Wild river folk: Jackie Morris at Coop House
Artist, writer and Lost Words illustrator Jackie Morris reflects on the wildlife and the wonder of a stay at Coop House, near Hadrian's Wall.
It stands beside the River Esk, whose waters flow clear and rich with life. We approached in the dusk light, through a farm yard, along a field track, to the end of the road where this absolute haven was waiting, wrapped in the song of tawny owls.
Warm inside the stone walls, twilight holding its light late on the river’s skin, until night broke and the stars filled the sky. Northumbria; a place of dark skies. We settled in, unpacking books, knitting, typewriter, paints and food, lighting the fire and closing the curtains. I’d come to the north for the opening of Spellbound: Lost Words and Lost Spells at The Sill, an exhibition of the original artwork from both books, co-created by myself and the genius who is Robert Macfarlane. A couple of days in Spring Cottage, which sits hard by Hadrian’s Wall, working in the gallery, meeting amazing people and a walk to the heartbreaking sycamore gap ( which could be called Hawthorn gap, as a hardy thorn has grown in the shadow of the invader for years and now has full light- a modest and beautiful old tree), and I was tired. So, although the intention had been to use Coop House as a base for more work at The Sill I was sent off with orders to ‘rest’.
There couldn't be a better place in which to escape from the world, from the self.
We woke to a wonder. The river catches the dawn light early, holding it, carrying it along, silver and beautiful on its mirrored skin. In the evening I had been reading through the visitor’s books. Landmark Trust visitor books are AMAZING. Reading through was fascinating. So many sightings that I made a ‘wish list’ of what I hoped to see.
Unexpected for me was brown hares. River folk I’d hoped for, even expected, to see, and most wished for was the otter, so it was an utter delight that I saw, midstream on the first morning, a wild otter swimming downstream, hunting. Absolute heart’s delight, this swift sighting, on that first morning. Later, too, a brown hare in the field, came bold as brass to the field’s edge and slipped slow beneath the gate to run, without great haste, along the track that runs beside the river. And so I began to weave image and word into the visitor’s book.
I had brought gifts for the house; a copy of The Lost Words and The Lost Spells, with the intention of elaborately signing both, and I had propped them by the window and recited Kingfisher, in the hope of, not summoning, but conjuring the Glas y Dorlan- little blue of the riverbank. Standing idle by the window an hour or two later my eye snagged on a stick and there, there, beautiful jewel bird. Kingfisher!
I began to sketch. I want to make some new prints for Aquarelle, and had decided to make sketches while here that later I could work up into paintings. The kingfisher sat so still. They always seem so large as their presence fills the eye so, but they are small, small, fierce and fast.
The whole stay at Coop House feels like a dream now. We saw the otter twice more- once whilst we were out walking, and once from the windows of the house, hunting the waters so close. Alerted by the alarm calls of the ducks I had looked out to see who might be there and there was otter, in and out of the water, and deer, who had come to the river’s edge to drink. We watched for a while, then otter moved upstream. I managed to film through the windows, following the otter’s hunt.
The house itself is a curious structure that holds its own memories in stone. There are stories of owls falling down the chimney and resting on the ends of the children’s bed when the house was lived in. It is warm. The windows ripple with aged glass. We spent most of the week just in the house, enjoying the space, venturing out to walk by the river, drawn to the water. There is a profound peace to be discovered in the quiet inside, and the river’s song outside. Reading, knitting, resting and watching the constant change, the coming and going of the river folk. Egret, heron, rook and jackdaw, kingfisher, otter, deer, hare, geese in the sky and a small hawk hunting. We heard the owls but didn’t see them.
It’s a place I would love to return to at different times of year. The river is beautiful, wild and in constant change. We were there during one of the big storms and whilst we experienced the wind there was little rain. Not so up stream, and so we watched as the river grew, and the wind blew the turbulence, lifting the spray, throwing the river’s waters back to the sky. Rainbows danced in this spray at times, so many small patches of rainbows as the water again caught the light. Then, as rain upstream ceased, still the river grew, bringing murky topsoil to colour the waters, for a while. As the wind dropped, next morning the silver skin of the river again reflected the early morning light, a bright sheen seen through mist.
To be here in March, when the hares dance, in summer, when the goosanders will have young, and the mallards and maybe otters too. To watch the salmon run upriver to the spawning grounds in autumn and see the leaves turn gold on the trees over the river in Scotland. How amazing would that be. To try to see all the seasons of the river.
Leaving was hard. To stay in such a place felt like an amazing escape. I wanted to stay in this haven. I’m looking forward now to exploring more of the Landmark Trust houses, and their visitor’s books. And carrying the memory of this week and the wild river folk into new work, with written and drawn.
Jackie Morris is a British artist, writer and illustrator, living in Wales. She won the Kate Greenaway Medal in 2019 for her illustration of The Lost Words created with Robert Macfarlane.
See 'Spellbound': an exhibition celebrating works from The Lost Words and The Lost Spells at The Sill, Northumberland runs until 6 April 2025.
