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Biography "WOOD" Nobody knew his real name, or even where he came from. No school in the town or surrounding villages lay claim to him, but he seemed always to be around. He trawled the hedgerows of the fields we'd considered our own (despite unreasonable counter claims of the local farmers and landowners), he harassed gardeners and tradesmen and all he ever uttered was "Wud … wud … wud …!" He collected wood. All shapes and sizes, dead wood from trees and bushes, off cuts from carpenters, any wood he could get his hands on. So we called him … "Wood". He crossed the big field opposite the house, the one with the pond in the middle, scene of so many pirate attacks launched from tin baths in recent years, passed the barn, head quarters of a small group of grubby boys for so long, up to the old deserted World War II observation tower, from the top of which (if you didn't get caught entering) you could see all the way to the aerodrome. "Wud … wud … wud …!" He passed under a sycamore, oblivious to the two small boys perched on a branch swinging their legs just above his head. He worked his way along the hedgerow pulling out pieces of wood and adding them to the bunch he was dragging behind him. The boys in the tree watched him with bemused interest. "I wonder what Wood does with it all!" "Dunno." "My Dad says you should only take dead wood." They watched him pull out another piece. "How
did he know that bit was dead?" [more] |
