“It was an incredible sight, an unbelievable sight, they galloped up with their lances and with pennants flying, up the slope to High Wood and straight into it. …”
F.W. Beadle, 2nd Lieutenant
It took them many hours to thread their way, tired and breathless, to the rendezvous point. But, looking across Mash Valley to where they met, all I saw were shadows.
As the last of summer passed gently over the fields, wave after wave of shadow and light advanced on the ridge, to disappear into the dark beneath the trees of High Wood.
The breeze rose and fell, echoing the breath of those long gone, and, with each fall the tumult and all thoughts subsided and settled into silence.
When I walked away a single thought began to rise – fear. I looked back at the trees of High Wood, I thought about fear and a huge oak from my past.
As I stood at the bottom of the tree, that ancient Oak, and looked up, I realised I was terrified. I felt fear like I had never known in my life. And, as I climbed it intensified; my grip tightened on the ropes, my knuckles began to turn white, my breath became short and shallow, and I clung closer and closer to the tree. My ascent became slower and slower and the physical pain I felt in my hands and legs was only matched by the mental anguish I felt. Fear.
LET GO!!!!
Far below me Rob had been watching my progress with growing amusement.
L-E-T G-O!!!
NOT BLOODY LIKELY, I squeaked back.
But I didn’t have a choice – let go or stay forever stuck in a tree as the summer turned to autumn, and face into a bleak and miserable winter – he wasn’t going to come and get me. So, slowly, carefully, reluctantly, I softened my grip, relaxing into the ropes and harness that attached me securely and safely to the tree. The blood began to flow through my hands and fingers, the pain started to recede, and I could feel the ridges of the bark as my fingers brushed over the tree.
NOW, RELAX!!
I leant back, my feet secure against the oak, my weight settling into the ropes, and looked up. The breeze shifted the shadows and light beneath the canopy and the late-summer rain fell on my face. I took a deep breath, knew I was afraid, felt the fear, accepted I was afraid, and climbed.
When I got to the top the view was magnificent.
Leaving High Wood behind me, I laughed to myself at the absurdity of a fella with a deep-seated fear of heights wanting to climb trees. Then as my laughter subsided, I again thought about fear, and all the other times I have been afraid.
As I tasted the latest batch of Humous, knowing I had again succeeded in creating the worlds blandest carrot dip, I thought about why I had been putting off the inevitable – I thought about Mash Valley, High Wood and the day I got stuck in an Oak tree…..so, I choked down the hideous result of my latest effort and went for a walk.
What I came home with was a beautiful, perfectly straight and perfectly round, piece of a Hazel tree. This was the start of something long procrastinated over, and long overdue. It was time to roll with the fear, put my big boy pants on, roll up my sleeves make a start and see where I end up.
It is amazing how a gorgeously straight piece of Hazel can turn into a corkscrew when it is split. To say I was a little disappointed would be an understatement.
But, after a little work with axe, drawknife, spokeshave, some time in the steam-box, some very bad language, raised eyebrows and a couple of prayers I was making progress.
I didn’t realise it at the time but that first whack with the beetle and froe was a foretaste of all that was to follow. If it could go wrong, it would, indeed, go wrong – spectacularly so (well, as spectacular as small pieces of wood doing things you really don’t want them to can be – I suppose it’s all down to perspective). If I could imagine it, it could, would, and did happen:
- Legs split out after steaming – yep!
- Spring back on the shaping more than anticipated or hoped for – obviously!
- Tear out on the seat carving – absolutely!
- Tenons cut too small – at this point, not surprised!
- Mortices cut too big – oh! You know it!
- Pegs uneven and too short – how else could they possibly be?
- Arms the wrong shape and length – why not?
- Splits all over the place – I suppose I could call that a ‘bit of give.’
- And on and on……..
But, strangely enough, as each new little hurdle presented itself, I began to see the funny side – I was embarked on my own comedy of errors, playing out in my very own theatre of the absurd, and I was unusually patient with my materials, tools, the situation and myself. Nothing was hurled out the door, and the cows watching my progress from the bottom of the garden got little entertainment or to gossip about later.
While all these little dramas were playing out, I kept trying to perfect my humous recipe.
This morning as I peeled garlic, chopped sundried tomatoes, and caramelised onions the late-summer sun cast shadows over the finished chair. I looked at it – last night I had been disappointed, as I saw and considered each flaw, each error, each failure – and I smiled a little bit, contented with it after-all. It has been an experience.
I sat in the chair for the first time and tasted the fresh batch of humous and thought again about the oak tree – I have only felt fear, true fear, once in my life, and it was half-way up that tree. All else has been minor, or simply worry and anxiety – I know where the minor fears spring from – so I know how to end them – but, in the meantime I will acknowledge them, see them for what they are and let them go as best I can.
Absent-mindedly, I got up and had another dollop of humous – this stuff was actually pretty good……
Returning to the chair I followed the thread of my thoughts back to the beginning, to High Wood. The late-summer shadows were men and horses charging desperately for the tree line. I read again Lt Beadle’s words – Incredible, unbelievable. They mean something else to me now.
As I finished my dollop of humous I know I have never really known fear in my life – I was safe all the time.
How incredibly, unbelievably lucky am I?
A small Yew chair, for The Lady.