As I made my way towards the plot where Harry's mother, Annie, is also buried, I realised that there was already a cruciform floral tribute on the grave. It turned out to have been there for some while, judging by the faded card with them. If anyone knows Andrew Highland and (I assume) his wife, you can tell them that their tribute was still there. The text on the card also contains the delightful anecdote which Harry tells about being taught the names of trees by his uncle Fred (who is also interred nearby). "There it is, boy, Sciadopitys verticillata." The boy learned good, methinks.
I brushed the twigs and acorns from the gravestone and set my flowers alongside it, pausing a while to remember, and be grateful for, the pleasure Harry gave to so many people through his broadcasting career. With no-one else there and nothing but the sound of the birds in the trees, it is hard to conceive of a more serene and peaceful resting place than the one Harry chose for himself.
Feeling peaceful and serene myself as I left Blackmoor, I resolved to take a slight detour off the M4 on my return journey, and paid a second homage by visiting Chilton Gardens. The weather had changed, and was bright and sunny by the time I arrived. The well-maintained walls of the garden looked majestic, as they soaked-up the sun's rays to do what they are meant to.
It's impossible to resist taking a look through the 'Pretty Opening' into the east garden. Although not in full, Harry-style, production, there is a lot of horticulture going on (I think I read somewhere that some of the Chilton staff cultivate at least part of it for their own pleasure). The first thing that caught my eye was that there are CARDOONS growing! Harry would have been proud, I'm sure.
It also made for a fulfilling and satisfying end to my day. Thank you, Harry. Happy 100th Birthday.