History in my Branches

Day One

Stallion Oak is more than a thousand years old. It was here when an English king lost his eye to an invading force of Norman bastards; it was here through every generation that came after as they fought off invasion attempt after invasion attempt by armadas and air forces, starvations and blitzkriegs.

It was here when an apple fell on a physicist’s head and ignited his curiosity; it was here when a young codebreaker bit a poisoned apple and killed himself. It was here when plagues ravaged the people around it, and it was here when science found cures for those plagues. 

It was here as royal houses rose and fell, backstabbed and brutalised, expanded and collapsed. It was here as the empire grew until it had tendrils on every continent, and it was here when revolutionaries and freedom fighters picked apart the imperial wall.

There’s history in every branch, every leaf, every ring within its trunk.

The tree stood steady as children played among its branches, with cardboard swords and plastic guns, and then as those children gave way to teenagers stealing kisses and smoking pot, carving their initials into its bark. Those teenagers became young adults, who made love in the shade of its leaves and dropped to one knee for one another. Then followed men and women with their own children and grandchildren, all playing among the roots and climbing as high as they could go, and the cycle began again.

It stood as it became the backdrop for weddings and the site of memorials, as memories were made, and ashes were scattered. It found itself a muse, the subject of watercolours and photographs, sketches and cinema. It’s been at the centre of coronation, victory, and jubilee parties, as well as farmers markets, festivals, and illegal raves.

It’s on stamps, postcards, and local memorabilia. There are legends that say royalty hid from revolutionaries in its branches and myths that pixies live within its hollows. Folklore says the tree is the soul of King Arthur or of the dragon slain by St George. 

Locals claim it has been a prime hiding spot for fairies and spies, elves and criminals on the run from the law. 

Stallion Oak is more than a thousand years old and, from now until necessary, she is my home away from home. I have no doubts about my duty to history.

I have only a few provisions. I’ve a small camping bed which just about fits on one of the larger branches, but it’s supported by a number of knotted ropes and planks of wood that connect me to smaller branches. I’ve got a sleeping bag and a blanket and a pillow from home for comfort. 

I have a roof, too, of sorts, crafted by my father and my brother in their work-shed. It’s small, sure, and not much to write about, but it will protect me from the worst of the summer downpours and midday heat.

As for essentials, I’ve got a small, solar-powered stove and a supply of tinned food and snacks that should last me two weeks or so. After that, I hope friends, family, and allies in my mission will bring me more. If not, perhaps a hunger strike will become a new tactic! I have books, too, and a sketchbook and some pencils. No phone, though; I decided I would like to make this a natural experience that connects me to all history.

The team is dealing with social media. I gave them access to my Twitter and Instagram accounts and made them promise to only post photos of me in the tree and to definitely not go through my private messages.

How long I’ll be here, I don’t know. The team hopes only a few weeks, but I have doubts. They say they’ll drum up support, maybe get the local press interested if there’s not too many jumble sales this week and they need to fill some space. Soon enough, they say, the developers will be pressured into backing down. 

I don’t believe it though. It’s never that easy. Tree-sitting isn’t just about attention and publicity; it’s about putting your body between history and the greed that wants to destroy it. I’m more than happy to do that. I’m excited to do that.

I’m ready to do my duty.

The developers have a lot of money. A lot. Rumour has it, they have support in the government, too, because they donate a tonne to cabinet ministers. Once they find out I’m up here, they won’t hesitate in drowning me with lawsuits and legal challenges and, I wouldn’t be surprised, police intervention. 

But I know my rights. I saved up and got myself an hour with a solicitor in town. I had a notebook of questions like can they force me down? and is it a police matter? He was pretty helpful, but he also tried to persuade me not to do it and to find another way.

I can’t be surprised. He’s part of the system too, right? He profits from all this chaos and ruin too. But he did his duty for an hour and then politely insisted I leave so he could get to his next appointment.

Oh, I have a banner! Mum and the girls made it. It says History in my Branches and we measured it beforehand so it would hang perfectly from the branch I’m calling home. I’ve got some twine packed somewhere to tie it down, but it took a long time to climb up here with my rucksack so I’m going to rest first.

It’s hot up here. Hotter than I expected. The leaves don’t block the sun as much as I expected, and even with the little roof it’s still a lot. It’s like the warmth is trapped by the foliage. I’ve got bottles of water and a cooler, luckily, but I can’t be drinking constantly because I can’t climb down to go to the bathroom every half hour.

Don’t ask about toilet breaks, by the way.

Nightmare.

Utter, utter nightmare.

The developers would roll over pretty quickly if they knew the situation there.

I hope it won’t take long. I know I should be realistic, and I shouldn’t expect this to be an easy fight, but I hope it won’t take long. I want to be home. I want to be in my bed. I want to wake up to breakfast cooked by my dad or the sound of my brother and sisters dancing to music in the living room.

I don’t want to be here, really.

I shouldn’t need to be here, really.

I have to go. There are some builders here. They look small. I only saw them because they’ve got those stupid vests on that glow in the dark. 

Time to get the banner out, I think.

Wish me luck.