ON 28 September 2023, after a gathering, I ended off at a supermarket before heading home. I parked the automobile and glanced on the news headlines. Halfway down the screen was a story that immediately caught my attention: “Sycamore Gap tree at Hadrian’s Wall ‘felled overnight’” (Comment and News, 6 October 2023). I remember saying aloud within the automobile, “What?” as I clicked on the link and the story became clear. I couldn’t take it in.
I looked out of the automobile window on the world going by, and was overwhelmed with incredulity and sadness. Memories flooded back: of a trail-run along the Wall past the tree a couple of days before my installation as Bishop of Newcastle, and the enjoyment of being outdoors; and of visits with friends, sheltering under the tree’s branches before retracing our steps to a café for refreshment.
By the time I got back into my automobile, shopping done, I knew that I had to go to the tree. I used to be acutely aware that local people can be affected by what had happened, but I also considered the tree itself, and of the shelter that it had given, and the pastoral load that it bore in its strength and wonder.
It quickly became apparent that the impact of its felling resonated all over the world. Marriage proposals, scattered ashes, family walks across the years — countless lives were sure up on this one tree. And so, the morning after the tree had come down, I went into the Sill, the National Park centre positioned near the Sycamore Gap, and spoke with the director of the National Park, and was struck by how bewildering all of it felt.
I STRUGGLED against the wind as I approached the location of the tree; after which, there it was — or, somewhat, wasn’t. It was lying across the Wall, its leaves and branches still blowing within the wind. It was eerily quiet. A police officer stood near by. Crime-scene tape meant that you just couldn’t get right as much as the tree. There was little to be said, and rather more to be felt within the emotion of bleak despair.
I believe the depth of emotion that I experienced at that time had something to do with my time as a bishop in Aotearoa, New Zealand. In that context, I learned much from Maori concerning the living nature of the environment, our connection to it, and the necessity each to take care of it and respect its integrity. In 2017, the Whanganui river, within the North Island, was granted personhood by an Act of the New Zealand parliament, making it the primary river on this planet to be recognised as an indivisible and living being.
Insights from indigenous peoples have left an indelible mark on me. The Sycamore Gap tree wasn’t “only a tree”: it was a living presence for the region where I now function a bishop. Its image is all over the place, in urban and rural settings. In the times that followed, I spoke with countless people. Everyone had heard concerning the tree, and plenty of felt sad and indignant at what had happened.
AS I got here to terms with the lack of the tree, I recalled one other event, only a few weeks earlier. It involved one other fallen tree: this time, an oak that had come down during Storm Arwen in 2021. As a part of a project supporting women within the criminal-justice system, this tree had been transformed by an area designer, Nick James, into the “Story Chair”.
The chair was first placed on display within the crypt of Newcastle Cathedral, with each the designer and most of the women involved within the project in attendance at its launch. I used to be there, too, and, as I sat within the chair, I felt each held and uplifted by its structure.
The location of the crypt is critical as a spot historically related to death. This was the space that the ladies had visited while on a tour of the cathedral, and it proved to be life-changing. This fallen tree — now the Story Chair — had develop into a thing of considerable substance and inventive beauty.
The women I talked to spoke movingly of the mess and complexity of lives that were within the means of being reformed and held in hope somewhat than despair. The Story Chair now has a gaggle of “chairtakers” (somewhat than “caretakers”), who’re fiercely happy with what this represents of their lives. Their confidence and assurance are palpable.
IN AN interview for Radio 4’s Good Friday meditation, Nick James revealed some fascinating insights concerning the creative means of steam-bending the wood to create beautiful curves, which he then wove together to create an almost tapestry-like structure. In Nick’s own words, “I believe wood in its nature carries stories and history. To have the ability to chop a tree open and be the primary person to see inside is like reading a book that’s never been read before.”
Sitting on the chair, held by its strength, the ladies are in a position to tell their stories, in their very own words. Dawn Harrison, service manager of Women’s Criminal Justice Services, Northumbria, sees resonances between the chair and the medieval narrative poem The Dream of the Rood, which provides voice to the tree (the Cross) that held Jesus on Good Friday, and which we feature within the BBC programme.
Dawn reflects: “When I listened to The Dream of the Rood, it took me a moment to think, ‘Oh, yes, after all, the chair goes to carry all of that trauma and make it into something it wasn’t before. . . The women have transformed their image from being female offenders on the outskirts of society to being welcome in Newcastle Cathedral. They are usually not calling themselves offenders any more, stuffed with guilt and shame — they’re the proud owners of the Story Chair.’”
BACK on the Sycamore Gap site, the tree stump stays, surrounded by a fence. Next to it is an indication that bears witness to what’s there — which isn’t what you would possibly expect. There is life: a raw energy force deep in its roots.
In the cathedral crypt, Dawn spoke concerning the transformation that the ladies had experienced. Recent news has reported that twigs and leaves rescued from the tree have produced saplings. There are green shoots of hope.
This takes us beyond Good Friday; so we remain with the bleakness of death, but with the promise that Jesus made to his friends that — in the event that they dared to hope in God’s power — Easter Day would herald a resurrection through which they might all participate.
Dr Helen-Ann Hartley is the Bishop of Newcastle.
The Story of the Tree: A meditation for Good Friday might be broadcast on Radio 4 on 29 March at 3 p.m., and might be available afterwards on BBC Sounds.
