I’ve recently discovered an old farm in Teesdale. Abandoned to the centuries and resembling a clearance from one of the Scottish glens, I spent an afternoon in the hay meadows listening to the sound of whispers in the grass. I thought of them as echoes of the past and a shiver sent me packing. I visited the same location on my journey home from work recently. Splashing my way to the farm after days of heavy rain, the atmosphere was very different, darker and even more spooky. I imagine much took place in these old buildings, birth, death and laughter, the voices still run the through the flower meadows like children of the past.