Green grows the Laurel

This weeks customary Saturday morning stroll took me to Freston woods, just inland on the Shotley Peninsula, on the high ground overlooking the Peewit paradise in the distance.

Although only a stones throw from home, and for no obvious reason beyond a more natural pull toward the river, this is still alien territory for me. The landscape is punctuated with a small but deep valley (well, deep for Suffolk) and feels so far removed the surrounding terrain. I hear the woods are beautiful in the early spring, smothered in Bluebells and teeming with Treecreepers.

Any notion of tranquil beauty was rather offset by fear today though, the wind was howling through the tall Alders, arching, creaking, cracking. The path was a minefield of fallen kindled debris and broken brooks. Maybe this was not the safest day to explore, I’ll be back in the spring though!

Rather defeated, I trundled (hands on head, just in case) back to the car, parked just behind the Church. St Peters is a lovely little escape, well secluded from the village it has an air of Arts & Crafts about it due in part to its sensitive restoration in the late 1800s. Although locked today, it apparently hosts a figure of St. Christopher by the William Morris Workshop.

I had only viewed St Peters from the road before, so I had missed an incredible towering Gill’esque oak figure of ‘Victory’ or ‘Peace’ as she is called here outside the main entrance, concealed by high hedging. She was carved by master sculpture of the Royal Society Frederick Rogers in 1921, in remembrance to the fallen in the Great War. She stands tall, eyes closed with a pacifying green laurel held high and bereft of the sword that so often counter balances the wreath. I have subsequently read that Frederick Rogers exhibited his works widely and was acknowledged as a master of the Arts & Craft Society, even showing at the RA.

The wind turned to rain (again) and I threw the towel in. Engine on, stereo on and with a wink of fate to the carved oak lady, on comes Green Grows The Laurel the 17th century Scottish folk ballad reinterpreted by The Memory Band and Jon Hopkins, with the crystal clear tones of local Suffolk lass Nancy Wallace.

It’s these small things that make me smile, the accidental finds, the hidden links on your own doorstep. I do hope the rain stops soon though.

Posted by: Forte