Reflections on ‘The Secret Garden’

 

‘The Secret Garden’ by Frances Hodgson Burnett

I chanced upon a copy of The Secret Garden when we were at the library about three weeks ago. It was a surprising find - a very lovely edition, beautiful to look at as it had page after page of illustrations. I decided to borrow it. Thing is, I only got round to reading it yesterday because work has been quite hectic the last few weeks. Some speed reading was required as it had to be returned today – I couldn’t renew it as someone else had reserved it.

As I read and revelled in the story, I was transported back to when I first read the book. I was probably seven or eight or nine years old - I remembered that I enjoyed the book very much even back then.

So just a very brief summary: The Secret Garden begins with Mary Lennox, who is sent from India to live with her uncle at Misselthwaite Manor in Yorkshire, England, when her parents die of cholera. Cared for only by servants as her late mother had been more pre-occupied with organising parties, Mary is a cold, selfish, ill mannered and dreadfully spoilt child. She is cared for by Mrs. Medlock the housekeeper and Martha the housemaid. Mary feels lost in the big house, but the gardens soon draw her out. She makes friends with Ben the crusty gardener and the robin. One day, the robin shows to the key and the secret door to the garden that has been locked up for over ten years after the devastating death of her aunt who had loved the garden. Mary keeps this secret all to herself, and eventually shares this with Dickon (Martha's brother) and Colin (her sickly spoiled cousin). They set out to restore the secret garden and in doing so, with positive thinking, they transform and regenerate themselves.

For me, reading The Secret Garden again as an adult was still magic. It speaks of restoration and the ability that people have in them to effect change when surrounded by the right people and environment. I was reminded of the excitement of planting things and watching them grow. At its centre, the message was simple: it really doesn't matter if one is rich or poor, we need to let love grow. Even as I am writing this, I am laughing a little and wondering if I am being over-indulgent and unrealistic, given what we see and know of in much of today's cynical, practical world. And then again, I suppose, why not? After all, in our busy lives, we can all do with our own secret garden, a place to go to be by ourselves, to think, read, meditate… be restored. I will revel in that thought for awhile. Would you like your own Secret Garden? And if you would, what would it be like?

I’m glad I came across this book again. I will have to borrow it again or maybe buy a copy because I would like to share it with my kids. And maybe, just maybe, I will re-read it again if I’m around at eighty-eight and see if the magic’s still there! 

 

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