Henry VIII's Mound.

Last London Posting.

An oak that has seen it all

We walked up on Saturday afternoon from the Thames at Richmound, and an excellent coffee shop under one of the bridge arches, to Richmound Park, the most extensive (at 2500 acres) of the "Royal Parks" in and around London.  The highpoint of the park is a prehistoric burial mound, now known as Henry VIII's mound, from which you can just make out the dome of Saint Paul's cathedral, 10 miles away.  Of course the prehistoric builders of the mound would only have seen a bend in the wild Thames, and Henry VIII, thousands of years later, would have looked out upon a much smaller London than we have today, crowned by a medieval Saint Paul's cathedral.  Charles II enclosed the land, irritating the local folk who no doubt had used it as common for grazing "time out of mind."  Charles instead established populations of deer in the park, and it now has a large population of deer grazing among the picnicking families.

We went, in fact, for the trees.  There's one in which Bertrand Russel, whose childhood home was here, used to play hide and go seek.  This was my best attempt at mathematical tourism, and I'm not quite sure if I learned anything particularly useful from it.

Where Bertrand Russel was often found.

And then, there's Two Storm Wood, on the north border of the park, which has a magical grove of medieval oaks, planted no doubt for building stock but never harvested.  It's clear, as you walk among them, that they are wiser and stronger, in their way, than we can ever be.   They were old and wise when Henry VIII rode among them, older still when London burned on the horizon in 1666.  Charles II had just moved into Richmound park to avoid the plague in 1665, and his enclosure of the land may well have saved these oaks from being used to rebuild London the following year.  Is there a destiny that shapes their ends, rough-hew them how we may?