Nine Oaks Manor

The remaining leaves on the trees disappeared overnight...as leaves always do in late Autumn, particularly when driven by the ferocity of the wind and rain of the night before. It was bright now though with a clear blue sky and an early morning mist rising from the earth.

He looked out of the window down into the garden spread out below him. He loved that garden. Designed when the grand old manor house was built, it acted as a rear gateway to the vast estate his family had owned for hundreds of years. The collection of flowers, bushes and low trees gathered from many parts of the world were a riot of colour from early spring until late autumn. The taller trees and shrubs dotted around the far end though relatively new, contributed their brillliantly coloured leaves to the overall myriad of colour that so delighted all who were priviledged to see it. He noted with satisfation that there had been many additions again this year, so continuing the changing variety and content of the garden for which it had become so renowned.

His gaze shifted from the garden to the wide expanse of meadow beyond the river that ran from north to south across the bottom of the garden. Wide but not deep, the river formed a natural barrier between the cultivated area and the meadowland that ran to the brow of the low hills. A herd of fallow deer and a small flock of sheep roamed the area keeping the grass short and springy. In the very centre of the view from the window and dominating the entire meadow was a huge oak tree. It's dimensions were impressive even for an oak tree. Over 150 feet high, probably just as wide and with a trunk measuring well over twenty feet in circumference it couldn't fail to impress. It had stood there for more than two hundred years and showed no signs of decay or deterioration and the previous night's storm appeared to have had no effect on it.

Fixing his eyes upon it's iconic shape, as he had done every morning for as long as he could remember, he slowly raised his gaze from the bole to the topmost branch and then from one side to the other as if drinking in every minute detail. Of all that he could see from that window, or for that matter any other in the rambling old manor house, that tree fascinated him the most.

He gazed intently at it noting that the gently swirling, early morning mist almost obscured the lower half of the magnificent tree and, in the same way that it was always the last tree to cover itself with it's leaves, it was also the last to shed them. Now with the golden light of the autumn sun playing on it's branches he again marvelled at the incredible range of colours in dots, streaks and splashes the tree produced every time he looked at it. The leaves were still thick and the their colours ranging from yellow to pale green through to the darkest of greens, from a shade of light buff to a brown that was almost black. The sun's rays reflecting off the drops of rain clinging to the uneven surfaces sent the colours of the rainbow in all directions. The beauty of vista before him, as it always had, nearly moved him to tears..

There had once been nine such oak trees to be seen from that window. They had given the old manor it's name, "Nine Oaks Manor". Planted in an arc that spread from one end of the meadow to the other, they had marked the extent of that part of the estate, the remaining tree had been the central point. The four oaks on either side of the survivor had been requisitioned and felled by the government to be used in the shipbuilding drive during the Napoleonic Wars. This tree hadn't been used because it had been considered to be too small, and it was, at the time, having been planted many years after the others. The oak that stood there originally had failed to grow straight and strong like the others and had been removed. It had always seemed ironic to him that the eight straight and strong trees had gone but the youngest still flourished. The stumps of the eight oaks could still be seen in the meadow, now so knarled and weathered they looked more like great lumps of stone. It had been decided that they should never be removed or the trees replaced.

His reverie was interrupted by the sound of approaching footsteps in the hall outside followed by a loud click as the drawing room door's ancient handle was turned. A young couple in animated conversation entered the room, walked to the window and looked downwards, they seemed not to notice the previous occupant now standing quietly beside the heavy velvet curtain at the side of the window..
"I have decided to extend the vegetable garden." The young woman said, pointing downwards. "The vegetables really do taste so much better and I'd like to try to grow some more exotic varieities next year."
"Good idea," her companion replied. "I'm making some changes to the other end of the garden. I thought it would be a good idea to invite Alan Titchmarsh to design a new Mediterranean garden along the southern wall. You know vines, bourganvilla, that sort of thing. It should do well there don't you think?"
"Mm, good idea," she agreed. They stood loking out at the scene for a further few minutes, each with their own thoughts, then turned and putting their coffee cups onto the long polished table in middle of the room went out the way they came, leaving him to resume his contemplation of the scene beyond the leaded lights of the window.

The mist on the meadow was rapidly disappearing in the heat of the Indian Summer sunshine, the scene was changing again. He though, had seen what he wanted to see and heard what he wanted to hear. He smiled with satisfaction as he turned away from the window and faded through the wall into the room next door. This was his room, the library, here he felt comfortable and relaxed amongst the books, bric-a-brac and items that had been collected over many many years. He glanced up at the paintings of other family members. "All's well," he told them confidently, though none acknowledged his information.

The conversation he had overheard had pleased him, the house he loved and it's gardens was still in good hands, his decendants clearly loved the place as much as he had, and the oak tree he had planted just before going off to join his regiment at Waterloo was still growing straight and strong.