Ghost trees: a walk through time and art at Croft Castle

Explore the trees

• The First Ghost

  A veteran oak tree located in the Upper East Park, an area planted from the eighteenth century creating a dramatic vista approaching the house from the south.

  The First Ghost

  Ghost village, ghost garden after, ghost tree -

  past Croft marked in our trinity of apparitions.

  Dead to the world, except for me. Pearl-pale

  among summer emeralds, autumn garnets,

  I stretch my skeleton to the sky, remain aligned.

  I have known the green urge for growth, decay’s

  orange burn, but now seasons ignore me, winds

  take nothing. Yet, I stand steadfast as an angel,

  hosting life from my afterlife. Fungus flowers

  bloom at my wasted roots, beetles pock my trunk,

  birds and bats roost in an agony of branches.

  Oak in name only; oak echoed as ghost.

  Implanted in echoed time, I snag stray voices

  from medieval earth. Work, play, and plague -

  gnarled sounds that turn my boughs to bone.

  Their home unspoken, a name lost the way

  of centuries, sloping to shadow. Lives abandoned

  in fractured pottery, drainage ditches, shards.

  The church abides, eternal stone, long before

  I was grown to mark the boundary, attract your eye

  to faraway hills. Never destined to grace gentle

  garden terraces, nor patterned in radial fashion,

  I lived to greet your leaving; died, a premonition.

  Oak tree, echoed as ghost tree: notice me.

  © Sara-Jane Arbury, November 2023

  Writer’s Note:

  The First Ghost Tree overlooks the remains of a medieval village that died out or was abandoned during the Black Death in the 1300s. With this in mind, I decided to model my poem on Pearl, a long poem by an unknown author, probably composed in the 1390s. Pearl is written from the viewpoint of a father to his deceased daughter who died of plague, and follows a pattern of twelve lines in each stanza, a strict rhyme scheme, and a word or phrase in the last line of the first stanza repeated in the first and last lines of the next stanza.

  I am indebted to Simon Armitage’s translation of Pearl (Faber & Faber, 2016). Like Armitage, I elected to move away from the rhyme scheme in the original poem, and opt for using looping sonic repetitions of alliteration and assonance, words and phrases, to create natural, and musical, echoes of sound.

  My poem is dedicated to the unknown people who lived and died in this nameless village.

  © Sara-Jane Arbury, November 2023

• The Second Ghost

  Sir William Croft’s Oak, an old oak tree that recently lost a large limb and part of the trunk during a storm in 2021. Nearby is the Quarry Oak, thought to be the most ancient of Croft’s trees and up to 1000 years old with a girth of 11-12 meters.

  The Second Ghost

  A living tree, my ghost remembered elsewhere -

  in a history of battle, chase, musket fire, a man

  felled from his horse, blood making a last prayer

  of me. I weather my wars, knowing the wingspan

  of a storm can clip the thickest limb clean off,

  rip a hollow through heartwood. But decay

  creates its own roots, and I am reborn a Croft

  of old, wandering in spectral leisure through days

  in radiant gardens rich with colour, fragrance,

  delighting in forgotten dalliances, fun, games,

  the shadow of a fountain. Time has patience

  for ghosts; it slows, lingers, holds no claims

  over us. Dig deep. Find our castles, bullets, keys,

  shoes, knives, mansions, folk tales told by trees

  © Sara-Jane Arbury, 2024

  Writer’s Note:

  ‘Sir William’s Oak’ is an iconic veteran tree in the Croft estate. It felt fitting to use the rich form of a sonnet to celebrate its distinct place in the history and mythology of Croft. The tree has suffered significant storm damage, resulting in the loss of branches and most of its trunk, but it continues to sustain new growth. It is both a living and dead tree and I explore this in my poem by intermingling the voice of the tree with those of ghosts.

  I was particularly drawn to the story of Sir William Croft, a fervent Royalist, who is believed to have died under the tree in 1645 after fleeing Stokesay Battle during the English Civil War. He was pursued on horseback by Parliamentary forces and shot within sight of his home.

  Although I dispensed with the usual rhythm of iambic pentameter, my sonnet follows the rhyme scheme of the Shakespearean sonnet, comprising three quatrains and a concluding couplet. It is a satisfying form and allows space for reflection and play.

  © Sara-Jane Arbury, 2024

• The Third Ghost

  A veteran sweet chestnut tree, thought to date from 1580-1680 and believed to be linked to the battle with the Spanish Armada in 1588. This particular tree was struck by Lightning in 2012.

  The Third Ghost

  What do you see in me?

  Heat hugged to my heart

  The flick and twist of lightning

  Flame frozen in wood

  Enchanted dancer

  Motionless flamenco flare

  Duende soul-spirit

  Shreds of the sacred

  Sackcloth, ashes, anchoress

  Faith silhouetted

  Ink-stained feather pen

  A soundless soliloquy

  Our final encore

  Bodiless building

  Non-natural avenue

  Planted artefact

  Shipwrecked figurehead

  Driftwood adrift in flood cloud

  Phantom flotilla

  Strength held within less

  Fancies of a funky mind

  A single helix

  © Sara-Jane Arbury, 2024

  Writer’s Note:

  The Chestnut Avenue is a striking feature in Croft’s landscape. The Sweet Chestnut ghost trees that line the path have formed strange, contorted shapes. Their pale trunks stretch and lean, their branches twist and bend around each other. One cannot help but be mesmerised by the fantastical scene.

  Many of the veteran Sweet Chestnuts date from the 16th-18th century. Legend has it that their origins lie in the battle with the Spanish Armada in 1588, when chestnuts salvaged from wrecks were planted at Croft. The crescent arrangement of the trees is said to represent a flotilla if viewed from above.

  Some of the Sweet Chestnut trees are dying due to Phytophthora cinnamomi, or Ink Disease, that turns their roots a dark blue/black colour. The Third Ghost is a younger tree and was probably planted as a replacement. It was struck by lightning in 2012.

  There is much to draw from the tree’s unique shape, texture and story. Given it is seared to such an extent that most of its branches have fallen and the trunk is a hollow shell, I wanted to celebrate its spareness, beauty and strength.

  I chose to write my poem using haiku, a Japanese verse form traditionally consisting of three lines with a total of 17 syllables. The first line has five syllables, the second seven and the third five. A haiku says a great deal in few words and gives a snapshot of moment and feeling. It is an object of meditation and contemplation. My poem comprises seven haikus strung together to create a renga, a ‘necklace’ of haikus linked by a common theme.

  Each line in the poem harks back to the opening question posed by the tree: What do you see in me? Some of my answers to that question may be obvious. I have given a nod to the Spanish connection, the fact that the tree was planned and planted by Croft owners, and the devastating storm damage it has suffered. But other responses are unexpected and mysterious. The Third Ghost is a gift for the imagination. What do you see in this extraordinary tree?

  © Sara-Jane Arbury, 2024

• The Fourth Ghost

  This sweet chestnut avenue dates between the sixteenth and eighteenth centuries. Spend some time investigating the strange shapes that emerge from the patterns in the bark… What can you see?

  The Fourth Ghost

  With thanks to William Shakespeare

  Double, double, toil and trouble;

  Fire burn, and cauldron bubble

  Up I punch, from a circle of hell,

  Magicked into being by a witch’s spell;

  Emboss my disorder on organised land,

  A cathedral of chaos, ogreish, grand;

  My body fermented in salt-sea spume

  Spat by Sirens harmonising doom;

  Gargoyles cluster in moon-full night,

  Goblins jostle for shadowless light;

  Inferno of faces babbling charms,

  Powerful trouble, devilish psalms.

  Double, double, toil and trouble;

  Fire burn, and cauldron bubble

  Fish heads, hippo legs, marmoset tails,

  Toad feet, howlet beak, fenny snake scales;

  A hotchpotch broth, a warlock tree,

  Merlin-breath simmers inside of me,

  Carbuncled beauty, bulbous grace,

  Quirks and quiddities rooted in place;

  My cold limbs wriggle, windlestraw,

  Contorting gravity, unnatural law;

  Double, double, I’m huddled up tall,

  Blessed by sorcery never to fall.

  Writer’s Note:

  The Fourth Ghost is an arresting tree. It looms above us, with monstrous shape and size. And as light changes during the day and night, a carnival of ghouls, goblins and gremlins jump out to tease us. I saw many creatures in its appearance that I wanted to include in my poem.

  While I gazed at this tree, and lost myself in its enchantment, I thought of the Witches’ speech in Shakespeare’s play Macbeth (Act Four, Scene 1). I decided to model my poem on this speech, and use a similar rhythm and rhyming couplet structure to create the sense of an incantation or chant. The poem is intended to be spoken aloud for the spell to be fully released.

  I have also scattered words from Shakespeare’s speech throughout my poem. I was drawn to the concept of Found Poetry, whereby words from other sources are used to create a poetic ‘collage of language’. In the same way we find creatures hiding in the form of this tree, so I found words to conceal in the lines of my poem - only showing themselves when we look a little deeper.

  © Sara-Jane Arbury, February 2024

• The Fifth Ghost

  An ancient sweet chestnut tree dating between the seventeenth and nineteenth centuries. This tree is located in an area known today as Reservoir Field, in the early part of the nineteenth century this field was called Sixteen Acres and consisted of a triple line of trees planted to approach the castle.

  The Fifth Ghost

  O, come close to me, come closer,

  I’m reaching for you. My core strains,

  tendons overstretch, towards life, life, life!

  I am dead weight, an inside-out monument

  to myself, entangled, wreathed, leaning

  towards leaves, grasses, hedges, breath –

  Breath, sung by robins, dunnocks, breath

  drawing me further from death, and closer

  to you. I am slow-swallowing myself, leaning

  into the ridges and furrows of my strains.

  More mausoleum than monument,

  I mull and moulder on my lifeless life.

  Opposite, my kind dance themselves to life,

  a picturesque line, dizzy statues of breath.

  I’m a regal jubilee of a tree; no monument

  like my notable neighbour, but closer

  in spirit to majesty. I bear my strains

  with stateliness. I am a tower, leaning

  over, snaring strains of talk. I’m leaning

  on you, ignorant monument to precious life.

  I want your breath. Come close, come closer…

  Writer’s Note:

  The Fifth Ghost could be overlooked in favour of its “notable neighbour” - the Croft Spanish Chestnut designated one of fifty Great British Trees by The Tree Council in celebration of the Golden Jubilee of Queen Elizabeth II in 2002. And yet, this deceased tree is equally as interesting.

  I was struck by the way the tree leans, its branches reaching out to living nature and to us. The trunk is covered in excrescences, distinct outgrowths and protuberances that suggest the ‘skeleton’ of the tree is on its exterior, rather like the exoskeletons of some creatures and insects.

  The gnarled formations of its trunk and bark make the tree look inside-out - as if in the act of swallowing itself. I wanted to reflect this strangeness in my poem. I chose to write a sestina - a complex verse form with a strict stanza length of six lines, where the six end-words occur in every stanza but in a changing order that follows a set pattern.

  A formal sestina has thirty-nine lines with six stanzas of six lines each, followed by an end verse of three lines that contains all six end-words. My version is much shorter - a pollarded sestina if you will! I have written three stanzas of six lines followed by a three-line conclusion. But I have kept the set pattern of end-word repetitions throughout and used all six end-words in the last verse.

  The elaborate repetitions in the sestina create a circular momentum, and play with sound and sense. The form has a conversational tone, mirroring the way we ourselves use repeated words when we speak. The Fifth Ghost in my poem is attracted to life and talking to us directly, adopting speech we recognise and inviting us to come ever closer…

  © Sara-Jane Arbury, March 2024

• The Sixth Ghost

  The three stumps are oak trees which were pollarded every seven to ten years until WWI. Pollarding was a way of harvesting timber sustainably from a tree allowing it to grow fresh regrowth, whilst using the timber for construction and firewood. These old formally pollarded trees are referred to as lapsed pollards.

  The Sixth Ghost

  We three. Beginning, middle and end.

  Body, soul, spirit. Earth, sea and air.

  Three Fates, Graces, Furies, Wyrd Sisters.

  We huddle in a hex, old wisdom

  hidden in decay. How dark it is,

  how dark you say. Your breath is misty.

  Walk widdershins around us, catch sight

  of what - ? From the corner of your eye?

  In our faerie grove, dream-shapes surface…

  * * *

  I am the Grail, a sweet cup of life,

  brimming with moss, fungus, dragon-scale

  hemlocks. I am a Y to the sky.

  A rich harvest, we gave you our all.

  Timber houses, cooked food, warm shelter,

  charcoal, tools, mellow bedding for beasts.

  Croft Ambrey hillfort to Croft Castle,

  we lapsed pollards were your beacon trees.

  Do not disturb our centuries now.

  * * *

  I am a sleeping beauty, my love

  big as the wren’s song. I wear lichen

  as a fashion: sapphire, jade, topaz

  stripes. I am a work of body art.

  You can’t cut me down to size. I rise

  above the shivering conifers.

  Our dryads relive the Druid days

  for us. A mystical triangle

  of sacred sisters: I, I and I.

  Writer’s Note:

  The Sixth Ghost throws up a unique challenge, as three trees make up this entity and they share a rich history. The trio of stumps are oak trees which were pollarded every 7-10 years. Pollarding was a way of harvesting timber sustainably from a tree allowing it to regrow afresh. This was vital as people used and valued every piece of timber that was gathered. Larger wood was used for construction, smaller pieces for firewood to cook food and keep warm, and charcoal to make tools.

  Even the brash was used as animal bedding. These old, formally pollarded trees are referred to as lapsed pollards.

  The trees are situated in a dense area of conifer woodland, on the northern outskirts of the site not far from Croft Ambrey, an Iron Age hillfort. They are the remains of historic wood pasture which contained many native broadleaf trees before the conifers were planted in the 1920s. The setting has an eerie atmosphere, almost other-worldly. It’s not difficult to imagine that you have stumbled into Fairyland!

  Three is a potent number in folklore and superstition. Oak trees also hold a revered symbolic place in mythology. To celebrate the magic contained in this ancient threesome, my poem is written in three parts with three stanzas of three lines in each (tercets). Each line has nine syllables to further reflect the elemental quality of this trinity of trees, connected as they are by mysticism and enchantment.

  © Sara-Jane Arbury, March 2024

• The Seventh Ghost

  A veteran oak tree, thought to be between 100 and 150 years old. This tree is a landmark on the crest of rising ground, and almost central in the park.

  The Seventh Ghost

  Look up, you can’t help but look up at me.

  I bear the weight of wind, the space of sky.

  They keep me alive in my dead beauty.

  You are struck by my loveliness. Your eye

  sketches my silhouette, ripples my dry

  branches. I am a lone pilgrim. The birds

  praise me with songs beyond the reach of words.

  Writer’s Note:

  The Seventh Ghost is an oak tree positioned on elevated ground, framed by the horizon. It is a slim, spare tree - very different in aspect to those nearby. It stands alone, and as such, attracts the eye to it.

  My poem is also fittingly spare. It is a rhyme royal - a poetic form introduced to English poetry by Geoffrey Chaucer. A rhyme royal poem has seven lines and each line contains ten syllables, usually written in iambic pentameter, but I haven’t kept closely to that. The rhyme scheme is ABABBCC. In this pattern, the first line rhymes with the third; the second line rhymes with the fourth and fifth; the sixth and seventh lines rhyme with each other.

  A rhyme royal poem allows space to linger and reflect, and felt pleasingly suited to this landmark tree.

  © Sara-Jane Arbury, April 2024