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Being Cicely: my new play takes a big leap forward

Having come to playwriting later in life, I’m on a steep learning curve. Still marvelling at how the process is very much a shared endeavour. Soaking up feedback, tricks of the trade, and learning about something called dramaturgy. It’s an enthralling journey.

My first pièce de theatre was Cicely and David, and took the form of an origin story about the modern idea of hospice care. Premiered at the Edinburgh Fringe Festival in 2022, it has subsequently travelled far and resonated widely with those working in the field of palliative care.

My new play is a sequel to the first and tells the story of how Cicely Saunders threw her efforts into creating a special kind of hospice that would care for people with advanced illness, along with their families, but would also provide professional education, underpinned by new forms of research. This second play, entitled Being Cicely, captures Cicely Saunders’ fortunes from the early 1960s when she commits to forming St Christopher’s Hospice, and continues through to her death there, in 2005. Along the way it explores her somewhat complex personal relationships, as well as her varied professional encounters.

The play currently looks like this:

It’s the early 1960s and Cicely Saunders is on a personal mission: to improve the care of dying people. She has been a nurse, a social worker, and is now qualified in medicine. Her ambition is to build on the older traditions of hospice care and develop something new: a modern approach that can revolutionise pain relief and foster dignity in the face of death. But as she sets out these plans, her own life experiences complicate the path of ‘the woman who changed the face of dying’. Being Cicely takes us on a complex journey of successes, dilemmas, faith, friendship, and ultimately, enduring love.

A good deal of work on the script development for Being Cicely took place through 2025. Then in January of 2026, a group of young actors gathered together with our Director to give the play its first reading and provide structured feedback to the writer. This proved incredibly helpful and in the following months, I made various changes, keeping in close touch with the Director, Producer and others interested in how the new playscript was progressing. By the summer we were confident that we could take the play to the Edinburgh Fringe in 2027.

On that basis we decided to have a second workshop, this time to read the revised script, but also to experiment with a number of scenes to see how they looked when acted out: a process known in theatre making as ‘putting the play on its feet’. We also invited to the event some supporters of our work from the world of hospice and palliative care, bringing them into the development process and getting their feedback on the gradually finalising script.

Thus it was that on 30 September this year, a dozen of us gathered in the upper room of an Edinburgh church, full of anticipation, and in my case, not a little anxiety. There is something uniquely exciting about hearing the words of one’s playscript being read by actors for the first time. It is something even more thrilling to watch as they take those words and turn them into a piece of drama, through their bodily movements, facial expressions, and the changes of pitch, expression and resonance in their voices.

By such means I gained a better sense of the narrative arc of the play, of where the dialogue came alive, and where it risked being stodgy or even indigestible. I could also spot the contrast between passages of true drama and interludes where exposition prevailed, or that even risked lecturing to the audience. There were moments of emerging chemistry between characters and the pleasures of humour and flowing conversation between good friends. There was also an argument between colleagues, which the actors lifted to a full blown, ding dong row.

Complex and enduring themes could be seen to emerge and re-emerge, sometimes shifting over the extended time period covered in the play. Attitudes to pain control at the end of life, arguments for and against euthanasia and assisted dying, philosophical, spiritual and religious influences in the care of dying people – all of these surfaced and resurfaced as the script unfolded, capturing changing norms and evolving professional practices.

Following all this, the workshop concluded on an excellent note.

After the morning reading, there had been much discussion about the content and sequencing of the final three scenes. Were they in the correct order? Were they all essential to the drama? What changes might be made to strengthen the final moments of the play? As these three scenes got on their feet in the afternoon, all became clear. Some insightful changes were made to the delivery of the penultimate scene, celebrating the life, legacy and remarkable character of Cicely Saunders.

The effect was so satisfying, moving and impactful that the ‘final’ scene which was to follow now seemed redundant. It should be said at this point that the hitherto ‘final’ scene, with an element of magic realism within it, is indeed very dear to my heart. Taking it out would be a wrench but seemed also to sharpen up the closing sequences and bring a warm and inspiring conclusion to the whole play. So it felt pointless to argue otherwise.

After the farewells, I went for tea and cake with the Director. We had an excellent mop up of the event, and the way was clear for further refinements as we nudge closer and closer to a robust script that can be taken into rehearsals next summer. It had been a fabulous day, with a great spirit among the participants and some telling and insightful commentaries on the script. For now, we can draw breath. My next task will be to make the agreed modifications.

Yet as I settled into my seat on the train and we rumbled along the track through the Scottish borders, my mind came back to what had been the final scene. If it was to go from the play, could it be saved and resurrected elsewhere? If so, in what form? As some kind of micro-drama in its own right or even as a short story? I’ll be cutting those pages from the playscript, but no doubt keeping them to hand, should an opportunity occur to give them new life, in a different format.

For now though, it is the revised structure of Being Cicely that occupies my attention, as the prospect of the Edinburgh Fringe in August 2027 draws closer each day.

Acknowledgements

My thanks to everyone who contributed to the workshop: the actors (Airlie Duff, Jack Elvey, Lara Meek, Rachael Moyle, Erin O’Callaghan, Ben Ramsay) as well as our guests (Craig Duncan, Hospice UK; Giorgos Tsiris, St Columba’s Hospice Care & Queen Margaret University; Yvonne McCahill, All Ireland Institute of Hospice and Palliative Care; Tyrrell Evans, St Christopher’s Hospice) along with the Director (Meghan Wallace), Producer (Jo Hockley), and Photographer (Emma Dove).

All photographs, Emma Dove; except six actors seated, David Clark

Thirty year anniversaries: Maggie’s and the National Youth Choir of Scotland

Sometimes, wonderful things come in twos.

So it was on consecutive days this August, when I was lucky enough to attend 30th anniversary events for two organisations that I respect hugely. One evening in the wood-lined modern elegance and superb acoustics of the Perth Concert Hall, I listened to a wonderful performance by the National Youth Choir of Scotland (NYCOS). The following morning I was in the stunning waterside setting of V&A Dundee, totally absorbed in an exhibition exploring the work of the Maggie’s Centres.

Both of these non-profit charitable organisations, founded and registered in Scotland, and now 30 years established, are dear to my heart. They are also linked together in my own personal experience. About a decade ago, my younger daughter, then age seven, joined the local NYCOS group in Dumfries and Galloway, and set in train a musical adventure that continues to this day. Around the same time I began to get involved with a group of people, eager to see a Maggie’s Centre established in our region. Through the intervening years I have witnessed and tried to support the remarkable work of these two organisations.

My reflections here are therefore a salute to the creative achievements of both Maggie’s and NYCOS, celebrating what they do, as they each mark 30 years of endeavour.

Maggie’s Centres offer support to people with cancer and those close to them. They work with the NHS and complement the care it provides with a range of services, no appointment needed, in beautifully designed buildings situated close to hospitals and associated cancer services. Here’s how Maggie’s describe the essence of their approach:

‘Our workshops, courses, one-to-one and group support help people change the way they live with cancer. Every Maggie’s Centre is a welcoming space where you can find support with money worries, tips on managing stress, and a friendly place to go when you need someone to listen. Our support is shown to improve physical and emotional wellbeing and to help people take control when cancer turns life upside down.’

When in the early 1990s, Maggie Keswick Jencks was given her cancer prognosis in a windowless room and then asked to move out into the busy hospital corridor to continue the conversation, she began to think about more gentle and supportive environments in which such discussions could take place. She brought together her skills and insights as a writer, gardener and designer and worked with Laura Lee, an experienced cancer nurse, and her husband Charles Jencks, an architectural theorist, on ideas for a new approach. One that would provide a beautiful location and a judicious mixture of calm, advice, shared experience and useful information for people affected by cancer, at any stage of the disease. Maggie Keswick Jencks died in 1995 and the first Maggie’s Centre was opened in Edinburgh the following year.

Since then, Centres have developed all across Scotland and the wider UK. There are currently 27 in operation, with 7 more in the pipeline. There are also Maggie’s Centres operating and planned in five countries outside the UK. Every one is a product of inspirational design. Globally recognised architects such as Frank Gehry, Norman Foster and Zaha Hadid have harnessed themselves to the Maggie’s vision, producing buildings that inspire, welcome and intrigue visitors, many of whom have newly received a diagnosis of cancer.

Many other services in different parts of the world also acknowledge the inspiration of the Maggie’s concept, such as Sachi House, a cancer support centre in Fuji City, Japan, that I visited in 2019 and which incorporates many elements of a Maggie’s Centre.

Despite this national and international recognition, working together with Maggie’s staff to gain agreement for a new centre in Dumfries required a surprising amount of patience, as we sought to persuade sometimes sceptical NHS managers and clinicians of the value and extra layer of support that could be added by Maggie’s to existing local cancer services. Fortunately, after a long and at times frustrating journey, in 2025 things suddenly changed. A new CEO of the health board, very soon after her appointment, announced that plans for a local Maggie’s Centre were to go ahead immediately, on the site of the Dumfries and Galloway Royal Infirmary, where a building plot would be provided. I’m pleased to say that the project planning process is now underway, an architectural/design team has been appointed, and a fundraising strategy for capital and revenue costs is beginning to unfold, working to Maggie’s tried and tested methods.

This summer was therefore an interesting time to visit the Dundee exhibition, with its quiet and reflective atmosphere, beautiful exhibits and storied content. I wandered through the display boards, rich in information, enjoyed the video recordings and reflections of people who come to Maggie’s Centres and marvelled at the architectural models and drawings on view. Five key themes were highlighted – welcome; beauty; home; nature; choice – representing the central features of a Maggie’s Centre in design, atmosphere and the affordances it creates as people with shared concerns interact in a place of beauty and inspiration.

It was also hugely gratifying to see Maggie’s Dumfries and Galloway on the list of forthcoming Centres!

NYCOS provides young people up to age 25 with opportunities for choral singing. It has 14 local branches around Scotland that meet each week and give summer and winter concerts. From here, there are pathways into four national choirs that go on tours, perform in prestigious venues and partner with a variety of festivals in the UK and beyond. Singing with NYCOS at all levels from age 7-25 creates friendships, builds confidence and immerses young people in the joys of music-making and the remarkable effects that result when voices join together in harmony. It is also about excellence and has led over the years to prestigious performances in settings like Carnegie Hall, the BBC Proms and the Edinburgh International Festival. NYCOS founder and musical director Christopher Bell, pithily describes in a Scotsman interview, what NYCOS is all about:

‘People hear the term youth choir, and immediately think of light voices, choreographed moves, happy clapping, a few cheesy folk songs …. NYCOS has moved on from that and onto the main stage.’

NYCOS organises residential training courses. It bases its educational principles on the teachings of Hungarian Composer and Educator Zoltán Kodály. It provides training for music practitioners, as well as specialist and non-specialist teachers at primary, secondary, further and higher education levels and publishes a series of resources for teachers and choir leaders. Underpinned by all this, singing with NYCOS means commitment and determination, learning new skills, working together and experiencing the joys of performances that can thrill audiences and create a huge sense of hope and wellbeing.

The NYCOS senior choir members were in magnificent form for their performance of Carmina Burana at the Perth Concert Hall on 23rd August. The vocal skills, the energy and the musicality were exhilarating. Several people sang solos and at one point the senior choir was joined by junior singers from local NYCOS branches. The whole production, along with splendid instrumental accompaniment on pianos and percussion, was held together in the skilled and inspired conducting of Christopher Bell. The audience was rapturous in its appreciation, and rose to its feet for an extended ovation that concluded an outstanding event. It was NYCOS at its vibrant and exhilarating best.

Maggie’s and NYCOS each have their roots in Scotland. Beyond that, you may say, they don’t have much in common. On reflection, I think they do. Both began with the vision of an inspired leader and innovator. Maggie’s development was initially in its country of origin, but soon travelled across borders and cultures, from Europe to South East Asia. Whilst the jurisdiction of NYCOS is Scotland, its choirs have performed with great success around the world, from Australia to the USA. Both organisations can be seen as models for others to emulate, sharing their knowledge and experience and acting as catalysts for innovation elsewhere.

Now Maggie’s and NYCOS are each enjoying the excitement of a 30th anniversary.

Maggie’s V&A exhibition entitled Architecture that Cares was opened with an evening of presentations and discussions. In Liverpool, Just Come In is a photographic exhibition by Tabitha Jussa, showcasing a selection of RIBA award-winning Maggie’s centres, celebrated for their exceptional social, cultural, and civic value. Around the country Maggie’s supporters are organising other special events to raise funds and awareness. Its anniversary year will come to an end with a service in Westminster Abbey.

NYCOS took Carmina Burana on a 30th anniversary Scottish tour, winning glowing reviews and closing in the Usher Hall, Edinburgh with a sell-out gala concert in which they were joined by the BBC Scotland Symphony Orchestra. One review described the piece as ‘a tall order for any chorus, but the young people of NYCOS took it in their stride, meticulously prepared by Bell and his associates … this was a Carmina Burana of a clarity that is rarely heard … a precisely-voiced chamber interpretation of the work that revealed its musical riches as much as its eccentricities’. The choice was especially fitting. NYCOS singers had performed Carl Orff’s great tapestry of human life in its first concert, exactly 30 years before.

Maggie’s and NYCOS are exemplars of civil society, working in partnership with a wide variety of organisations to maximise their impact. They are supported by private as well as public funds, and by volunteers and well-wishers in various capacities. Their orientations are local, national and international. Above all, they are committed to a creative excellence that shines through everything they do. I’m pleased to say that their paths do cross from time to time. Regional NYCOS choirs, such as at Inverness, have hosted summer concerts that raise money for Maggie’s and NYCOS Dundee has collaborated with the Just Sing at Maggie’s initiative. There may indeed be other such examples of which I’m unaware.

Perhaps in their fourth decade, the two organisations will come together in some new and exciting ways? Living with cancer is a uniquely complex form of biographical disruption. Human voices joined together in song can touch the spirit, sooth, console and inspire. A choral organisation and a cancer support charity may find huge areas of expertise and interest in common. We should celebrate the 30th anniversaries and manifold achievements of Maggie’s and NYCOS, and perhaps keep a look out for future collaborations between them!

Architecture that Cares continues at the V&A Dundee, until 1st November 2026

Just Come In continues at Gallery 2, RIBA North, 21 Mann Island, Liverpool, until 29th November 2026

Featured image: Getty Images

Maggie’s V&A exhibition images: David Clark

NYCOS concert at Perth: From Facebook

Mellow Yellow

Until recently, if someone had asked for my thoughts on the colour yellow in the garden, my immediate reaction would probably have been: ‘apart from daffodils, then I’m not a big fan’. Then came an early summer day when a rose of sharon, aka hypericom hidcote, was in full bloom just outside the kitchen window. Planted a couple of years ago, it was a mass of bright star-shaped flowers, with plenty more buds to suggest it would be in bloom for some time. Yes, a bit blowsy perhaps, and no doubt derided by experts (I have heard such remarks on various gardening broadcasts over the years). But on that day it got me to re-think the merits of yellow in the garden. I also realised that a colour I thought I’d avoided, was in fact quite well-represented in the Dumfriesshire Garden. I decided to look at this a little more carefully and here below is the outcome, season by season.

Spring

At this time of year, daffodils and narcissi predominate of course, as I have described previously The yellow coltsfoot appears even in a cold spring, it’s a welcome resident from the wild world. Marsh marigold is a long-standing attraction by the pond and the delicate flowers of epimedium are always a spring time delight, as are the tough and adaptable merrybells. Late spring flag iris and tree peony keep the yellow theme going.

Summer

Buttercup and bird’s foot trefoil proliferate in grassy verges. Then come Jerusalem sage, giant scabious and rose of sharon. There are also yellow dogwood leaves, wild broom, and the wonderfully named elf dock.

Autumn

The tall and vigorous elf dock keeps going in a cooler part of the garden. Swamp candles dot the big border. The ligularia is an autumn stunner (I’m pondering splitting and spreading the joy elsewhere in the garden). The pumpkin lantern joins in the theme. The sunflowers here have crashed over in an autumn wind, but still put on a display, as does the yellow bog asphodel looking good alongside purple eupatorium.

Winter

There are not so many examples to select for yellow in winter! First, an ice cream dessert with frozen chocolate (short lifespan!). Then hazel catkins. I’ve recently planted several mahonia japonica around the garden, and what a display they make on a gloomy day! The leaves of early winter hornbeam complete the picture.

My title here is of course a 1960s nod to a well known song by Donovan. I was hoping the lyrics would spur me to new connections with yellow in the garden, but in fact when I dug them out, they seemed somewhat problematic in various ways. Nor were Yellow Submarine or Big Yellow Taxi particularly helpful. Nevertheless these reflections here have altered my thoughts on where yellow belongs in the garden. I might investigate some more plants to add to the collection. One day, folks might even call me mellow yellow …

Note: any mistakes here in the naming of plants are entirely my own.

Vegetable garden gloom

I know there can be good years and bad years. As gardeners we are mindful of the vagaries of weather and their consequences. We are accustomed to shrugging off the failures and celebrating the successes. But 2026 in the vegetable patch has tested such fortitude to the limit. With few exceptions, as Lammas approaches, there has been little produce to tickle the taste buds and several disappointments to thwart menu-planning.

It started with the shallots. Encouraged by terrific success last year, I planted out the ‘banana’ variety from a couple of packs bought at the supermarket. I then waited for the first touches of green to appear. And waited. Eventually, one shallot in the middle row of three produced a result. Healthy green shoots appeared and boosted my spirits. Maybe the rest would follow? They didn’t. Over a couple of weeks I watched these wayward alliums, and gradually lost all hope of success. Eventually I poked around to find out what was happening. A slimy mush was the outcome. No roots formed, no shoots produced. Except for the one. I harvested it, with two shallots the result.

The Musselburgh leek, grown in the Dumfriesshire Garden veg patch for several years now, is a family favourite. Short stems and full of flavour. After late frosts and then quite a bit of rain, my crop looked set to put on growth. Then came a mini-heatwave that coincided with a few days spent away from home. On return I found almost every plant had shot up a tall spike, topped with a glorious pinkish white umbel. Elegant enough to impress a florist. Apart from the pungent bouquet. The few plants that hadn’t bolted I assigned to a fish recipe, only to find them woody, fibrous and inedible.

Trying something new this year, I sowed a row of purple climbing beans, carefully preparing the ground under some posts and wires where previously raspberries had grown. I looked forward to a magnificent display of leafy plants, then flowers, then pods. It was not to be. Reluctantly, two shoots eventually appeared. They are making pathetically slow progress up the twiggy sticks I provided to get them started (see featured image). The yield, if any occurs, will undoubtedly be meagre.

Undeterred, I turned to a trusty and reliable legume. In years past I have had gluts of dwarf French beans. So much so that I’ve taken to sowing just a few drills of one variety, thereby picking the crop at its best. This year, the packet promised a lovely yellow bean that I felt sure would look good in a salad Nicoise or similar. I was foolish to get excited. Just one plant appeared, and it was soon attacked by gourmandising slugs. I tried a second sowing and am hoping for the best.

Last autumn I planted garlic cloves in abundance, in nicely composted, free-draining ground. As the days lengthened I was troubled by the number of gaps in the rows of new shoots. Normally 100% sprouters, things were looking somewhat doubftful. When this spring’s growth got underway, it too was rather feeble and some plants gave up the ghost completely, a withered stem their only reminder. I know that comparisons are odious, but take a look at this image below of the garlic crop in summer 2022. For twelve months thereafter the Dumfriesshire kitchen was self-sufficient in this essential cooking ingredient.

Contrast that with the woeful offering in the trug from 2026.

All in all it has been gloom in the veg patch this year, with just a few consolations. Lettuces and herbs grown in the greenhouse have thrived and also done well when planted out.

Likewise, the much prized early tatties haven’t failed to deliver. Planted sooner than usual in a warm spell in March, they were ready by mid-June. We ate the first ambrosius batch with melted raclette cheese, gherkins and a glass of dry white Bordeaux. Grateful for that, I tried to look ahead and be optimistic, It’s the only thing a gardener can be.

But hope springs eternal! I’ve noticed that the Victoria plum tree has an inordinate amount of fruit on it. After all the disappointments among the veg, we could be in for a bumper prunus year!

Intermingling in the June garden

The garden in June is turbo-charged. Drifts of rain, bouts of sunshine and record-breaking heat make for prodigious growth, with visual exuberance at every turn. A gardener’s blog post at this time of year should therefore focus on images, not words. But this month, as I wander round the Dumfriesshire garden at various times of the day, one word has stuck in my mind. As gardeners we focus on individual plants that we try to place to best advantage. We may also group plants together in particular ways. Both of these suggest a sense of order and formation. This June however, I have been particularly struck by adjacent plants not merely sitting side by side to good effect, but actually growing in and through one another. So the word of the month in question is intermingling.

In the following images, you can see various degrees of this. There are plants cheek by jowl and friendly with each other, as well as two, three of more plants forming an intermingled whole, that is more than the sum of its parts. Crucially this intermingling is also happening between what I have introduced to the garden, and that which I have not. I am becoming more and more interested in celebrating this, rather than rushing to remove plant life that has come uninvited. You see here what can result.

Photinia and Lupin in evening sunshine. It was this striking almost intermingling, that got me hunting for other examples around the garden.

Solitary Herb Robert emerges through Juniper. Jerusalem Sage foregrounded by the now resting, and post-flowering Euphorbia.

Delicate wild rose amidst Hornbeam in a hedge. Deeper coloured variant growing alongside and through lush Ivy.

Johnson’s Blue Cranesbill rampant below Sambucus Nigra as grassy seedheads spike through.

Fern, Astilbe and Hosta touch at the margins in a damp spot. Not far away, Acers, Yew and Day Lilies meet and greet.

Could you ever plan this? Self seeded Oxe Eye Daisies, Buttercup, Herb Robert and soon to flower Campion are threaded through by the exuberant Cranesbill.

A solitary Oxeye and its neighbours.

Rampant intermingling!

Of course, there are dangers in such a celebration. Garden splendour can rapidly become overgrown chaos. It’s a case of balance. Informality will no doubt benefit from a curatorial hand. So we’ve already started pulling grasses out of the borders. Raspberry canes, introduced by blackbirds, are also a target for removal. Undoubtedly there is more weeding ahead. But for an inspirational look to the June garden, on balance, and to paraphrase a song by the Cranberries: you have to let it mingle.

Featured image New Cotinus growth contrasts with the massing pinks of the rambling rose that is now spreading over its branches.

The May garden of 2026 in thoughts and pictures

Once upon a time it was October, then June, and more recently it has become May. I have decided the fifth month of the year has become, at least for the moment, my favourite in the gardening calendar. And what a May this year brought us. From late frosts, to torrential rain, then finally a heatwave, it confused gardener and plants alike. But the end result here in south west Scotland was a frothy, vibrant and totally inspiring month when the Dumfriesshire Garden never looked better.

Here are some of the highlights.

At the very end of the month, something special happened. The small tree, Cornus Kausa Chinensis, five years after planting, came into flower for the first time. Not so many blooms right enough, but hugely uplifting with their delicate petals of pale, greenish-white. Pure elegance with a peaceful aura, and visible from the kitchen window too!

The adjacent Viburnum ‘snowball tree’, quick to flower when first planted, again produced another wonderful display, its colours subtly changing with hints of pink, as the month went on. I bought it a few years ago from a grower, who told me ‘it’s tough as old boots’ and he was right.

White was also a popular theme in a new garden feature. I installed a metal table just outside our living room and in full view from the indoors, and soon had to add another. Laden with pots of spring bulbs in April, in May they were home to geranium, hydrangea and saxifrage, with French lavender for contrasting colour. It’s curious how much pleasure these little tables are creating, as well as the mindful calm of deadheading whenever anyone goes out of the door or comes back in. More plants are in the pipeline for the tables, as the summer progresses.

In the various borders of the garden, May saw an explosion of growth, both in things I had planted and some that I had not. I was especially pleased with the epimediums, primulas, colocasia, rogeria, ferns and hostas, as well as early drifts of lupins, which in recent years have steadily seeded themselves around the big border. Couch grass, buttercup, willow herb, sticky willy and the insidious bindweed, were less welcome however, and had to be kept in check whenever an opportunity and the will arose.

Sadly, and in contrast to last year, May 2026 was a very poor month for meconopsis: lots of plants lost to frost, and late flowering from rather feeble specimens.

The azaleas, however, were in high gear.

As this inspiring month unfolded, I particularly enjoyed strolling around the garden in good light, when structure and exuberant new growth came together to produce vistas that made me wonder how my incremental and unplanned approach over many years had created such a harmonious effect.

Nowhere was this more marked than in the arboretum, now entering its eleventh year and providing an ever more fascinating place to wander. Circles of trees, mown paths curving through lush swathes of cow parsley and wildflowers. A long archway of hornbeam. The turf labyrinth. A new trio of sculptural railway sleepers. All of these delighted the eye and nurtured the spirit. Most stirring of all were the camassias. Fed last year after flowering, they put on a wonderful show of deep colour, sitting in a circle of nine mop-top beech trees.

In the main garden, the clipped lonicera nitida, known locally as ‘the donut’, was a favourite and quirky vantage point with a morning coffee. The box balls were a worry however. They looked good and have put on growth since introduced in February 2025, and I was pleased with the spreading carpet of flowering ajuga around them, but one of them seemed to have developed blight, and has now been removed. The exuberant and spreading flowers of a clematis in the rose arch, now in its third spring, was a pleasing compensation however.

All in all, the month of May 2026 was a splendid one in the Dumfriesshire Garden. It brought together all the elements that gardeners know so well. Erratic weather conditions, hits and misses, the sense that if we don’t keep up things will get away from us. But these sat alongside abundant rewards in the sharp light of lengthening days, the acid greens and vibrant colours that signal springtime is at its peak. Yes, Shakespeare’s ‘darling buds of May’ brought wave upon wave of daily delights as the garden built up to a tremendous finale of exuberant new growth, and with it, of course, the promise of summer.

Literary encounters in Dumfries and Galloway

Sometimes good things come in threes. When these happen on my home patch and relate to matters of reading and writing, then I consider myself especially fortunate. Recently, and in just over one week I attended three excellent events that fed my interests in the written word. Three local encounters that opened up new horizons and presented different ways of looking at and writing about the world.

Secrets, suspense and stake

Anstey Harris is a writer of commercial fiction who enjoys considerable success and a large readership. She’s a person whose latest book, set in my home region of Dumfries and Galloway, currently enjoys 19,000 reviews on Amazon. So when some University colleagues of mine involved in the DeathWrites network organised a workshop led by her, I was keen to attend.

A dozen of us gathered together, in person and online. There were short story writers, novelists, a poet and academics with interests in creative non-fiction. The theme of the event was ‘Secrets, Suspense, and Stakes’.

Anstey talked through each of these and also gave us prompts for short exercises where we wrote our own responses and shared them with the group. She spoke about the various types of secret: silver lining, dark, or open, as well as the idea of strategic opacity through which the writer keeps something secret from the reader, using omission or obscurity to increase complexity, realism and suspense.

Secrets can also have requirements of their own. They may have to be protected, defended, denied or excused. Secrets can be vital to the stake the reader has in a particular character or storyline. The stake is what invests us so that we care about what is happening in the story and feel compelled to stay with it. But secrets need to be used judiciously. They may be exposed in a big reveal, or fed to us parsimoniously. For as Anstey noted: once the doors are opened, they can’t be closed.

This was my first encounter with a workshop focussed on the craft of fiction writing. I came away feeling challenged about my lack of knowledge of the tropes and techniques Anstey described, but also persuaded that used with care and reflection, they offer great opportunities to enhance my own writing. In the days following I obtained a copy of Anstey’s recent novel The House of Lost Secrets and encountered a model demonstration of the ideas she had spelled out in the workshop. The jump from concepts to content was vividly displayed. Anstey proved to be both a wonderful teacher and a compelling writer.

Celebrating a Nithsdale triology

Pat Kirby is an American, who has lived for many years in Dumfries and Galloway, not far from me. A former school teacher, she’s been working for around a decade on a trilogy of novels, set in our local area. I was lucky enough to be invited to her launch event, which took place in the vibrant setting of Old School Thornhill, a superb venue for community events and activities of many kinds.

Pat introduced us to the novels and read some extracts from each, highlighting specific themes: about enduring female friendships, coupledom, family life, and wider relationships. Written in the first person, Pat readily acknowledged the stories contain elements of her own life, but not entirely.

I was delighted to purchase the three books at the launch and read them in fairly quick succession afterwards. In some places they feel like a memoir or even extracts from a diary, for example, documenting day to day events or the itinerary in a journey. By these means, the novels quickly draw in the reader, who is addressed personally and indeed quite frequently. Pat does an excellent job in creating suspense and stake and there are some very significant secrets in the trilogy. I was reminded of the idea of the unreliable narrator, who intentionally or not, may be misleading the reader. This led me to consider where autobiography might end, and invention take over. Perhaps it doesn’t matter, unless maybe you know the author and the settings and even feel you recognise the fictitious people she is writing about, and as a result get distracted and taken away from the central story line. It’s an interesting tension and can enrich the reading.

The books have a wonderfully well developed sense of place. Much of the action occurs in and around Nithsdale and Galloway, with their hills and rivers, village communities and towns, and high ratios of creatives. But there are also journeys to the USA and Japan, as well as to other parts of Scotland. A lot of alcohol is consumed and hangovers appear rather frequently. Here and there is a bit of kiss and tell. The novels cover three intense years in the lives of the principal characters and move the reader along, often with helpful reminders of wider events occurring at the time. The result is a deep feeling of reader interest and concern around the experiences of the main characters, and their associates. For this to be sustained over three volumes is an incredible achievement of the writing. In what follows I have tried to avoid spoilers.

The central character of the first volume, and it might be said of the trilogy as a whole, is Deborah Heaney. Soon after retiring from her job as a teacher, she is diagnosed with a life limiting condition. Whilst she is expected to remain healthy for the coming year, thereafter her condition is likely to deteriorate rapidly. In Deborah (the Last Year), 2014 we encounter the first person narrator electing to tell no one about her diagnosis, not even her family and closest friends, and instead embarking on a journey of biographical reflection, reminiscence, personal pleasure and purposive denial. Deborah goes back to the United States, where she grew up, leaving her husband John to continue his work as a GP, and also to ruminate on past events in their marriage. Old ghosts are revisited, unusual interactions occur. When complete strangers are convinced Deborah is someone else, she even encounters the doppelganger experience. Her year of choice and autonomous living is vividly portrayed in Pat’s storytelling. On returning home from her travels, Deborah throws a grand winter solstice party, prior to which she begins, incrementally, to tell friends and family the news of her illness. By this time Deborah has already embarked on her novel: ‘The snake eating its tale’, as she ironically puts it.

In the second volume, Jane (the Last Year), 2016 the narration switches from Deborah to one of her long-time friends, Jane Menzies, an artist and resident of the town of Dumfries. Jane is the mother of five children who have now grown up and left home. She remains somewhat precariously committed to their father, her long time partner and a rather self-absorbed writer. At this pivotal moment in her life Jane is seeking to resurrect her artistic ambitions. As she dives deeper into her project and her work becomes more demanding, curious experiences occur, mainly associated with watery contexts. Elements of magical realism creep into the writing and are wonderfully well executed, creating tension and intrigue. We also see the complex encounters that develop between Jane and her dear friend Deborah, when Deborah’s health, as predicted, suddenly worsens and the realities of dying and death move suddenly closer.

The third narrator is Róisin. In her early thirties and separated, she arrives in Scotland from the USA, just in time for Hogmanay. She has won a poetry prize at the Wigtown Book Festival and a generous sponsor has paid for her to come to collect it. In Róisin (the Last Year), 2019 and as the new year gets underway, she finds part-time employment, and accommodation, with an artisan baker in the village of Moniaive. Rising before dawn to work, she spends the afternoons on her first novel, and the early evenings getting to know an assortment of musicians, writers, and creatives who inhabit the local scene. Then something happens. Befriended by the multi-talented Rose, she is supported and guided through the many challenges she faces.

In this final volume of the trilogy, Pat draws parallels to the doppelgangers and the shape-shifting water sprites of the first two novels, as Róisin experiences the phenomenon of lucid dreaming: awareness of a dream as it is happening, whilst also having the capability to influence its course. She explores the meaning of this in her personal support sessions with Rose. In due course she meets Jamie, a young man collaborating with Rose on the creation of a hill-top stone circle. He is the twin son of Deborah and John, and has some major worries about what he now knows is an hereditary illness that ended his mother’s life. What happens thereafter is the subject of Pat’s exquisitely crafted denouement! Hard to say, but I think this third novel was the pick of the bunch and my favourite of the three.

Pat Kirby’s trilogy of life in Dumfries and Galloway is a tour de force. It has multiple interesting characters, employs deft use of each passing year to tell gripping stories that run on from one volume to the next, beautifully anchored in a vibrant and colourful rural setting. It’s a heady brew and the volume of work in its creation should not be under-estimated. There must be around a quarter million words of Nithsdale story telling here and I feel sure the books will be read and enjoyed by many people who know and love the region. Pat’s insider-outsider position as a long term resident originally from the United States has been admirably exploited to produce three linked novels that celebrate life, community, and ultimately, many of the complexities surrounding what it means to be human. Pat may feel that her writing ambitions are now complete, but those who enjoy these novels may well be curious about where her talents will focus next!

Poems and poets at the Kirkcudbright Book Festival

Hexameter is the group name for six experienced poets with connections to Dumfries and Galloway. Along with a poet friend of mine, I was fortunate to see their debut performance at the Kirkcudbright Book Festival, where they launched their first anthology 6 by six, a handsomely presented volume containing six poems from each member of the group. Hexameter is a values-based collective, with a challenging ethos in which they work together to write better poems and become better poets. It’s a subtle distinction and implies a supportive but robust approach to giving and receiving feedback on each other’s work. Their first collection, according to the blurb, ‘allows each poet to showcase their distinctive voice while also creating a group identity’.

The poems presented at Kirkcudbright ranged from wry and humorous, to up-skittling and dark. The poets sometimes explained their inspirations, like falling asleep in the theatre, or missing a connecting train, and the journey their ideas took from there. Unlike the novelists Anstey Harris and Pat Kirby, the Hexameter poets are engaged in a craft, where brevity rather then longform, is key. But their poems also make use of stake and tension, often culminating in a final line heavily loaded with shock, irony, resignation, humour or hope. I particularly enjoyed the mundane yet deeply human contradiction captured in the ending of David Mark Williams’ poem, Cafe of Broken Dreams:

We're not inclined to make a fuss
over what we've been served.
We won't be back, we said the first time
but here we are again.

Feeling thankful

I’ve no reason to believe that Dumfries and Galloway is any more or less well served than other places in the kinds of literary events described here. Yet writing workshops, book launches and book festivals do seem to proliferate in my home region and undoubtedly precipitate and support a thriving community of interest in the written and the spoken word. Wigtown, with its numerous book shops and internationally acclaimed festival, is the outstanding exemplar. Dumfries and Galloway therefore have much to offer readers and writers. I am especially interested in those writers living in and setting stories inspired by this fascinating region of rolling hills, woods and pastures, rivers and coastline, rural towns and villages. We may be challenged by climate change, demographic trends and economic shocks, as well as by global conflicts and divisions, but our region has somehow forged a literary eco-system that constantly inspires, consoles and provokes. Three events in a week was rich fare indeed, and will sustain me now as I turn back to a writing project of my own!

Find out more here about these writers and how to access their works

My thanks to all the writers whose work is discussed here.

There is lots of information about the writings of Anstey Harris to be found at: https://ansteyharris.com/

Pat Kirby’s books are available in some Nithsdale bookstores, like Chapters and Thomas Tosh, and can also be purchased direct via: https://patkirby.co.uk/

The first anthology from the Hexameter Collective is published by Coronach Press. Contact coronach@gmail.com. The full reference from the extract above is: David Mark Williams, Cafe of Broken Dreams. In: Hexameter, 6 by six, Coronach Press, Glasgow, 2026, page 36.

Sculptural influences in the garden

Since I took a lease on the field next to my house in 2015, I have developed a couple of acres of rough pasture into something that gives endless pleasure and satisfaction. A veritable arboretum, the field is now home to over two hundred trees and woody shrubs. A block of silver birch runs the entire length of one side, elsewhere there is planting of oak, beech, dogwood, hornbeam and hazel, in circles linked together by mown paths. Dotted throughout are single specimens of cedar, redwood, and holm oak, as well as small groups of special interest, such as Scots pine, rowan, prickly pear, and red oak. In addition to these, I have created hedges, arboreal archways, tree lined paths and a turf labyrinth.

It’s a place to let the imagination run free, and this has extended to inanimate objects like groups of large rocks and a couple of cairns, the larger one of which has had a screen of hornbeam planted round it this winter. There are constructions of precariously balanced large rocks, and also a couple of stone campfire circles. A few years ago I also installed a large sandstone gatepost, inscribed with some words from the anchorite Julian of Norwich: all shall be well.

You can find reflections on the development of the arboretum here and here. It also gets referred to in many other posts on this site. Below are just a few relevant photographs taken over the years.

This month has seen a new addition to the arboretum. Three old railway sleepers have lain abandoned and close by for years. Several times I have thought about doing something with them, but inspiration has evaded me. Until now.

For reasons that will soon become clear, I suddenly realised that these three pieces of weathered, textured, drilled, and mossed timber might have potential for a garden installation. On a dry and intermittently sunny April morning, I therefore spent some time choosing a location for the idea, and eventually settled on a spot among wild cherry trees and close to the sandstone gatepost.

The next question was how to group them. I quickly understood that there would be no single viewpoint from which the three pieces would be seen. Situated close to the intersection of three mown paths, the installation might be approached from one of several angles, depending on someone’s starting point and chosen route. This made things simpler and my original trial positioning seemed to need no adjustment. I got things set up in a temporary way (see featured image) and then went off for lunch.

When I returned, I wandered back and forth on the adjacent paths, checking how things looked. Sometimes the first choice is the right one. I decided to go ahead. Next I laid the pieces on the ground, prepared their postholes to a satisfactory depth, replaced each sleeper back in its location and back-filled with soil, pebbles and pieces of the cut turf. Well tamped in. The result can be seen below. I hope you like it as much as I do.

The general inspiration for this installation comes from various jardins remarquable seen in France and elsewhere over the years, and in particular, the creations of Christian Lapie. Specifically, it also arrived in my head at a time when the wonderful work of Andersen Borba is showing at Cample Line near my home in Dumfriesshire. His exhibition is entitled The Unearthed. A particularly striking element in the show is a group of tall figure-like pieces in wood, variously treated with collage, paint, and carving, along with inserted stones, metalwork, and cast bronze.

It was during a gallery tour of Borba’s exhibition that one of the group members talked about the tall wooden posts, remnants of old fencing, that dot the landscape around her home near Leadhills, showing us photographs of some striking examples. I thus found a link between the skilled and wonderfully detailed work of the sculptor, and the agentic effects of time and weather on objects in the landscape. Only a few days later I ‘unearthed’ my three sleepers from under a pile of leaves and thought about how they would look standing up in the field. Seizing the moment, plus a spade and wheelbarrow, I went ahead immediately. I was also delighted, on close examination to find on each of the sleepers a rich array of markings, drilled holes, weathering and de-composition. Characteristics of which I feel sure Borba would approve.

I have no idea what journey brought these three elements of the railway system to the edge of the field near my home. Untouched by the hands of an artist they nevertheless have stories of their own to convey. I am going to keep my eyes open henceforth for other pieces of timber or found agricultural detritus that might be displayed sympathetically here in my particular corner of Dumfriesshire. It’s worth emphasising that you don’t need an arboretum for this kind of approach to sculpturally inspired objects. Remarkable gardens can come in any size!

Hosts of golden daffodils

I’ve struggled to put this piece together. Not because it’s in some way complex, demanding to write, or over-long. None of these. My struggle is about whether one should celebrate something so simple and pleasure-giving as my subject here, at a time when the world is being torn apart by conflict and war.

After much wrangling with my conscience, I have decided to go ahead.

Louisa Birdsall – illustrator and designer

In the early part of 2025 I had completed my first novel and the manuscript was in production with an independent publisher. For a story set in my home region of Dumfries and Galloway, in south west Scotland, I was keen to find a local designer or illustrator to create the cover. In my mind I was thinking about something a little like those evocative railway posters from the 1930s. I began casting around and soon found someone living nearby with a developing interest in book illustration. She immediately understood what I was looking for, but felt she couldn’t provide it. Fortunately she kindly pointed me to someone who could. That person is Louisa Birdsall, whose story is recounted below in her own words.