Under the Whether!

Under the Whether

At one point or another, everybody in the village had been under the
Whether. They came, they sat, they sorted, they went. That was what one
did whilst 'Under the Whether.'

Let me explain. The Whether is a huge and very old oak tree. It stands
alone at the top of a hill overlooking the village of Oakgarth, and it
would be easy to imagine that it had been the overlooker of the village
since time began.

The roots of the mammoth tree had spread in such a way as to fashion
comfortable 'seats'; these had been worn smooth over the years by a
million rear ends. My father's granddad proposed to his fianc?e under
the Whether, and so, apparently, had every line in the family tree
since. It was tradition, and not just in my family but in every family
in the village.

Many first kisses had been stolen under that tree, and many a young
beau had plucked up the courage to approach the object of his desire to
ask for a first date. Trying out first one advance and then another to
himself, going over and over what he would say and how he would react
if he was rejected. And likewise, lots of young girls with eyes full of
dreams sat and wished their boy would ask them out, and each wondered
what she would wear when he did.

The tree learned of the hopes, dreams, loves, failures and triumphs of
generations of local folk and it never once told. It was friend and
confessor to all.

That was how Miss Elizabeth Brown came to be under the Whether that
day. The sun was relentless and her back was slightly moist with the
exertions that the hilly climb had subjected her to. The light material
of her Indian cotton blouse clung to her, emphasising the feel of rough
bark from the tree supporting her back. The oak bent its boughs to
protect her from the sun's heat, and she sighed a sigh of one part
contentment to three parts confusion as she watched the leaves swaying
gently in the sweet, fragrant breeze. She leaned back, allowing the
trunk of the tree to support both her and her mind-full of burden.
Closing sun-blind eyes, she tried to make the thoughts come into her
head in an ordered fashion; each one to be mulled over and considered
carefully.

A traveller was sitting a little further down the hill, sheltered from
both the sun and observers by a ledge of rock. He painted furiously,
oblivious to all but the sombre girl beneath the oak tree. At first he
had been irritated when she had huffed up to the tree and plonked
herself down right in the middle of his masterpiece in progress. His
eye tried to blot her out of the picture, but she refused to be erased.
Something about this girl pulled the man within the artist to take
notice.

She was nothing particularly special to look at. Mousy brown hair,
mid-length and hanging loose. Her posture was relaxed and elegant and
she carried a few extra pounds, yet this only served to enhance rather
than detract from her appearance. She had a longish face with
well-covered bone structure and, in fact, nothing remarkable at all to
note. Not from this distance anyway, and yet he wished he were close
enough to see her eyes. He just knew that they were pale indigo,
unusual eyes in an average face. That was how he painted them
anyway.

She wore a flattering loose cotton skirt in vivid purple and an ivory
coloured top. Her knees were drawn to her chest with her arms wrapped
round them. The skirt fell away to the side, blowing in the breeze and
giving a pleasing glimpse of tanned thighs.

His brush moved swiftly, he wanted to get the picture to canvass before
she moved. Mixing colours to the exact shade that he wanted, his hand
lashed across the easel in deft, sure strokes. Jimmy Thompson was good.
Good enough to never have to sleep beneath the stars unless he chose
to, good enough to eat at a different country pub every night if he
didn't feel like making a fire and cooking himself. Good enough to
maintain his nomadic lifestyle in as much comfort as he wanted to on
any inclement day.

Jimmy drove an old camper van that served as the nearest thing to home.
He moved around the country, staying for as long as it pleased him
before moving on to the next place that his old van took him. When the
country closed in on him, he dug out his passport and drove further
afield, but his home Isles always called him back eventually.

He made a living selling his paintings in roadside lay-bys, and he kept
himself fit and well by taking on short-term farm labouring jobs. He
was a man at peace with his lot in life. He was one of the few who
could hold up his hand and say that he was truly happy and wanted no
more than what he had. So far nothing had ever held him in any place
for long, but maybe something, somewhere, sometime would hold him
steady without restraint. Some reason enough to put a peg in the wall
for his van keys to hang on.

For today at least, his resting-place was half way up a hill, painting
a perplexed lady surrounded by a mist of indecision that was
perceptible to the artist. This was the air of something that needed to
be captured in paint. But there was something else about the young
woman that only his spirit could draw.

Long after the picture was finished, he sat and watched in silence.
Mesmerised by the girl, not wanting to show himself and encroach on her
time of solitude. Not yet.

She stood and dusted herself down. Specks of golden tree-dust alight
from the sun fell in a shower from her hair as she shook herself free
of the stiffness that had come from sitting immobile for so long.

Jim watched, fascinated, as she turned and placed a surprisingly
slender hand upon the trunk of the tree. What was she doing? What was
it about this average woman that made her so very interesting?

Elizabeth waited for the blood to flow back into her legs. That was it
then, a decision had been made. She turned and touched her hand briefly
to the trunk of the "Whether." The very human caress was one of real
affection for the living thing that sheltered her from the world as she
had sat thinking.

She moved off down the hill to tell him of her decision. It wouldn't be
easy, but it was best to get it over with quickly. Greg was a good man.
A solid, kind and gentle man. A man who could make her both laugh and
cry. He made her happy, he made her feel special and so wanted. For a
time there, just for a little while when the moon cast a fairytale
light over the porch, and even this morning when she awoke from dreams
of white lace and rose buds, she had thought that she loved him. But
sitting under the tree, she realised that he was not the one. There was
someone else, she didn't know who he was, but she did know that he
wouldn't come in the form of Greg. Elizabeth was sad at the thought of
hurting Greg, and even a little sad at the loss she would feel when she
refused his proposal, but she had to be true to herself.

She stopped short with a startled "Oh" when she almost collided with
the man. He had long black hair that curled scraggily onto his
shoulders, and a smile that took her thoughts before they had formed
and swirled them round her head in a blaze of pure clarity."You've come
then, I knew you would", she told the stranger.

"Aye lass, I'm here." His voice was low, with more than a hint of an
Irish accent.

He looked into her clear grey eyes and was not disappointed that they
weren't pale indigo. She had eyes that would reflect the beauty of the
world when he showed the world to her.

There was magic at work on the hill, and the old tree that a distant
age of locals had named 'The Whether' dropped the first acorn of the
new season. Autumn was a good time to come home.

Oh, I'm Beth by the way. Beth Thompson. This is a picture of my
grandmother. Pretty isn't she? I don't know if the story of how they
met is true, but that's how Granddad always tells it to us. You'd have
liked my granddad. He died last year and Grandma sprinkled his ashes
just over by that rock over there. She still comes here every Sunday
you know, and she's eighty-three. Look, an acorn, and it's only the
fifteenth of August. It's said that the Whether drops its first acorn
of the year when new lovers meet.

I've never seen you here before. I'll show you round the village if
you like.