The C.S. Lewis Nature Reserve was the forest of my childhood, and sits on the tail end of Shotover Country Park. I have known it by many names: the Fairy Place, the Sandpit or, simply, The Forest.
It is an old claypit, [1] reclaimed by woods. In the centre lies the main pit, now filled with water.
I have walked this three-hectare [2] piece of land since I was small; it is here that I catch glimpses of what it might be like to be native to a place — to belong.
And here is where I first encountered The Gatekeeper, who dwells in the pond. He began as a story told to me by my father and grew in my mind into a spirit inhabiting the space between realms: Day and Night, Urban and Rural, Life and Death. And, from that liminal space, one with the ability to open eyes to reality's truths and magic.
And the story goes:
The quarrymen left. Their human holes gradually filled with water and became green. The land exhaled and began to settle down.
And ere long, a creature stirred in the clay. As the sediment built, he slowly grew. An eye opened to watch the life around him.
Seasons passed, eggs hatched, frogs spawned, herons hunted and trees blossomed. Life spiralled above him. And he watched.
Occasionally, he would lift a great hand out of the water to shift some little thing, to ensure things were moving as they ought. To make sure the lives around him were safe.
Over time, the urban landscape swelled once more around the little forest where he lived and the humans returned to play, hide and walk in it.
They built a fence on the border and a gate at the entrance.
Sometimes, he appears to them. Throw a stone into the mirror-still water of the pond to rouse him, say a prayer of gratitude and you might spy him.
When it suits him, he takes the shape of an old, ashen-faced man. He cloaks himself in a tattered grey-green robe, the colour of the rocks in the murky water. He does not speak but moves purposefully.
He is born of the land, a spirit, an intention, a shrine become sentient. If he likes you, he will initiate you into the ways of the in-between. He will make you aware of the cycles he protects. He will show you that life is motion and it never stops.
Yet on his belt hangs a set of rusty keys with which he locks the gate at night, keeping outsiders from his realm. Locking you inside too, if you linger after dark. You had best be sure you belong before taking that chance, for the night is the creature's time – and he will keep his community safe from harm.
This was my first introduction to a Gatekeeper, and it gave rise to a way of seeing the world, where everything a place represents- becomes a tangible presence with things to teach.
Acrylic on paper, Digitally manipulated
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