daily walk at the moment, with her two dogs, to Chevins Wood. “Beyton is at its best in the spring,” she explained, “and at the moment the village green is fabulous, all the cherry blossom is different shades of pink and white and the bluebells are out in Chevins Wood. It’s a special place.”


We go for a walk in the afternoon, half two-ish.

I wear comfortable clothes, turquoise t-shirt

leafy patterned trousers and trainers.


I’m with my two labradors. Bear is the yellow one

and Tula is black. They’re wagging their tails,

it’s spring. Bear is older now


so I haven’t been going as far. They get on

but he wasn’t keen when Tula first arrived.

As a puppy she was always bothering him.


Near our house there’s a row of lime trees

with their skeletons branches but you can see

the green coming through.


Everything about Beyton is geared for spring

and the new leaves coming out. On the village sign

there are geese and daffodils.


It’s hard to take a photo of Tula, black and glossy,

even her eyes disappear. She’s a silhouette.

Bear is a gentleman, he will always wait


for her to eat first or he’ll stand back for you

to go through a gate. He’s very concerned

if anybody’s not feeling well.


You’re not meant to go into Chevins Wood.

It’s private but you can walk along the edge

where I love the fragrance of the bluebells.


I stand there and sniff. Because no-one’s about

they’re saying the birds are singing in places

they’ve never sung before. In the field beyond


there are so many poplar trees

and when they’re in leaf and it’s windy

it’s like they’re clapping, sort of rejoicing.


Lindsay with Dean Parkin

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