Introduction
I spent part of my childhood living in Crewkerne, Somerset. Maiden Beech School lies at the southern end of the town. I spent many hours daydreaming and looking at the woods beyond.
One wood is nicknamed ‘Henley Giant’ because its silhouette is that of a man lying down. The following story was inspired by the woods and the time I spent exploring them.
Henley Giant
The Giant shuffled his weary body to the brow of the hill. He shaded his eyes against the setting sun, looking for signs of his kindred over the fields and copses.
He sighed as he saw no one to love or laugh with, no one to cry and share with. His search had covered the land and proved fruitless. He lay down for the final time, overlooking the village of Cruche.
Villagers marched up the hill at dawn, armed with sickles and scythes, gawping at the corpse. Word spread across the county. People walked for days to see the last Giant; drinking cider and singing songs under the midsummer stars.
Autumn came and with it the wind and the rain. Birds pecked at the Giant’s flesh. Mice and weasels nibbled his ears. Foxes and badgers preyed upon the smaller mammals. A pack of wolves feasted upon the carcass and settled in the rib cage. A brown bear and her cubs snuffled and gorged themselves before shuffling into hibernation.
The snows fell.
Spring came and seedlings sprouted in the rich soil. Circles of mushrooms grew between the finger bones, ivy crawled over the limbs. Saplings grew into trees. A spinney of beeches surrounded the skull, and oaks and yews stretched upwards and outwards along the length of the skeleton.
Leaves fell and rotted. Worms and centipedes lived and died in the mulch until the soil rose, covering the fallen bones. The giant-shaped wood was visible from afar.
Plague ravished the land, the stench of death was everywhere, and bodies were piled on carts and towed out of quiet villages. Families huddled around fire pits and told tales to escape from the misery.
Stories became legends, legend became myth.
A school was built at the base of the hill. Teachers took laughing children into the wood to see the bluebells and to make bark rubbings with thick crayons.
The East Wind blew; leaves and branches rippled from head to toe.
And the Giant breathed.
Good one!
Really enjoyed this James 👍🏼