Newton Park

It’s cooler now, colder still in the temple that overlooks the lake. Birdsong echoes, distinct above the shifting sigh of the trees. Soft light falls onto a carpet of leaves that are gold, crimson and blistering orange. I watch a heron test the water with its beak. The light catches wings as they ruffle before disappearing into darkening shadows. 

            I’ve seen this lake in all seasons now. The beautiful inferno of autumn, the pale sheen of winter. The blooming of spring when wildflowers burst into existence. And summer. Memories of green and the melody of woodland creatures. 

            Shaped by Capability Brown in 1761, the grounds of Newton Park are soft with the touches of the nation’s “most talented landscape architect.” The emphasis on the natural, bodies of water and mythical influence highlight his trademark of creating spaces that look “untouched by anything produced by man.” Here, the landscape is particularly reminiscent of his work at Stourhead in the neighbouring county of Wiltshire; the same sweep of hills sloping into an expansive lake and a classical-inspired temple half-hidden by vegetation. 

Now owned by the Duchy of Cornwall, memories of aristocratic life are still present in the estate-turned-university. You only have to walk through the fourteenth-century keep and gateway of St Loe Castle, the only surviving element of the original property, to understand the impressive beginnings of Newton Park as a fortified manor house for knights and nobility. 

            The light in the temple dims as a cloud moves across the sky. I shiver. Slowly, spring is reclaiming winter. I can see it in the shyness of the snowdrops, in the lightening evenings. But even so, the biting wind is still sharp enough to bring gooseflesh to my skin. My breath forms misty shapes that disperse with each exhale. 

            I stand, returning to a gravelled path that has been dampened by recent rainfall. It crunches underfoot as I follow its curve, my feet directed towards the academic buildings. To my right is the lake, edged with reeds that snap and waver in the wind. The water ripples in protest of the disruption. Further beyond is St Loe Castle. Slowly, it has been reclaimed by fingers of ivy. They stretch from the ground, greedy for the touch of stone. 

I almost forget that this is a university campus, especially with the imposing façade of Main House visible just above the treeline. An eighteenth-century listed building, it was built in 1760 by order of Joseph Langton whose family, originally merchants in the Port of Bristol, purchased the estate at Newton Park in 1666. I expect the ghostly shapes of a bygone age to emerge from the undergrowth; ladies in petticoats and lace, men in breaches. Main House was also used as a Red Cross Hospital for allied soldiers during World War One. Their existence is like a whisper here, another layer beneath that of drying ink and stress, self-doubt and growing things.

            The path steepens, and the cold wind becomes a blessing in the final push to reach the summit. Below are fields that still bear scars of autumn, a sparse collection of rooftops, the steeple of a church in the nearby village of Corston. A pheasant calls and the sound lingers. Below, the heron has found its way back onto the lake. From where I stand, its outstretched wings look almost like a cross. The reflection is momentarily suspended on the water’s surface before it shatters in the wind.