A few paces from us, a grey tree trunk as high as my shoulders lies upon its side, dead wood swirls within a hollow many a child would have hidden within for centuries. Sir Walter Raleigh would have walked under the green leaves of this majestic, fallen tree when visiting the handsome Manor at our feet and he’d have enjoyed the twisting old trees which now have canopies thirty, forty paces wide. Few trees of this age exist around the world, but because Celts and Druids admire