The son for whom I do support work had another event he wanted to go to in Oxfordshire, and after some deliberation, I decided to bite the bullet and shell out a large sum of money to visit Blenheim Palace, even though every fibre of me was advising - strenuously - against this voluntary exposure to extreme wealth.
Not that I had any interest in seeing the Palace itself - Rococco architecture brings me out in hives. Instead, I wanted to meet the 900-year-old oaks, which have survived in substantial numbers on account of growing in a deer park first created in the 12th century by Henry I, on land that has never come under the plough or been built on. Such is the advantage of the aforementioned wealth. But all the same, nearly thirty quid! It would have to be a Christmas present to myself.
Then, ten minutes before my departure, I went on the website to book a ticket, the clickable box wouldn't click and it said it was taking bookings for 2025. I left home to pick up my son dismayed at the prospect of nine hours in a foreign county with my plan for the day in ruins, and cursing people whose lives run so smoothly, they can plan that many months ahead.
But while parked up in Botley, leafing through a couple of books of Cotswold walks I'd grabbed as I left, I saw there was one that went right through the park, using several footpaths. Which meant I could get in without a ticket after all, and hopefully still get to see the oaks. So off I set for Woodstock.
ghost sign
Once there, a couple of locals kindly pointed me in the direction of the 'green or maybe beige' gate, which I'd find just past the crossing at the foot of the hill. They also mentioned it was free to get into the park at the moment anyway, on account of a Christmas fair that was being held there, which I assume explains the non-availability of tickets on the website. My peasant blood was up now, though, and instead of going in through the main entrance, I made for the 'secret' gate and, since I wouldn't have to stick to the footpaths after all, decided to walk around the lake in the direction of High Park, where the ancient oaks grow.
Many of the trees had lost their leaves, but the beeches were blazing ...
... apart from this one. (Look at its trunk, though!)
By the Grand Bridge, a vaguely familiar Cedar of Lebanon, which turned out to have had a cameo role in 'Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix' and now has to be protected from its fans by a wicker fence and Keep Out sign. (It's a fantastic tree, though.)
And on through more and more smouldering beeches ...
Sycamore
Meanwhile, over the trees and lake, I could hear the hooting of invisible red kites. I even thought at one point that I might have found one of their feathers, but the discovery of more shortly afterwards, amid a pile of pheasant feathers, soon put me in my place. The latter are much despised by feather collectors on account of their ubiquity, but I think they're beautiful. Look at that iridescence!
In fact, there's a lot of death at Blenheim. Here, a mallard.
There was also a fair bit of fungi about. Lots of large ... well, I'm not sure what they are - Giant Funnels, perhaps? And a Shaggy Inkcap, White Saddle fungus (I think) and Bracket fungus growing on beech.
Hard to read, but the sign says 'Please close the gate'
As the road climbed towards High Park, the beeches gave way to oaks - venerable, magnificent trees.
This one has exposed heartwood and looks much like the hollowing oak did until vandals pulled the rot out (apart from being older and thicker-trunked).
But all these wondrous oaks were behind a low fence. I could see them - and even glimpse beyond them to others in the distance - but getting close wasn't going to happen. And as for the really really old oaks you see in books and articles about remarkable trees - well, they weren't even splinters in the distance.
Ozymandias
Spot the pheasant!
oak bench carved out of a fallen oak
But there were still beautiful, gnarly trees to see ...
... and then the sun came out, and trees and sky and light took on another fifty dimensions.
And then it was back to the lake and the beeches. I was hobbling by now, with a blood blister on the ball of my foot, and I could feel myself seizing up ...
... and I started to feel slightly bilious with the opulence of it all, and especially the thought that the extremely rich even get the best trees. Yes, that was definitely enough Blenheim, probably for the rest of my life, thanks ...
... or at least until the next day, when I found myself ordering an OS map of the area on eBay. Purely for reference, you know - to see where those footpaths go, and if any of those most ancient of oaks might have been visible from one ...
