Wend & Wild

A Day at Staffordshire History Centre

Kirsty Walsh — Fri, 15 Aug 2025 20:54:43 +0000

Earlier this week, I took myself on a midweek adventure – I drove over to Stafford to spend the day at the Staffordshire History Centre, a research visit to help uncover more of the story behind Whittington’s Garden of Remembrance. It was my first time doing archive research, so everything felt new and full of possibility.

I’d gone in search of archive documents from 1962, when the garden changed from a burial ground to its current role as a place of reflection. The records, created between the Parochial Church Council and the Parish Council under the Open Spaces Act 1906, promised a small but significant window into the past.

The building itself is bright and modern, and the welcome I received was just as warm. The staff had thoughtfully reserved me a desk by the window for the best light for photography, and near a socket for my laptop. They patiently talked me through the process of handling the documents, registered my new archive card, and even lent me a copy stand for my camera. One lady told me about the children’s backpacks visitors can borrow while exploring the building, a sweet touch that made the whole space feel even more inviting.

The main document I looked at was the Open Spaces application – a fascinating piece of history that offered more than I’d dared hope for. It’s given me some exciting new threads to follow and a big leap forward in the story we’re piecing together. At one point, I did a little happy dance as I realised I was getting closer to identifying who some of the graves in the garden belong to.

By the end of my visit, I’d not only found new leads for the research, but also fresh inspiration for how our own exhibition might be displayed thanks to the creative and engaging displays in the History Centre’s entrance. I left feeling excited, encouraged, and a little more connected to the history I’m trying to piece together.

It was, in every way, a successful day.

An Unknown Soldier

Kirsty Walsh — Thu, 14 Aug 2025 08:33:00 +0000

If you’ve visited the Remembrance Garden recently, you may have noticed that our Unknown Soldier had been standing a little wonky. Time, weather, and a worn post had left him leaning, his stance less certain than when he first arrived. Over the past week, we’ve given him a gentle wash and polish, and replaced the rotten post that had been struggling to hold him up with two sturdy new ones. He’s now standing straighter and prouder, if a little taller, ready to weather a few more seasons. In time, we’ll look to replace him, as the years and weather have begun to leave their mark and are beginning to show his age.

Our soldier is one of the Royal British Legion’s commemorative silhouettes, life-size, weather-resistant, and created as a striking tribute to those who served and never came home. These figures have been placed in gardens, churchyards, and public spaces across the UK, quietly holding their place in our landscapes and reminding us of the human cost of war.

Here in Whittington, our Unknown Soldier stands within the Remembrance Garden – a space for reflection and gratitude, now cared for by a small group of local volunteers. We have only recently begun tending this place, but already it has become a garden where we nurture not only plants, but also the symbols and stories of those who served and sacrificed.

Tomorrow, 15th August 2025, marks the 80th anniversary of Victory over Japan (VJ) Day, when Japan announced its surrender, bringing the Second World War to an end. For many in the UK, it brought relief and homecoming. For others, the day is bound up with loss, grief, and the memory of battles far from home. It is also impossible to mark VJ Day without acknowledging the devastating atomic bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki just days earlier, acts that hastened the war’s conclusion but caused unimaginable suffering. The history is complex, and its moral weight is not easy to reconcile.

For me, VJ Day is also personal. My grandfather was aboard HMS Cornwall when it was sunk by Japanese forces in 1942. Many lost their lives that day, and the flowers I will lay tomorrow are for him, for them, and for those whose names we do not know. The flowers will be red and white, the colours of remembrance poppies, but also the colours of the Japanese flag. They are a small gesture to honour the lives lost on both sides, and to recognise the shared hope that such conflicts never happen again.

We are fortunate here in Whittington. The Remembrance Garden contains no fresh graves, no new names to carve. Our work is the tending of memory – cleaning, straightening, planting, and keeping these stories alive for future generations. It is a privilege to stand in peace among the flowers, to care for an Unknown Soldier who represents so many, and to remember the cost of the peace we enjoy.

A Quiet Beginning

Kirsty Walsh — Wed, 23 Jul 2025 19:08:45 +0000

Sometimes ideas start quietly, with the feeling that something matters even if you’re not quite sure why yet.

After staying in long past lockdown, I found myself looking for somewhere to volunteer. I needed something to ease me gently out of the house and away from my very comfortable remote working. During those long days, I’d started growing cut flowers from seed through a “Grow to Give” Facebook group. I began to wonder if I could share some of the extra plants I was raising, to bring a little colour and feed the pollinators in a local green space.

I thought about the Garden of Remembrance, and the vast border that sat beneath weed suppression fabric and wood chips. It’s a peaceful and beautiful place but when you look more closely, you begin to notice its edges. Weathered benches. Weeds pushing through. Gravestones laid flat, their inscriptions fading. A space that seemed to be asking to be tended with more care.

It’s a peaceful and beautiful place — but when you look more closely, you begin to notice its edges

I asked if there was a local group of volunteers working there. There had been, at different times, but none were active now. I was disappointed, and then curious. Who was going to be looking after it now?

That was the beginning.

It wasn’t straightforward figuring out who to ask or how to begin. But some serendipity, and perhaps a touch of kismet, led me to establish Wend & Wild as a community interest company, nudged along by a quiet desire to keep growing more plants than my own garden borders could contain.

And so here we are some months later – with permission from Shropshire Council, the support of Whittington Parish Council, and a risk assessment, insurance, and a brand new (still empty) accident book, getting ready to begin.

This is the very start of our story in the Garden of Remembrance.
Welcome and thank you for reading. We’ll share more as the seasons unfold.

On the Name: Wend & Wild

Kirsty Walsh — Mon, 21 Jul 2025 22:22:47 +0000

I didn’t exactly choose the name Wend & Wild — it feels more like something I unearthed. As though it had been resting quietly beneath the surface, waiting for the right moment to be found.

It didn’t come from a business plan or a five-year vision. It came from somewhere deeper, from a question that had been quietly growing inside me: What if I valued something else?

What if I chose a different path? One lined with seeds, stories, and slow mornings. One where I made time to know myself, not as separate from nature but as part of it. Not in control, but in relationship.

It came from the space between unmet needs and long-held dreams. A longing for a gentler pace. A wish for beauty, purpose, and quiet connection. A desire to give something back – to the land, to the community, to the parts of myself that are soothed in nature.

Wend speaks of moving with intention, but not haste. A meandering path that still knows its direction. That’s how this project began — growing flowers from seed, one by one, without quite knowing where it would lead. The direction was always there: to grow beauty, to feed the pollinators, and to share flowers freely.

And Wild felt like the natural companion. It echoes freedom and flow, the way nature finds its way, moving in response to the shifting world with quiet wisdom. It reminds me that even with direction, there’s no fixed route. That softness and structure can co-exist.

Together, Wend & Wild feels like more than a name. It feels like the kind of energy I want to live by. A path I want to walk. A way of being I want to nurture. A quiet legacy I hope to leave behind – rooted in respect, shaped by collaboration, and always open to the changing light.

It’s a deeply intentional, gentle revolution.

I hope the name speaks to you too, and that over time it comes to mean something rooted and real here in the village.