136 'THE DAISYFIELD'
by E. Wilkins Waite (1854-1924)
"Peace! We can actually feel it before us. Breath it in slowly and just imagine ourselves here too. Mmmmmm......It is sheer bliss".

This field of gently swaying flowers is a simple sight, but is alluring in such a way that really defies logical explanation. Just why do we want to walk and often to dance through this bright deep carpet? After all these are only poppies, buttercups and daisies, all extremely common wildflowers. Is it like a divine immersion? Well, yes, probably. Will all this floral beauty, its newness and freshness will help wash away our own tiredness, the pressure of it all and mental stress? Yes, perhaps it will.

Sweeping gently downwards, this sweet-smelling meadow guides to our eyes through this wide and swaying rich-coloured expanse into the little hamlet below. Here in its own form of competetiveness, the rich smell of wood- smoke and baking loaves wafts back across the landscape. These sometimes forgotten pleasures can never be replaced. As it rises slowly from some of the chimneys, the smoke tells us that it must soon be tea-time and below in the kitchens the inglenook hearths are stoked high, now for baking the bread and cakes, while next is the early preparation for cooking the evening supper. Will we faintly hear from here the clock striking three? or will there be a shout for us to run pell mell for the first to reach the gate?

Often present in our subconscious dreams there lies this desire of momentarily blissful paradise. For it is not just a fallow-field, at rest this year to restore it to better things soon, but it also provides a temporary freedom to flirt with nature without reproach. There's no farmer here to warn us off his valuable crops! Here we can literally do whatever we want. It is so invigorating for the mind just to lie basking in the warm May sunshine amongst so many beautiful wild flowers. Breathing deeply now, the various scents provide an overpowering drug. This almost alcoholic cocktail is a treat further enhanced by the endless drone of honey-bees. Listen.... Can you too hear the industrious buzzing of the multitudes, flitting from one flower to the next, gathering in their own harvest of pollen? Nowadays young people are offered a buzz, producing often the same results but in a somewhat different way. But let us return to our own private nostalgia.
The cows and sheep will probably be let in to our field, but not until after the flowers have gone. This will be to keep the grass shorter and prevent the wild seeds from blowing across the nearby cornfields. Though we can only see the cultivated fields in the far distance, this now sleepy meadow may have produced an abundant wheat crop just last year. One of the past season's fat hayricks stands neatly thatched for protection from the recent cold winter. It should be enough fodder until the grass is long enough again. The few cottages nestle cosily in this tiny vale, protected from the driving winds and rain which just howl through this landscape on bad days; the trail which connects village life to the outside world lies hidden in the valley bottom. The Downs on the other side of this hamlet are uncultivated too, typical of the untouched slopes in this part of West Sussex near to Fittleworth. The gorse bushes and pine trees on the high ground show that it is chalky and better for wildlife than cultivation.

The landscape here shows the wide and rolling plain, which falls away from the prominent ridge of the high South Downs. These breathtakingly beautiful hills travel simply miles from Dover in Kent across the whole of Sussex as far as Portsmouth in Hampshire.

Wilkins Waite always lived closeby to the Downs, and his painting expeditions would have taken him probably by train and then pony and trap into the local countryside, in search for another of its many romantic viewpoints. He painted this panoramic scene around the turn of the century and in so doing was demonstrating to his potential clients just how wonderful and relaxing the countryside was - not so far from the growing hustle and bustle of London. At this time, railway lines linked London to the many stations in the home counties. The growing number of middle-class city folk found it relatively easy to board a steam train, puffing hissing and clanking along its silvery pathway, to travel out to such heavenly places as this.
These two young and sophisticated women have ventured into the field of flowers to pick daisies. They are too elegantly dressed, with hats brightly beribboned, to be country girls. They could be sisters, probably on a family visit, and dazzled by the plentitude of wild-flowers. Will they to take some home to remind of their holiday? They probably did at Bluebell time and with wilting consequences! The country girls are not to be seen. While so familiar with nature's plenty, they will be too busy with the day's work to be done. Sadly they won't recognise the same pleasures of seemingly useless frivolity on this wonderful May afternoon. Now a heat haze lies over the valley. All is peace - London could be a thousand miles away.

Edward Wilkins Waite was a prolific landscape painter who lived just outside Blackheath in Surrey, and later at Reigate and Dorking. He was a member of the New Watercolour Society and exhibited at the Royal Academy from 1878.