Tatton Park - hermitnonwinners

Tatton Park's back to back garden at this year's RHS Flower show has taken the hermit as its inspiration.

Entitled `The Hermit’s Grotto – inspiration for imagination’ the garden appreciates two particularly imaginative areas at Tatton which were initially intended to house hermits – the Fernery and Tower Garden.

It is based on the true story of the famous Cheshire hermit John Harris, who, after being thwarted in his attempts to marry one of the Egertons, went on to live in a similar cave until his death at the age of 99.

The hermit’s grotto has also provided inspiration for pupils from local Knutsford school Manor Park to use their imagination and compose poems entitled Tatton’s hermit.

Tatton Park's General Manager Brendan Flanagan, Cheshire East's Lady Mayor and Cheshire's Poet Laureate were the competitions judges.

During the course of the show a selection of poems will be recited by the current Cheshire Poet Laureate from the back to back garden.

The Winning Entry

Waiting...waiting...waiting...I am frozen,
Waiting...waiting...waiting...I am alone,
Waiting...waiting...waiting...these are my last few days.

Darkness...darkness...darkness...the light is dim,
Darkness...darkness...darkness...my fire is my friend,
Darkness...darkness...darkness...I fear my life is coming to an end.

Silence...silence...silence...can only hear my wheezing,
Silence...silence...silence....toes have curled over,
Silence...silence...silence...I can hear deaths footsteps coming my way.

Heartbeat...heartbeat...heartbeat...my heart aches for love,
Heartbeat...heartbeat...heartbeat...my hear is slowing down.

Darkness

Keira Bradley

The Runners Up

Speaking a word is forbidden, Keeping them all inside and hidden. On my own and turning the hourglass, Here for seven years, quite a task.	Dark as the night In a darkening life, The lonely man With glasses on,
After that time I would have a long beard, At night on my own, I'll get scared and feared. Seven hundred pounds, what shall I buy? I'll get a mansion, as high as the sky.	Long hair and Scary nails
One year down, six to go, Shall I give up? That answer is no!	Crouches on the cold damp floor With his matted hair Covering his face, Gossiping witches peer at him, Point at him. IS THIS A LIFE TO LEAD?
Rosie Lyons	Khaavya Bhaskaran

All other poems
Living in darkness, lost. Forgotten. It's like waiting for death in heaven.	I live in a cave. It is like living in a dark grave. Without seeing anyone, No talking to a soul, It is horrible.	I felt like I was in a grave, Even though it was just a dark damp cave. People pointed and started, At my knotted grey hair.
Never leaving. Never talking. Never changing.	My beard is as long as a goat's People walk past and laugh at me And point at me.	My beard was long and thick, Like a big coat that fit. I am lucky to have a bath But I can't laugh.
People looking. Me knowing I'm not going.	When I sit at the side of my cave, I have a lot of things to say, In my head.	I had to sit for seven whole years, Escaped at last. No more fears.
Living in darkness, Death will approach soon.
Jade	Keilan Hefferman	Charlotte Drinkwater

I live in a cave, It's as cramped and as cold as a grave. The dampness seeping into my skin.	I'm waiting I've been waiting for years, Years of fears,	At last I'm out of that Damp, dark cave. it felt like I was in a grave.
I have a long beard. People look at me as if I'm weird. The stickiness and dirt clinging to my face.	I'm a hermit, I have matted hair, As tall as the mayor,	My matted hair Stuck to my face, My beard Stood straight, As the night grew taller.
I cannot get up because my legs will not hold my pose Slipping on the damp muddy floor. My hands are sore.	My beard is weird, As long as me, Not a flea,	Words spun round my head, As the people walked past, and gossiped and stared.
I cannot take this any longer I feel cramped My body is numb.	My nails are pale, Longer than long,	My soul was, As dark as the night.
I need to sleep now Until the break of dawn	I live in a cave, But it feels like a grave, It's not the best, I have to confess.	I longed to be free.
Leah Toon	Mercedes Lavin	Jean McCarthy

In the winter, I sit in a dark, damp cave, Waiting for the morning to come,	The Old Tatton Hermit Sat all alone, In a cold damp cave That was now his home.
I pray to God, And meditate in the sun, If I stay in for seven years, I may get paid for every year,	He sips from his pitcher While looking around, Listening.....listening Not even a sound.
People walk past, Then they stare,	He wonders about society, And what goes on out there.
I grow my beard, All my nails and my hair,	curled up like a crab in its small, cramped shell. Frightened while people stare.
I sit here like an orphan with no care!
Jessica Healey	Rubie Kate Stimpson

The Winning Entry

The Runners Up

All other poems