Bluebells

And a radiant little Neve

Voiceover and paintings by Emily Tammam

Bluebell, painted by Emily Tammam in Ultramarine Blue, Manganese Violet, Hansa Yellow and Burnt Umber. All watercolours from The Stoneground Paint Company.

Today, I offer you the beginnings of the bluebells and all that they evoke, for you and for me.

Over the weekend, I joined a remembrance walk, hosted by our hospice. I was unsure what to expect but at least the location, a local arboretum, was familiar to me. I could feel traces of Neve all around me - on the grass and up the trees, in the warmth of the sunshine, echoed in the screams and the squawks of the peacocks.

As we walked, I spotted the odd bluebell and I wondered whether it was too late. Had I missed the carpets of violet-blue flowers, the colour so deeply entwined with the arrival of spring? Later, I learnt that this is still to come; I was only seeing the beginnings of the bluebell season. Wandering here, in the cool of the sun-dappled woods, took me back to the spring of 2020 and to lockdown family walks. Not here, to be clear; the arboretum was closed in that first lockdown. Besides, there were other closer woods that were more clearly in our local area, as the lockdown rules so ambiguously declared.

Bluebell woods, painted by Emily Tammam, in Ultramarine Blue, Cerulean Blue, Manganese Violet, Hansa Yellow, Raw Umberl and Burnt Umber. All watercolours from The Stoneground Paint Company. Painting tutorial from Watercolour Landscapes, by Richard Taylor.

Today, I looked through my pictures from those spring walks, in various local woods. In retrospect, I can see a clear descent, a gradual deterioration that in fact only takes me a handful of pictures to move through. I know that things were challenging at home; I was there. Nonetheless, the pictures of these early lockdown walks show a lively and sunny Neve. She is up a tree, climbing on logs, running through the woods, eating snacks. Always eating snacks. I see her prodding the ground with sticks, digging and unearthing interesting creatures. Then she is marching along again, this time with a stick twice her height and nearly as big as her smile. Sticks and snacks, the foundations of a childhood. Before long, somebody turns the stick into a limbo stick and I see her delight, as she watches and waits her turn. She gleefully limbos under and then turns to watch the others, inspecting their moves closely. How is it possible that 20 days later, this wisp of a child will be diagnosed with a large brain tumour?

Walks to and from school soon took the place of walks in the woods. The return to school was not the panacea we had hoped for and soon even those short walks were a challenge. I see pictures of Neve, flopped on the grass in the park, not even half-way home. This kilometre was a distance that Neve had been easily covering for years. Whether it was on toddler legs, a yellow scooter or a purple bike, energy had never been in short supply.

Even more perplexing were how unpredictable her changes in energy were. Four days ago, she was running through the woods with a giant’s toothpick of a stick and yet today, she is struggling to cover the short distance home. Unbeknownst to me, the descent into fatigue was actually a sign of increased cranial (brain) pressure. As I would later learn, the ups and downs of energy levels were driven by fluctuations in this pressure. This would go on to become a significant feature of Neve’s remaining years. The difference between awake and asleep and eventually, alive and dead.

Ten days later, she comes to see me as I work from home. Before I know it, she is lying down and fast asleep on the hard wooden floor. I cover her in a hand knit crimson wool blanket, unsure what else to do. It is 3pm and she is seven. Why is she napping? I hope to envelop her in comfort and softness, even if the floor is hard beneath her.

Within the week, the woods became a distant memory, replaced by hospital walls. The fluctuations in energy remain; at times, Neve could be as lively as any other seven year old and I wonder, not for the first or the last time, whether the medical teams think I am making things up. At times, I drag nurses in to see. See, see, see, she is sleeping and she is seven and it is the middle of the day. See. Then there is clarity and our world changes forever and they believe me. Sadly.

I hold it together as we wave goodbye at the doors of the operating theatre, willing my sobs to wait for those double doors to swing shut. It feels preposterous to suggest that only nine days later, Neve will be back in the woods again. Nevertheless, it turns out that removing a large tumour from a child’s brain reduces the pressure and brings comfort and relief, despite the impact of major brain surgery.

The woods that day are not just any woods; they are in fact the woods of the arboretum, which has by now reopened. Bluebell season has long since passed but there are trees, there is sunshine and there are the iridescent colours of the peacocks’ feathers. Neve found a stray abandoned peacock feather that day; I still have it.

We would return to this arboretum again the next day, eager to be outside and to behold Neve, in all her sass and glory. We were already fond of these woods, filled as they were with the memories of picnics, birthday cakes and skirmishes with peacocks.

It is a warm afternoon in early August 2020 that firmly imprints these woods as a lasting fixture in my memories of Neve. By this point, Neve was soon due to begin radiotherapy and chemotherapy. A dear friend, a photographer, suggested a family photoshoot; between us, we knew that whatever changes had already taken place were likely to pale in the face of what was to come. I will admit my initial reluctance; surely it would be awkward and cringe-worthy, with a soundtrack of familial bickering?

This friend assured me this was not what she had in mind - I should have known. Who else but a midwife can be so firmly there and yet so invisible. And so this is how we, as a family, came to spend the afternoon at the arboretum, climbing trees, eating ice cream, avoiding peacocks and looking, shockingly, almost glamourous. In the hands of this dear magical midwife photographer, the camera was present but unobtrusive. These photographs and the echos of Neve in these woods, relatively well and rambunctious, are a precious gift. She is forever there, in the arboretum, running through the tall trees, complaining about the snack supply, squealing as the peacocks approach and protesting at the need to leave all the sticks behind. I feel her in the wails of those peacocks, the deep violet-blues of the bluebells, the fresh earthy smells of the woods, the sweet flavours of the ice cream, and in the feel of the sticks and the cattlegrids and the gates.

Today’s painting of Neve is from a picture taken at home, not from the woods nor the arboretum. However, it contains the sass and radiance that I remember from those walks. I leave you with this endearing four and a half year old imp.

Neve, age four and a half, painted by Emily Tammam. Painted in Prussian Blue, Hansa Yellow, Naphthol Red, Raw Umber and Burnt Umber. All watercolours from The Stoneground Paint Company.