The Sturdy Oak

Down To The Wood


What would England be without me? Your navy were once called ‘The wooden walls of England’. But would those walls have kept the French and Spaniards at bay if it weren’t for my timber that clad the ships and protected  the live hearts beating safe within.
Stout hearted with a broad reach, I grow bigger and live longer than any honest tree in the realm.
What child doesn’t know the wavy shape of my leaves, what man hasn’t been warmed by my flames, or lady sat comfy in an oaken chair? But there’s more: What pig has not been fattened upon my acorns, whose shoe-leather not been tanned by my bark.
I am the oak; I am England.

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