Hello, fellow storytellers and nature lovers!

Following our exploration of Shropshire's trees, those magnificent living witnesses of our history, like the ancient yew at Church Preen, I now want to delve into the enchanting literary world inspired by trees, both here in Shropshire and around the wider world. I feel a profound connection with trees, and I know I am not alone. Not only do trees give us the air we breathe, but they also inspire our creative side, stir our imaginations, and evoke deep emotional connections. For example, the loss of the Sycamore Gap tree in 2023 had a huge and unexpected impact on our country. While it was a relatively young addition to the ancient landscape of Hadrian's Wall, planted in the late 19th century (likely between the 1860s and 1890s) by John Clayton, a passionate Newcastle lawyer who dedicated his life to protecting the stretch of Hadrian's Wall where the tree stood. While not a native species, the sycamore species became naturalised around the Tudor period and this well placed sapling grew into an iconic, universally adored sentinel, appearing in films and millions of photographs across the globe.

But why did we all care so much about it? Wasn't it just a tree? Is the 2,700-year-old Yew we previously discussed just a tree? All the evidence suggests they are far more than that; they are our spiritual anchors that give us life and connect us deep into the earth and to the long-gone stars. From the earliest myths to modern fantasy, trees have always been central to human storytelling. They are the fixed points in a fleeting world, and this constancy is precisely what draws us woodworkers, and our customers alike, to the beauty and endurance of their wood.

Let's start with my personal favourite: J.R.R. Tolkien. He was a master of world-building and the one who gave us the Ents, the ancient, tree-like beings who are the shepherds of the forest, embodying the slow, thoughtful wisdom of nature. The Ents, particularly Treebeard, move with the unhurried patience of sylvian time. They represent a fierce, primordial defence against the rapid, destructive forces of industry and warfare, epitomised by the destruction of the forests around Isengard. These literary giants remind us that trees have voices, if only we take the time to listen. In Tolkien's work, the distinction between a tree as a mute resource and a tree as a living character is profound, reflecting the ancient reverence for the deep woods. Tolkien’s devotion to trees is a truly beautiful thing. When you think of his world, do you ever feel like there is something familiar about the hobbit's home of the Shire?

There is a powerful and persistent theory among scholars and devoted readers that Shropshire served as a major, if unacknowledged, inspiration for Tolkien's Shire. This connection is rooted deeply in the geography, the peaceful rural character, and the very atmosphere of our county. Tolkien taught at Birmingham for many years and would have travelled extensively through the surrounding counties. Shropshire, with its gently rolling hills, ancient trackways, half-timbered houses, and preserved sense of olde England, offers a perfect parallel to the idyllic, untouched Shire. The Wrekin, that iconic Shropshire sentinel, could be seen as an inspiration for the isolated, familiar hillocks and peaks that ring the Shire, providing a sense of geographical enclosure and safety.

Furthermore, many place names in the region, particularly those around the Welsh Marches, carry a sense of deep, Saxon and Celtic history that resonates with the nomenclature of Middle-earth. Tolkien was a philologist, obsessed with the history of language, and the ancient place names of Shropshire would have been a rich seam for his imagination. The idea that my home county, with its ancient oaks and yews, is the real-world "Shire" provides a profound, almost sacred layer of cultural resonance for me and the work I do. When I craft a bespoke piece, I am, in a small way, honouring the resilient, deep-time essence of our landscape. I am lucky enough to be able to walk, think, and work among the ancient Shropshire trees and practice my own version of tulpamancy. 

Long before Tolkien, trees were central to the mythology that underpins British culture. They were not simply part of the background; they were, and still are, considered sacred entities. Andrew Morton's fascinating book The Trees of Shropshire brings up the chilling ritual of the "King of the Wood" an ancient priest who served the goddess Diana in a sacred grove and had to defend his title by fighting any challenger until he, too, was slain. This primal story of death and rebirth under the sacred oak gave rise to later folklore, like the mysterious, often mischievous figure of Jack O'Green a leafy figure that led processions and embodied the vibrant, sacrificial spirit of nature. It’s a wonderful reminder that the woods are beautiful, but they are powerful.

The Yew is perhaps the most mystical of all British trees, its poisonous nature (rest assured our food-friendly products will never be made from Yew) and extraordinary longevity linking it to both death and eternal life. Its prominence in churchyards across the UK is not accidental; they are often older than the churches themselves, seen as sacred sites long before Christianity arrived. They represented a bridge, a sentinel at the edge of the human world, offering protection and a deep, continuous link to the past. From ancient woodlands rumoured to hide mischievous spirits to specific trees believed to grant wishes or offer protection, these stories are woven into the very fabric of our county.

Trees also hold profound spiritual significance throughout the Bible, appearing from Genesis to Revelation as anchors for major events and theological metaphors. They begin in the Garden of Eden with the Tree of Life and the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil, representing eternal communion and moral choice, respectively. The faithful are consistently likened to trees planted by streams of water, symbolising stable, righteous life. Specific wood like acacia were used for the sacred Ark of the Covenant, while cedars of Lebanon represented glory and stability. In the New Testament, the olive tree symbolises peace and God's covenant people. Ultimately, the story of redemption is anchored to a tree, as the cross is referred to as a tree, transforming a symbol of a curse into the ultimate source of life.

The inspiring power of trees has been beautifully chronicled through all genres of literature, rooting some of our greatest stories and philosophical works in the deep wisdom of the forest.

In his masterpiece, Walden; or, Life in the Woods, Henry David Thoreau sought a profound truth by deliberately simplifying his life. For two years, he dwelled in a humble cabin, fully encircled by the natural world. The woods, and the magnificent trees within them, served as Thoreau’s deepest well of inspiration. They were the constant, patient muses for his philosophical quest, providing the stark, beautiful reality from which he drew his enduring commentary on society and existence.

Centuries later, the essence of the English countryside is powerfully embodied by a single, legendary tree in E.M. Forster's Howards End. The great Wych Elm that graces the title house is far more than a landscape feature; it’s a mysterious, almost sentient presence. With its strange history, including a superstition involving pig's teeth embedded in its bark, this ancient elm represents the deep, unshakeable spirit of the past and the authentic, enduring roots of England. It is the living, breathing anchor for the human drama that unfolds around it.

In the 1940s, Betty Smith wrote A Tree Grows in Brooklyn, the inspiring story of a bright, resilient girl navigating crushing poverty in the early 20th-century tenements of Brooklyn. The entire novel is framed by the Ailanthus altissima, or "Tree of Heaven," which stubbornly sprouts and thrives in the concrete courtyard despite constant attempts to cut it back. This aggressive, tenacious tree serves as the central metaphor for her own unwavering spirit and hope for a better life, proving that even in the toughest soil, an unyielding dream can grow towards the light.

Finally, in the contemporary classic, Wildwood: A Journey Through Trees, Roger Deakin beautifully articulates our timeless, essential connection to these woody wonders. Deakin's journey is a tactile and spiritual exploration, carrying him to forests across the globe. Yet, his enduring spirit and love for trees always remain deeply rooted in the appreciation of local woodlands a sentiment that resonates so strongly with my own dedication to sustainably managed Shropshire timber. Deakin shows that whether global or local, the tree is a vital, inspiring source of story and solace.

Beyond fantasy, trees provide the deep emotional weight for our most enduring works of poetry and drama:

Thomas Hardy made the Dorset woodlands a powerful, brooding backdrop to his novels, using the ancient, tangled Egdon Heath and its scattered trees to mirror the complexity of human life and fate. William Shakespeare filled the Forest of Arden in As You Like It with banishment and romance, making the sheltering oaks and beeches a place of transformation and simple, pastoral truth. But for a darker, more dramatic example of nature's power, think of Macbeth. The prophecy that "Birnam Wood be come to Dunsinane," turning into a "walking forest" when the soldiers advance under cover of camouflage, is a moment where trees become the unstoppable, terrifying agents of destiny itself.

The towering pines and cedars feature in the romantic nature poetry of Keats and Wordsworth, where they are seen as places of spiritual solitude and magnificent, untamed beauty. Wordworth's famous poem, The Yew-Trees, speaks directly to their profound, "self-surviving" power: "Huge trunks! And each particular trunk a growth of intertwisted fibres serpentine, up-coiling, and inveterately convolved; nor uninformed with phantasy, and looks that threaten the profane; a pillared shade."

I hope I have reminded you of our deep literary and romantic connections to the tree. Have I missed anything? Have you got a favourite author, story, or poem that connects you to the trees?

As I said earlier, my walks in the woods and the meditative therapy of shaping and sanding wood allow me to connect to my tulpa, whom I call Fenchurch Dent (another cheeky link to one of my old favourites). She has spirit kin to the silent, deep-rooted things. She was reared upon the edge of the Hogsmill, where the oaks spread their boughs like cathedral arches. She was a child of mud and moss and dappled sunlight, finding wisdom in the patient gaze of the doe and the busy, low music of the bee; yet, when the light failed and the woods slept, her gaze was ever drawn upward to the cold, bright dust of the Elder Days, to the paths of starlight that flowed across the midnight void. Her heart held both the rich earth beneath her feet and the vast, unmeasured universe above her head. Many years passed, and though the world grew increasingly loud, she found her peace with the inner workings of wood. Now, her days are spent amid the scent of local timber, shaping the golden heartwood of felled trees, each piece a whispered memory of the sunlight it drank and the storms it weathered. In this labour of skill and respect, she is more content than any queen upon a high throne, for she brings the stillness of the sylvan world into the bright halls of men.

Do you have any emotional or spiritual connection with trees?

The spirit of the trees is so vital to my process that even my tools pay homage to it. My CNC machines, those pieces of modern engineering precision, are named after the Roman deities: Artemis (goddess of the hunt and wild things) and Sylvanus (god of the woods and fields).

I'm so lucky that my customers care deeply about the environment and tradition; they understand that an investment in my woodenware is an investment in this spiritual system of endurance. When I select my wood, sourced from ecologically assured estates like Willey and Apley, I am honouring the same principles that have kept these ancient sentinels alive for centuries. The sophisticated management of our forests, like the coppicing and pollarding common in Shropshire since the 13th century, ensures that the tree gives and takes for generations.

Every piece that leaves my workshop is an act of honouring Shropshire’s material born from managed land, steeped in local folklore, and delivering it as a piece designed to stand as firm and enduring as the magnificent oaks, chestnuts, sycamores, walnuts, ash and yews that define our beautiful, timeless county.

I am crafting the future, not by embracing speed, but by investing in endurance.

Join me next time as we explore "The Green Heart of Shropshire," delving into the vital environmental role of trees, the impact of deforestation, and the importance of sustainable craftsmanship in protecting our precious woodlands.