It is a warm Spring afternoon. The clouds slowly wander across the sky as I walk the narrow pathway between two topiary hedges, and take my first few steps into this lush royal garden. The Elizabethan patterns of hedges and floral architecture are a feast for my senses. The lawn is immaculate, under my feet. The tulips, robust and sturdy, are symmetrically grouped in colour schemes of scarlet red, yellow, mauve and sugar pink, while the ivory peonies exude a luminous vitality.
There are not many people around, and for several moments I have the scented garden all to myself and continue meandering between the geometric compartments. I look up and take in the magnificent views of Hatfield House,
perfectly proportioned and symmetrical. Many of its red bricks were taken from the Old Royal Palace of Hatfield dating back to 1497. Its classical architecture and renaissance influences exude order and harmony; features so loved during the Jacobean era.
I lower my gaze as the trickling sounds from the gently cascading fountain draw my attention; a gilded cherub balanced upon a central winged column is blowing a trumpet and glistening in the sunlight. The flowers are majestic in their height and glory. I take in their natural beauty and scent, totally unaware of the names of many of the species, yet absorbing their healing power.
I feel peacefully subdued by the aesthetics of this historic garden, so carefully crafted, as I breathe in the clean air and feel the warmth of the sun on my face. I step away into the woodland, but look back one last time and imagine what it must have been like for the little princess, Elizabeth I, playing in her private garden, under the sun, amidst the blossom, the weight of her ruffled gown brushing along the grass.
