Heart OF OAK

Their village was about to lose something precious-but Paula was ready for battle

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Nobody was sure of the exact age of the oak tree by the village green. Estimates varied from 60 to 80 years.

For as long as Neil and I could remember, the tree had stood watching over the village, like a giant, benign sentry. Over 30 metres high and almost as wide, it meant such a great deal to my husband and me.

We stole our first kiss as starry-eyed teenagers beneath the huge spread of its branches. Neil wanted to carve our initials on the trunk, but I wouldn’t let him. Why spoil perfection?

As we grew up, got married and raised a family, the oak tree took on even greater significance. During hot summers, our children played in its protective shade. In winter, we’d sit by the window of our house next to the green and marvel at the tree’s stark beauty in the half-light.

Somehow, the tree represented stability and continuity, not only for ourselves but for the entire village.

It was a symbol, a focal point for the community coming together. At the annual summer fayre, stalls and sideshows circled the tree, like dancers around a maypole.

Imagine our stunned surprise, therefore, when news reached us that the road would have to be widened to accommodate extra traffic for the new housing development on the outskirts of the village.

The devastating part of the pronouncement by the council was that our beloved tree would have to be cut down.

It was generally acknowledged that increased traffic was a problem that needed to be addressed. Yet surely some compromise could be found, rather than removing a precious part of our heritage?

Surprise quickly turned to anger at what was perceived as an act of heartless vandalism by the planners. We were not going to sit back and meekly accept the decision. A meeting was called immediately, where it was decided that Neil and I would organise the protest.

‘It’s going to be one heck of a battle, Paula,’ said Neil, after the meeting was over.