Up on the old racecourse I was taken aback. I thought I recognised something, something very familiar, but was it? It was a very large bush, almost a small tree with leaves left over from last year still in abundance but showing signs of age, somewhat ruddy, tired. Very small berries adorned the branches, unloved it seemed by birds. Although they will take them, it is only when preferred larders have been exhausted.
It was privet, 𝐿𝑖𝑔𝑢𝑠𝑡𝑟𝑢𝑚 𝑜𝑣𝑎𝑙𝑖𝑓𝑜𝑙𝑖𝑢𝑚. But not Jim, not as we know it.
Privet is widely used as controlled hedging and with the constant pruning its flowers and berries are seldom seen. But, here, in the open light, it was majestic, untamed, effusive almost. The symmetrical form suggests it grew from a single seed, deposited by thrush or merle at the end of the racecourse’s life, after a harsh winter, some 30 or so years ago.
There would’ve been formal privet hedging then, partitioning the space, orderly. Perhaps some dung had enriched the soil there, perhaps the soil was disturbed deliberately. The seed stuck, germinated and the plant flourished.
The hedges are gone, but this privet remains, finally allowed to grow as it wishes.