Heart of Oak: Nine Centuries of Life

By Gordon Smith

This is a fascinating tale spanning nine centuries, following the rise and fall of family dynasties and their fortunes or misfortunes over the generations. Their lives are played out in an area surrounding an oak treehow outside influences and human behavior affects the destinies of many.

Through a special and rare gift of individuals passed on by the generations, readers will get a remarkable insight into the natural world surrounding a living tree and the many risks faced during its survival.

At the same time, we learn what happens to all these people living in the shadow of the great oak. Its a gift from the ancient mystics, handed down through generationsa strong spiritual belief of the power of life and nature.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Partridge Publishing Singapore
• Release date: Sep 2, 2014
• ISBN: 9781482826937

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Copyright © 2014 by Gordon Smith.

ISBN:      Hardcover      978-1-4828-2694-4

               Softcover       978-1-4828-2692-0

               eBook            978-1-4828-2693-7

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CONTENTS

Dedication

Acknowledgements

Preface

Part One: The Survival Seasons

The Woodland Spirits

My Land

Season Of Growth

Part Two: The Countless Seasons

Century 1: 1166 – 1266

Century 2: 1266 – 1366

Century 3: 1366 – 1466

Century 4: 1466 –1566

Century 5: 1566 – 1666

Century 6: 1666 – 1766

Century 7: 1766 – 1866

Part Three: The Twilight Seasons –1866 -1914

Part Four: The Changing Seasons – 1914 -1945

Part Five: The New Age Seasons – 1945 -1966

References

DEDICATION

In memory of Helen Williamson Smith,

August 26, 1949-February 12, 2011,

my wife, travel companion, and above

all else, my best friend.

Without her support and encouragement

I could not have created this book.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

My grateful thanks go to Daphne Colwell, retired Copy Editor at the United Nations for her hard work and diligence in reviewing the manuscript.

Also to a talented and conscientious production team, my editor George Gunston and his consultant/typesetter wife Valma for their professionalism in developing my book to fulfilment.

PREFACE

Note the title of this book, Heart Of Oak, along with the subtitle Nine Centuries of Life, and you will begin to understand my part as a tree narrating this story.

But it isn’t my story, I’m merely an interpreter of events as I relate what has been passed on to me.

It’s really an account of an oak tree, and the rich pageant of social history that revolves around the oak during its nine centuries of life span.

How as a tree I became the narrator, and how I came to understand what was going on, is revealed as events draw toward a conclusion.

From time to time, as the reader, you will note my comments added to form some chronological order and understanding that historical dates and events could impact on the evolution of the community where this oak tree is living and growing.

Such dates or events may not be known or understood at the time, but we have the benefit of looking back and seeing things now from our own perspective.

I am not here to explain or justify any beliefs as to how the narrative was formed. Cultures and religions have believers who will try to invoke the spirits, they believe their voices are heard, some will even say they hear a reply.

Enjoy!

PART ONE

The Survival Seasons

I came upon this land at an auspicious time, or so I was advised much later in life. It was a time when this land had a new Ruler, but he hadn’t been a Ruler long before he was forced to travel south to the place where the land meets the great water, and the hills are cut away with their whiteness exposed to face the water. It was there our new Ruler faced an enemy in battle, but a stick entered his eye and he lay still upon the ground.

The land then had another new Ruler, and his conquerors brought new customs and a strange language. They also brought, as has happened many times since, a change not only upon the land, but also upon my land, sometimes slow and sometimes rapid, but never reversed.

All of this, of course, was not known to me at the time. As with anything young, we learn from what is around us and we are more concerned with survival. With all of us who manage to survive, it’s a matter of chance and good fortune in the early years.

How my life’s story came to be known, and how it was possible for it to be passed on, will not become apparent for quite a long time, not until my twilight years. The narrative is due to the remarkable influence of just one man, whose ancestry goes back as long as mine.

Historical dates are not significant in the natural world. The beginnings, as indicated in the narrative, undoubtedly refer to 1066 AD. Harold, the new Saxon King, was crowned in January. That same year he marched south from Lundenwic (London) to meet the Normans in one of the nation’s best-known battles.

The Woodland Spirits

Perhaps I should try and give an insight into how I gained this knowledge. The Ancients believed in the spirits of the land, of the woodlands and the forests, certain great trees, the streams and rivers, all that lived upon this land. Those Ancients were the strange, two-legged creatures who, somehow and for some reason, sought and gained dominion over my land and all the lands to the great water.

As time passed, the Ancients were persecuted for their rituals, and many fled or lost their knowledge of how to be at one with all the spirits.

Some, however, kept their belief alive, while secretive and alone they would talk to the spirits.

In this strange way I was to gain my knowledge from the powerful forces that surrounded us constantly. It’s like a collective knowledge which is passed through distance and generations because we are all connected to this land. We cannot see, yet we understand images, we cannot hear, but we sense the vibration of sound, we do feel and we know touch. In this way we gain knowledge a little at a time and we pass it on to others.

Knowledge is a unique gift, as we can give it to others but also keep it for ourselves.

We come to understand the air around us, the wind that is calm or violent and also the smells which are absorbed into our bodies, and we come to understand their meaning. We may be devoid of complex emotions, but we learn what they are from their influence on all the creatures.

Dates and time, which seem to matter to the land Rulers, mean nothing to us. In nature, all that is important are the seasons and we can count by them. The sun brings light and warmth over the land and the moon brings darkness, but the land never sleeps, and this constant cycle brings forth the seasons. The purpose of these seasons I can understand, but the reason is beyond my understanding, like so many actions of the two-legged creatures.

We understand the season of the cold, when whiteness often covers the land. It’s not a time of concern for us, so we are calm and relaxed when we are left alone, gathering our strength for the next season, the season of growth. This is the time of nourishing rains, the warming of the soil, flowers and new buds. The season of the sun arrives, a time of ease when the warmth feeds us and makes us stronger. It’s a time of caution too, with violent storms or heat drying the grass and bringing fire. Then comes the fourth season, which everyone knows is the season of the falling leaves and when the acorns drop. It’s the time when the grasses make their seeds and the berries have ripened.

It’s not a time to be melancholy about the approaching cold, it’s a time for haste, a time for gathering and making sure you are nourished to the full. This is our cycle of life, and all that happens in between is a matter of chance.

There is one part of life which is denied me and many others like me. I refer to movement. I cannot seek out new places, this land is my inheritance, I have to wait for others to come to me, or rely on what I can sense within my horizon.

My Land

I always refer to this place as mine although I know and understand that it is shared with other living creations. Only the two-legged creatures take control, theirs is not a guardianship, for they take and never replace, they are the only creatures who could destroy me.

Perhaps I should outline for you where I live. I face toward the sun, always a good position, on a gentle slope amongst waves of low, rolling hills. Above me, the slope will rise some fifty paces toward the summit, whereas I am on a small, flattened ridge, protected to some extent during the season of cold. My ridge is a clearing with open grassland which again dips some twenty paces ahead, down to a narrow track, laid bare by the hooves of many grazing creatures since long before I arrived. The track winds in an arc outwards and follows the contours of the slope, then disappears in the direction of the sunset.

The slope continues to descend to a shallow valley, and at the lowest point a small brook with sweet water trickles past, occasionally shimmering in the sunlight, but often half-hidden by other trees not of these woodlands. These trees are much more slender and delicate, and their skin is white, shining in the sun. The valley is about one hundred paces wide, and the slope on the other side is much more gentle extending into the distance.

In the direction of the flowing brook, the hills flatten out and the valley is lost to a vast plain nearer the sun. The thick, yellow, clinging soil from the hills gives way to a sand wash which has darkened with time, rich and nourishing, and the trees grow much closer together. This plain is like a gigantic bowl into which flow many streams and brooks, and in the centre, through a distant haze, a great river also flows.

It travels in a huge, winding, double loop and between, and on the closer bank are great winding ridges of stone which stand out as unnatural to the landscape. The stone ridge forms a large circle toward the river and along its bank. Within this circle exist other structures, much smaller and also of stone. There too lay other structures, but of wood. This means that the cutters of trees must live there, and all around their strange place there are no trees for perhaps a thousand paces.

The area referred to is in the region of low-lying hills between the hunting regions of the Middle Saxons (Middlesex) and the Eastern Saxons (Essex). Likewise, in the area to the south lies the broad and shallow valley of the River Thames. Clinging to the northern bank are the stone fortifications of a large settlement, destined to become London.

So then, this is my beginning. None of us can choose our land, it is offered to us by all the spirits. We have to share it and, some day, we offer it back.

Season of Growth

From an acorn the mighty oak tree grows. This quote is inserted as it seemed appropriate.

It’s difficult to say when life actually began because we rely on others for that knowledge. I didn’t know that the first season of growth came early and it was warm. Branches were heavy with flowers and the air with pollen. By the season of autumn, hundreds of acorns had fallen, and this became the first lesson of survival.

The Mother Tree lay beyond the slope but some branches extended over the side facing the sun. I fell upon a hardened patch of bare earth and bounced down the slope, spiralling through the air, missing other saplings and bushes or rotting logs, then rolling down the south slope many paces until coming to rest in a patch of tall grass, thin and dried by the sun.

Between the grass blades I slid downwards to finally roll under the small canopy formed by the grass plant, then ended up in a small crack in the earth underneath caused by the sun’s warmth. This was to be my final resting place. I had no choice, all I could do now was wait.

Hundreds of acorns fell from the Mother Tree in my first season, with some finding their way into a nearby crevice which ran from the summit all the way down the slope. The crevice would become a funnel of water during the heavy rains and wash down all in its path. Other acorns fell into small recesses which became waterlogged and they rotted into the soil. Others would lay too close to the Mother Tree and couldn’t gain nourishment. Most would lay scattered on the open grassland, but then came the next lesson in survival.

Others knew of this season when small gray creatures with bushy tails collected the acorns, and there was urgency in their movements as they collected food before the harsh season of cold. Other creatures came, and much larger they foraged through the undergrowth, knowing when and where to look. Of the hundreds of acorns that fell in my first season only twenty remained, but I didn’t survive the rains or lay exposed to the season of cold.

The rains nourished the grass above me, soaking up the moisture but leaving enough for me. The great cold arrived, cracking the soil which, in some way, exposed the air and made it healthy, preventing it from becoming sour. Then a great white carpet covered us all and we became much warmer, protected from the cold winds which dried out the grass, now my protector.

Then I felt strangeness come over me, I was changing. Small tendrils were growing out from my body, seeking out the soil beneath, twisting and curling around the grass roots and small stones along with anything to hold on to, and at the same time small shoots sought out the sunlight. I had no control over any of this, it just happened.

For the first cycle of seasons I lay protected beneath the grasses and knew nothing of what was around me. The great whiteness would return to protect me, and sometimes it was thick and heavy while at other times I could sense I was near the surface. Vibrations occurred through the earth. I sensed that something was moving around above me, sometimes quite close, while at other times the vibrations echoed around the woodlands and I knew they were much further away.

Then came the time when the tallest part of me stretched above the grasses, and my own grass patch was no longer my protector. I would have to stand alone. I gained a heightened sense of what was around me. Mother Tree was so tall, towering into the sky, giving the appearance of being that much higher because she lived near the top of the hill, just on the other side.

Around me there were only grasses, a mysterious part of nature which, here and there, left a clearing within the woodlands, and the line of trees just fifty paces away from me grew thick while the land was dark inside. There were just another two like me, one a little taller. He must have started a few seasons earlier than me, and he would become my rival, but he lived close to the crevice. The other was stunted and misshapen, and I sensed he was struggling with his growth.

I became more aware of the seasons as I had now stretched above the white carpet in the season of cold, but my body and roots lay protected. After a few seasons of autumn, two other trees like me made an appearance. Then another came into view toward the lower corner of our clearing after the white carpet had melted away. This tree wasn’t one of us, it was strange, and how it came to be there was a mystery because there were no others in the nearby forest which contained patches of birch, beech, plane and elm, names given to them much later, that managed to push their way in among the oaks. This strange tree interested me and I would keep a sense of how it grew.

I also became aware of other creatures which shared the forest with us as these moved around, running across the ground or gliding through the air like dried leaves in a strong wind. They also made noises louder than the creak of branches, and the sounds they made seemed to mean something to them all. Often, they would be in the clearing around me.

Although they were of different types, they seemed to be in harmony. When we were confronted with a strange creature for the first time, there was a mixture of curiosity and apprehension for them with a sense of instinct for survival for me. None of them, I was to learn, would seek to harm us intentionally in any way, but they would co-exist peacefully.

Some larger creatures came to feed on the grasses and flowers late in the season of growth. They had white spots on their backs, large shiny noses, and what protruded from their heads was harder that the thick skin on the Mother Tree. Yet the small creatures with the bushy tails could often be among them, neither taking much notice of the other, but all wary of some danger which never showed itself.

What I was to learn was that the small creatures, when on the ground, couldn’t see very far among the tall grasses, but the taller creatures could give a warning sound, and the smaller ones would scurry off for the protection of the trees. In return, the smaller creatures among the trees could now see further than those larger creatures grazing in the clearing, and they would give a warning sound, then it would be their turn to take off toward the trees.

This way I gradually came to understand the many creatures that lived among us. Another creature, the same color and slightly larger than bushy tail, had a small, white round tail, large ears, and dug holes in the ground where he lived. It was quite fearful of another creature which also had a bushy tail, but this one was the color of the setting sun, with a long snout and moved silently.

Over the seasons I came to know all these creatures, and although some were hunters and others hunted, balance and harmony were always in our world, with peace and the sounds of nature.

Sometimes nature wasn’t so peaceful. During one long hot season of the sun, a fire spread through the forest and many creatures fled, with panic and fear in their movements. The air became tainted with the faint odors of burnt wood and grass, then it became cloudy with smoke from the flat plain below, turning everything in its path black.

The bright red flame moved slowly at first, until it reached the valley below me, and it moved much more quickly then as it raced up the incline. The speed meant that many trees were spared in the forward rush, but the flame consumed the grasses, dried by the sun. It would also destroy the small bushes, the shrubs, and young trees like myself. I was helpless in its path. The onslaught through my clearing would be quick and deadly.

Just as the fire rushed up the valley, the wind changed, and I could feel the coolness and freshness behind me, driving the smoke-filled air away, which meant the flame would be challenged. As the line of fire reached halfway up the valley, it began to head for the slope on the other side. The flame was checked, first by being blown back on itself, then by the small brook. Some flames seemed to dance across the water, but the trees were thicker at that spot with less grass to burn. It smoldered for the rest of the day, but the danger had passed.

A multitude of storms raged through the many seasons that followed, some with an uncontrolled anger from the mighty spirits which were far more important than our spirits of the forest and streams. The dark clouds seemed to be just above our small and insignificant hill. Great moaning and wailing emerged from them, with the trepidation felt by our spirits. Above the sound of the wind would come a loud splintering crack as a large branch broke. Weighted down with rainwater and unevenly balanced, it couldn’t take the strain anymore. This pruning was not always a bad thing as it helped the tree to grow stronger and straighter, also it put more strength into growing the trunk.

On one such occasion a large branch fell to the ground and crushed one of my brother saplings which had started life too close to one of the big trees at the edge of the clearing. Sometimes a great light would burn through the air and the ground trembled with a powerful sound. The brilliant light which descended from the clouds would take hold of a tree, and a loud scream would come from the tormented spirit as the thick skin was burnt open.

Worse still, it would cause some trees to lurch over in a violent movement never before experienced, and a crashing sound came from somewhere deep in the forest as the tree fell to the ground. Nothing could hide from this powerful spirit as great trees and young saplings alike fell victim to its awesome power.

The wind would also take its toll, and the scrawny sapling not far from me became a victim. Although it stood low to the ground and was often shielded from the full force of a storm, the wind sometimes twisted and funneled down in a concentrated force. My poor brother yielded, unable to hold on to the land as he twisted and leaned over, exposing his roots, weak and misshapen, and yet he still survived for a few more seasons until another great storm finally removed all his contact with the land.

Despite all this violence over the land, we lived in harmony with everything around us. Long harsh seasons of great cold or burning sun, with little rain, made us seek deeper into the earth for comfort. With each passing cycle of seasons I became more aware of the other creatures with which we shared our land. In one season of growth the grasslands were rich with yellow and red, and this brought other creatures in to eat.

They were much larger than anything else, with flowing tails that swished from side to side, a mane of hair down their backs, and feet that were round, solid hooves. They frolicked around in the meadow, not caring where they jumped or landed.

One heavy foot went over a tall sapling which split away from its thin skin, tearing lengthways down to the ground. Another sapling’s life had ended, it could easily have been mine, but these were the seasons for survival and I continued to grow. With each passing cycle of seasons I grew taller, wider and stronger, but the day would come when I wouldn’t survive such mishaps.

At this point I should explain that the narrative goes into long and sometimes vague descriptions of the natural world around. For ease of interpretation the names are those we most commonly associate with the descriptions. We have already met the fallow deer, the rabbit, the fox and wild horses. The meadow of red and yellow refers to poppies and buttercups, with primroses preferring shaded areas. We may as well dispense with the longer descriptions of the seasons and now refer to the two-legged creatures as men collectively and, when appropriate, distinguish the gender.

I became acquainted with my world and those creatures sharing my land. The darkness brought the owl, hunter of field mice and water rats or voles, also the fox, the rabbits along with the badger and the bats that swooped down in silence, and the slow glide of a snake. The lightness brought the songs of the thrush and blackbird, the flittering movements of the titmouse and finches, the cuckoo and the chatter of woodpeckers in season, the harsh cries of crows and jays, the loud wing clapping of wood pigeons in startled flight as the dark shadow of hawk or falcon descended, and the constant drone from a myriad of insects. Also bees as they were at the flowers, and wood wasps around the trees. My companions, the squirrels, along with much larger creatures of the forest, the deer, boar and horses, all shared my land.

Life remained good throughout those seasons of survival and nothing really changed until those two-legged creatures, men, arrived. I sensed then that life in our forest would never be the same again.

PART TWO

The Countless Seasons

I am content in my world. I have grown tall and straight, my skin is still young and smooth, and my branches are pliable, bending to the wind. I look down upon the other creatures of the forest. Horses that come to graze in the meadow and boars that forage the roots with their snouts all come to rub themselves against my skin, but I am sturdy and my roots do not feel any strain.

It would appear that the first hundred years have passed without any great incident to record except for surviving potential threats of nature. As dates don’t mean anything in the natural world, we assume the story is picked up again in the next century, which begins in 1166 AD. Obviously there is no sudden transition from one century to the next, so the century period has been inserted to give the reader an indication of chronology.

Century 1: 1166 – 1266

It was a warm day in spring when I had my first encounter with man. The narrow track at the bottom of the meadow was often used by animals, and it was up this track that a man first appeared. He stopped, looked up the slope, walked toward me, then examined the ground and the small dung pellets the rabbits had left. He seemed pleased with himself.

This man was wearing old brown cloth and leather skin, his hair was long and dark, and he was quite agile for walking on only two legs. As he walked past me up to the Mother Tree he did a strange thing, he lifted his arms and opened his palms toward the tree. Then he spoke to the tree spirit, the spirits of the woodland, and the great forest beyond.

Great Spirit, he chanted loudly, thank you for finding me this place. Grant me a good living from your bounty, and allow me to take the rabbits from your land. After looking about for some time he made his way back down the slope before walking along the winding track in the direction of the great river.

Nothing happened for several days so he returned with traps and nooses for catching the rabbits then began setting them around the holes that the rabbits had dug in the ground as they seemed to prefer living underground. Many of the rabbits came out during the day to feed, they weren’t unduly scared because foxes usually hunted at night.

Later, when all was quiet and the man’s footsteps couldn’t be felt through the ground, the rabbits cautiously investigated their meadow. As they emerged, their heads slid through the noose until they felt it on their shoulders, then they’d jump sideways, but it was too late, the noose was now too small to slip back over their ears. The more they struggled to escape, the tighter the noose became, until their tiny lungs wheezed with the effort of trying to get air. Slowly they would become unconscious, occasionally wriggling or kicking out their hind legs.

I was a witness to their plight but, as always, my senses could only observe but not act, not even give a warning. Harsh conflict was nothing new to me for I had seen the foxes pounce and carry off their prey. I’d also seen the fleeting shadow of the hawk descending from the sky when it would catch a rabbit, a mouse or vole in its sharp talons. It wasn’t a clean or swift kill, it would tear away the flesh while the poor animal struggled to escape.

Later in the day, the man would return to find his catch. He would collect the rabbits and sometimes reset the traps, while at other times he wouldn’t return for several days. When he did it might be in the cool of the morning when dew was on the grass and mist in the valley, or it might be toward sunset, but the fox hunted at night so he would stay quietly close by.

For a number of seasons no other man entered my land. This man had a ritual of always going to the Mother Tree and asking the spirit to grant him a catch of rabbits. Now and then I would sense noises not natural to the forest, far off and echoing from the hills, with sounds coming up from the valley slope. I later discovered a baleful call came from the hunting horns. A small group of deer would run across the meadow, their lungs gasping with fear and exertion. Then came the sounds of horses running between the oak trees on the far side of the meadow. The deer would always turn north and head away from the valley and into the hinterland.

One summer, late in the day, the rabbiter had just strung up his catch when the deer crashed through the trees and into the meadow at the far side, ignoring the man as if he posed no danger, and the frightened beasts turned back up the valley once more. The man stood still as he heard the approaching horsemen. Five men appeared, with one dressed in a fine costume and clean colors. He seemed to be the leader, just as most groups of animals have one leader, proven by right of conquest.

The leader noticed the man standing close to me, then the riders reined in their horses and cantered forward slowly. So this was how men made use of the horses that ranged in the forest. It was much faster and easier than running on foot. Perhaps they used other animals as well.

I was to sense later the strange relationship men had with certain animals. The goats seemed to be the first to be domesticated for a purpose, and some wolves seemed to favor the company of men in ancient times. They no longer looked like wolves, although they still had the same hunting instincts. A few such animals ran around the legs of the horses.

The leader looked down from his horse and spoke to the rabbit-catcher.

You, Warren! What’s your name?

John, Sire. The man removed his cap and lowered his head toward the ground.

Did you see where the deer were heading?

Down toward the valley, Sire, the man lied.

Looking at the rabbits the leader remarked, That’s a fine string of rabbits you’ve got there.

I have a charter from the Squire Montcrieff.

Make sure it’s only rabbits you catch.

Oh yes, Sire, I know this is your hunting land.

Well, John the Warren, where do you live?

I have a small hut, Sire, down near the valley slope.

It’s getting late in the day, we will rest at your hut and you can cook us some of your fine rabbit. After a pause, the leader asked, Do you have any daughters living with you?

I have a son, but my daughter hasn’t yet reached maidenhood. She will dance at the Maypole next spring.

The leader grinned with a strange hunger in his eyes, like when a fox played with a mouse, then said, She is old enough to entertain me tonight.

The man, whom I now know to be John Warren, seemed distressed. Let me run on ahead Sire, and prepare her for your gracious presence.

No need, John the Warren, the leader replied, then chuckled, I shall prepare her myself.

Turning their horses, the men cantered down the track. As John Warren ran his hands through his thick black hair I sensed his distress. Slinging the pole of rabbits over his shoulder he started to run after the horses.

Several months had passed, the acorns had dropped and still there was no sign of John Warren. Then one day he arrived bringing another person with him, smaller and younger, and the difference I was to learn, was that person was female. They both studied the meadow from the walking track for several minutes then climbed the gentle slope. The man headed for the Mother Tree, as was his ritual, but the girl said No and moved toward me.

This shall be my spirit tree, she said, laying her hands on me. It is young and strong, its spirit shall watch over us for many generations and countless seasons. Strangeness came over me as I could feel her spirit and mine making contact, with a deep understanding between them, and they seemed to be as one. After making an invocation to the spirit, she finally removed her hands.

We shall build you a hut in the lower corner, near the track, the man said. There’s water in the brook below and you can graze two sheep and a goat by permission of Montcrieff.

It isn’t fair, I should have more, she called out. I carry a royal bastard and yet I am banned from the village.

Hush, child, he said softly. If you say these words in public you are likely to lose your head.

Father and daughter were silent for a moment before he said, I have arranged a betrothal for you.

Yes. And look who it is. She was angry, and I sensed she was a strong and determined young female. The keeper of swine, she added, from the Buck’s land meadow beyond the village.

The boy, William of Buck’s land, is a good young man who will take care of you, and the child will be raised as his.

I will not have my house or my bed smelling of swine.

It will not, Ruth my dear, he shall have my charter to catch rabbits.

Then he should take the name of Warren, she responded, quickly.

The law doesn’t allow that, but your brother will keep the name. John then beckoned for Ruth to follow him back down the slope. Come child, we have work to do if we are to build this hut before winter.

At this point, an explanation regarding the spoken language in this narrative may be helpful. The narrative uses a direct copy of what is spoken, but that bares little resemblance to what we understand, so a direct translation is required and words put into a context which hopefully conveys the true meaning of all that is spoken. It is interesting to note that a great deal of the language is based on Viking words and not the Anglo-Saxon or Latin-based French. This may be partly due to the Vikings having settled on the land for several centuries, or perhaps because of the Normans who were descended from Norseman stock.

Days later a group of people arrived, including men and women of all ages. For some time I’d sensed there must be many more beyond the forest than the few who had come to visit me. Ruth casually made her way up to me and put her hands on my body. She spoke softly so others wouldn’t hear her. I sensed that speaking to the spirits of my woodland didn’t meet with the approval of all the people. A young man, to become known as William Buckland, followed her.

Come Ruth, we have to do our share of the work, it will be a long day, he said. He put one palm on my trunk in the manner of simply resting. No experience was shared between us, but I sensed this young man, who was quite plain and a lot older than the girl, didn’t have the same spark of determination in life.

Were you whispering here? he asked.

I was just wishing all would be well with us, she replied, turning around and staring at the group below. Her father was looking up anxiously. I don’t see why our hut cannot be made of stone. The Normans have always built in stone, and since the lands have been divided into parishes many churches have been built, all in stone.

Later, perhaps, William answered. It would take too long to collect them from the brook below and from the foothills. For now our hut has to be from the woods.

At that point a cart arrived, pulled by a horse, which showed they had other uses for the horses. This horse was different from