Heart of OAK

Nobody was sure of the exact age of the oak tree by the village green. Estimates varied from 60 to 80 years.

For as long as Neil and I could remember, the tree had stood watching over the village, like a giant, benign sentry. Over 30 metres high and almost as wide, it meant such a great deal to my husband and me.

We stole our first kiss as starry-eyed teenagers beneath the huge spread of its branches. Neil wanted to carve our initials on the trunk, but I wouldn’t let him. Why spoil perfection?

As we grew up, got married and raised a family, the oak tree took on even greater significance. During scorchingly hot summers, our children played under its protective shade. In winter, we’d sit by the window of our house next to the green and marvel at the tree’s stark beauty in the half-light.

Somehow, it represented stability and continuity, not only for ourselves, but the entire village. It was a symbol, a focal point for the