Planting a strong future
We have a long history of planting trees for royal events, beginning in 1937 when, at 2.30pm on 25 November, OPT celebrated the coronation of King George VI by planting the avenue of fastigiate hornbeams which grow along Sunderland Avenue, which have become immortalised by Philip Pullman and Lyra in the ‘His Dark Materials’ trilogy. In 2012, this led to the planting one of the six OPT oak trees for the Queen’s Golden Jubilee and which now grow tall along the northern side of the Marston Ferry Link Road. One for each decade of the Queen’s reign, they were planted at 2.30 pm on 25 November. And so to 2.30 pm on 25 November 2022 when Sir Philip continued the tradition by planting OPT’s Platinum Jubilee Oak at Larkins Lane. Over tea and chocolate cake, OPT welcomed the local community, volunteers, and supporters who had played their part in making all this happen.
Read the children's stories
OAK KILLER by Finn Anderson
The oak had been killed,
Slaughtered until it was flames,
Because there was one to blame,
He must be slain.
The ghost of the oak must have revenge,
It must be avenged,
The ghost of the oak saw him,
Driving the axe through his son,
The oak killer must soon be gone.
THE OUTSTANDING OAK by Matilda Carrasco-Shelford
The oak tree sways in the winter wind as a small hedgehog scurries through the tiny crevices in the roots and makes a home to hybernate in. The oak tree watches. It is holding so many lives in its branches. It is shielding them. For years the oak tree will protect. Its safe environment will stop animals freezing in the winter.
Springtime comes around for what may be the four-hundredth time for the oak tree. The hybernating hedgehog stretches its legs as it blinks hurriedly, warmed by the early spring sunshine. The oak tree lifts its branches and waves as the hedgehog starts on its big adventure. Gazing into the distance the oak tree smiles, knowing it has saved creatures' lives. The oak tree is happy to do its job every year. Except this year the oak tree cannot – as now it is in mortal danger.
The deadly, spinning blades near the precious oak tree and animals flee in terror. As leaves and acorns tumble to the ground, the oak tree makes sure every creature is out of reach of the blades. The oak tree is in agony as its firm roots are severed from its body. The oak tree closes its eyes knowing this is a battle it has lost.
Years later, mossy covered oak tree roots remain, even if the tree has gone. Hope is not lost. The day the oak tree fell, one of its golden inhabitants found a gap near the protecting roots. It waited and it grew. Slowly. Now it has made a new home for the animals. It is guarding them with pride. The oak tree is outstanding.
OAK TREE FOR YOU AND ME by Ruby McMahon
Across the field
I can see
A tree that shall be
Hope for all those with no food.
A life waiting to be found.
A home for you
And a place for me.
You shall see
That this tree
Can be anything.
No-one would know
What I will do
When I get that tree.
For you and me.
OAK by Catra Wilde
Introduction
The dryad rocked her acorn child.
"Be safe, my daughter. May the wind be your cradle, and the earth your blanket." Her baby looked up at her with adoration.
"Goodbye, mother."
And then she was gone, lost to the wind.
Arrival
I woke up, bewildered, dark soil clouding my vision. I shook the sleep out of me, and stepped out of my sapling. Around me, the other dryad children unfurled, but they seemed different; bound to their oak homes with plastic string that chained the young trees to bamboo poles.
"What's going on? Why aren't you free?"
"We like it this way," a nearby willow girl explained. "Generations of my family have had sanctuary with these kind people."
Suddenly a giant monster came, plodding down the soil. He grinned toothily.
"Ah, musta missed one of 'em!"
With surprisingly delicate fingertips he wrapped me in the same twine as the others. It fell across my shoulders like a shawl. My eyelids drooped and I fell asleep.
Waiting
Life at Ashworth Garden Centre had ... routine. Every morning, at 7.00 am, the gardener would water the saplings and check growth. Maybe a move to a bigger pot. Maybe a new stake. Twice a month there was plant food. The careful nurturing continued for five years until I was chosen, put in a pot and taken.
The new giant seemed nice enough - a soft, smiling one. Better than the small giants visiting the garden centre who ripped my leaves and twanged my branches. The man lifted my pot carefully. He said I would meet another giant soon. One called Pullman.
The Day
It is cold today. All of the giants are shivering. I guess they aren't really giants any more. I'm taller than most of them now! But I'll call them giants anyway. Some small giants are arriving: a girl with short, bouncy curls, one with a blonde ponytail, a boy wearing shorts. I hear the murmurs halt. A new giant comes in. One with a glimmer in his eyes and a sparkle to his smile. I knew it must be Pullman. He stroked my branches.
Digging a large hole in the earth, two men lifted me by the trunk and plunged me into the welcoming warm earth. It smelt like my mother. I would be happy here.