2023
NZ3473 : The Brierdene, Whitley Bay
taken 3 years ago, near to Whitley Bay, North Tyneside, England

The Brierdene, Whitley Bay
The Brierdene is an area managed by Friends of Brierdene Link
with assistance from North Tyneside Council. This poem was inspired by the dene and first appeared in the book, 'Green Spaces Parks, Poetry and Hidden Nature in North Tyneside' published by North Tyneside Council and Northern Voices Community Projects.
BRIERDENE
Woods were once swung here,
sand wedges, chips and pitches,
fairways and manicured greens,
golfers aiming putters with precision,
brightly patterned sweaters,
and a wee flagged hole
at the end of it all.
They took the rough with the smooth.
Now, sandwiched between houses,
surrounded by a rich variety of trees,
the burn slips quietly past and,
a pebble's throw away,
it spills out across the sands.
I have often wondered
just how many culverts
has it flowed through on
its journey from its source to the sea.
I have wondered how many farms
have seen its rise and fall,
its cargo of water borne debris,
logs, sticks and branches,
rich pickings from upstream.
From this sheltered dene,
far removed from the seaside hurly-burly,
I watch the seasons change,
the migrants come and go,
the trees cast off their leaves.
And when, in time, it is all done,
I will watch the cycle start again.
Nature has me in her grip.
The poem was written by Geoff Holland
BRIERDENE
Woods were once swung here,
sand wedges, chips and pitches,
fairways and manicured greens,
golfers aiming putters with precision,
brightly patterned sweaters,
and a wee flagged hole
at the end of it all.
They took the rough with the smooth.
Now, sandwiched between houses,
surrounded by a rich variety of trees,
the burn slips quietly past and,
a pebble's throw away,
it spills out across the sands.
I have often wondered
just how many culverts
has it flowed through on
its journey from its source to the sea.
I have wondered how many farms
have seen its rise and fall,
its cargo of water borne debris,
logs, sticks and branches,
rich pickings from upstream.
From this sheltered dene,
far removed from the seaside hurly-burly,
I watch the seasons change,
the migrants come and go,
the trees cast off their leaves.
And when, in time, it is all done,
I will watch the cycle start again.
Nature has me in her grip.
The poem was written by Geoff Holland
