My small town garden here in middle of Lewes, UK, borders onto an ancient defensive mound called Brach Mound. This year the owners of the Mound have decided to let it go wild and, rather like Burnham Woods in Macbeth, the forest has decided to descend on me. Poor old Macbeth thought he was safe because those witches told him that he would be fine until Burnham Wood came to Dunsinane. Sadly for him, the avenging army about to kill him advances behind cut branches from Burnham Wood. Macbeth, in his final hours says: “I will not be afraid of death and bane, Till Birnam forest come to Dunsinane”. I wonder if it looked like this.
Unlike Macbeth, I didn’t hang around hoping that things were going to be OK. Instead I got out my ladder and my trusty secateurs and went up there to chop down as much of it as I could reach to let in some more sunshine before the summer decides to leave us behind.
I filled seven of these bags and every stick was cut by my own once fair hand – my hands are now blistered and scratched but I’m feeling victorious.
My bit of Brach Mound has been tamed even if the rest of it is running dangerously out of control.
I am hoping after a long drawn out series of letter to the owners, the Sussex Archeologocial Society, that the rest of the Mound will be properly looked after too before those sycamore trees start sending their roots to undermine the historic and very tall surrounding walls.
After a long day’s work, all I needed to do now was to take the bags to the recycling centre and to return upstairs to my study to enjoy the new spirit of order that has arrived in my garden. I shall be safe for a bit, I hope, until Brach Mound once more comes to Dunsinane.
