Forest of thoughts Stephen Gregory’s thoughts branch off while enjoying a summer ice cream…
A perfect Sunday afternoon in August... and I’m sitting on the
an aspiring writer in my thirties I worked as a gardener in
Slate Quay at Caernarfon eating a screwball.
Beddgelert, in the oak forests high above the village. A teacher in Sudan, I marvelled at the strange otherworldliness of the
A screwball? I’m reliving a rather sickly experience of my
baobab. And in the Amazon I climbed to the giddying heights of
long ago childhood, a vanilla ice cream on a bed of bubble gum.
mahogany, to sit in the nest of the harpy eagle.
When I’ve worked my way through a large cup of over-sweet vanilla ice cream, I start chewing the gum at the bottom and
Right now, in August, you don’t have to be anywhere exotic to
trying to blow a bubble big enough to burst all over my face.
be totally spoiled by the richness of our native trees. They’re everywhere and they’re glorious... in all the suburbs and side
Across the river Seiont a hot summer’s breeze is blowing
streets of Bangor, whether you’re shopping in a supermarket
through the foliage of Coed Elen, one of the loveliest woodlands
or trying to park in a crowded car park, or having your tyres
in the world. And in August the trees are in their darkest,
checked on a busy industrial estate… the trees are at their very
heaviest leaf. Oak and ash and great billowing boughs of
best, in full, blousy summertime foliage.
sycamore... and towering specimens of lime, some of them as tall as the towers of Caernarfon Castle. Coed Elen is a magical place
And from here, on the quayside of the Seiont, I can just make
of history and mystery older than the castle, redolent with the
out the shape of one of my favourite trees...
legends which King Edward of England tried to entwine into his conquest of Gwynedd.
It’s an ash. Not especially unusual or rare, and it’s not at all magnificent, hidden behind a bramble hedgerow. But every
I’ve been lucky to have lived in and near woodlands in many
time I pass nearby, either on foot or in the car, I pause and look
times of my life. My wife had an ancient house called Coed
and pay my respects. My ash, the one I always especially notice
Cae Bach, with six mature beech trees in its grounds. We had
and spare a thought... In the winter time, when its branches are
a farmhouse in France called Le Bois, surrounded by forests
bare, it’s a poorly specimen. It’s black and twiggy. Its trunk is
running with deer and wild boar. In Borneo we lived in a leafy
split wide open, probably blasted by lightning many years ago,
suburb called Forest Hill, alive with monkeys and hornbills and
riven and blackened by fire. It looks dead.
giant monitor lizards. But when the spring comes, there’s the first inkling of a As a child at boarding school in North Wales, I built dens
miracle. The tree shows a twinkle of green shoots, and within
in the dripping rhododendrons of Pwllycrochan woods. As
a few weeks in March and April, it’s wearing a coat of fresh shimmering green. Now, in August, its branches are heavy with deep green leaves, and bedecked with the marvellous little helicopter seeds which will detach in an autumn breeze and spiral into the fields and hedgerows nearby. My tree – I don’t think you’ll be able to find it. Everyone should have a favourite
I’VE BEEN LUCKY TO HAVE LIVED IN AND NEAR WOODLANDS IN MANY TIMES OF MY LIFE. NWM 2022 Page 17
