ABBEY WOODS

KENT

JULY 15 2008

Bartholomew likes to view himself as an elder statesman of the woods.  For two hundred and seventy years he has lived here,  from a tiny seedling to a mighty,  handsome hulk,  shedding around seven hundred thousand leaves each and every fall.

He has survived world wars and diseases many fold.  He shed tears at the sad demise of close friends to Water mould, Oak wilt,  Root rot,  and invasive attacks of particularly malicious Wood boring betles,  and even survived arson attempts by a group of young adolescent 'Hoodies' high on an intoxicating mixture of adrenalin and strong white lightning cider!

He has witnessed the birth of the Transistor radio, the motor car,   television,  the first man on the moon and even Cilla Black,  the cheerful cheeky chipmunk,  reach number one in the British hit parade for popular beat combos!

Bartholomew,  the mighty Oak,  member of the mighty and far reaching Genus Quercus clan worldwide,  stands tall and handsome in the woods he has seen shrink and die since his birth.   Noble gentry have courted beneath his proud torso,  and children of more than a dozen generations have climbed his masculine arms in search of a better view or else to secure swings and ropes for others to play on.

Aged eighty,  Bartholomew produced his first acorns Cupules, born of an eighteen month growth span from their Catkins flower origins,  continuing to grow ever upwards for the next twenty years, and since that time his strength and girth have known no bounds,  establishing him as the mightiest in the land (well at least as far as the eye can see).

Bartholomew is the wise old sage of this particular section of woodlands,  in whom the younger forrest dwellers place respect and faith.  Answering questions from a vast array of sources,  from grey squirrels to Lesser spotted Cuckoos,  urban foxes to Silver birch trees,  he is looked up to,  revered and admired by all.....

His relatives have gone,  after long and varied life spans to provide luxurious and elegant lines for the House of commons in Ye Olde Londinion Town,  ornate furniture for the well heled,  and even barrel struts for quality red wine manufacturers.

Bartholowmew himself,  though showing no desire just yet to pop his Oak crafted clogs,  dreams of one day gracing the interior of a Jaguar sports car,  or perhaps a millionaires private jet.  He's always had a yearning to fly.

But for now,  he is content to survey his turf,  watch over the youngsters all around him,  and watch the world change before his eyes with successive generations to come.

Who knows what amazing things he will witness in the autumn of his life