Whatever happened to Simon Woods remains a mystery even to this day. Born into a large family of ten siblings to Mr and Mrs Penthouse Woods, his early days were normal enough. But as he gradually became aware of his surroundings he found it hard to find anywhere that was quiet.
He did try. He hid for nearly a whole day under a pile of clothes waiting for the washing machine and was only discovered when his sister intent on loading the machine noticed his legs sticking out of its door. You see she found that the damn thing just would not close. The family would quite often spend considerable amounts of time looking for him only to find him in a cupboard or under a low shelf, or even once disguised as a brolly in the umbrella stand. He became a master at hide and seek and when it was his turn to hide he simply vanished. All this effort to satisfy his aching desire for solitude.
Then he discovered the out-of-doors. If it was often hard to find him when he was confined to the inside of the house, but he became almost perpetually invisible when allowed outside.
His happiness at this stage was however short lived. To his disgust school thrust him wholesale into a mass of other children. For them his rather serious demeanour was something to tease him with, and tease him they did. There was never a single minute when he could feel that he was on his own. If they came upon him somewhere in a quiet corner where he had found a little solitary bliss, they would steal his scarf or cap or anything that was removable and would pass it from one to another as he chased after it.
In spite of all this teasing however, he never lost his temper. He would merely shake his head sadly and wait for events to calm down. With little or no reaction to their leg pulling the children would soon get bored and would leave him after hanging his scarf or whatever high in some nearby tree.
This desire to be solitary was fortunately short lived.
For the moment that is.
Of course he was not at the tender age of nine allowed out on his own, one or other of his brothers or sisters would be detailed to accompany him. But the outdoors drew him like a magnet.
The Penthouse Woods lived well in a sizeable house which backed on to a large field owned as part of a nearby farm. For a young family this was bliss. If the field was not in use for cattle or hay they only had to nip over the low rear fence to enjoy its broad reaches, it even had a sizable pond. It was of course out of bounds for the young Simon, but it drew him, and so over the fence he went, knowing full well that he would have to face his angry father later.
Then when Simon was about to change schools his father who had never seen a day’s illness in his life suddenly died of a massive heart attack.
His mother faced up to the likelihood of having to move to cheaper premises, but their father had planned well and so in the house by the field they stayed.
So what was our Simon like at this stage of his life?
Well he was now just like any of the growing lads of his age. Full of energy, and with a zest for enjoyment he was hardly ever still. Forgotten were the lonely hiding places. He no longer sought his own company. If there was game going you would almost certainly find our Simon in the midst of it.
Transferred to the upper school this very fit, strong and healthy lad was soon captain of the rugby fifteen and as a cricketer he was a handy bowler as well as a competent batsman.
He made lots of friends and took the more attractive girls to the local palaise de dance. Popular, happy with his lot, a smile was always ready to light his rather handsome features. Even academically Simon was no slouch, gaining good exam results with comparative ease.
He did not then recognise that which was to command the whole of the rest of his life.
It all began almost imperceptibly.
In Simon’s final year he naturally put his name down for the school camping holiday. He had been before and had enjoyed it very much, taking part in all the outdoor activities—sailing, swimming, sports. You name it—he was there.
However—this year instead of a camp at some seaside resort a site in the Forest of Dean was chosen.
So what? You say?
The day came, and the games master with twenty happy go lucky lads out to make the most of it rattled down the steps of the coach and began to sort out their baggage.
As Simon stepped out and found himself under a massive canopy of trees in full leaf he found himself gripped by a profound emotion. So powerful was it that he was almost unable to move—even to think.
`Hey—up Simon, shift yourself your holding up the proceedings,’ an impatient colleague admonished.
It took Simon some time and all his concentration to find his place and to dump his stuff. He had no idea what was wrong, it was as if all is joints needed oiling. Moving took more strength that it should. He began to wonder if he was ill.
Don’t mis-understand, he was not unhappy. On the contrary he had an overwhelming feeling of peace—of well-being. It felt as if he had suddenly found himself at home.
As the holiday got underway his friends began to notice subtle changes in Simon.
He laughed at being out for a duck, And he then proceeded to bowl a record number of byes, thus loosing the game for his team.
Then he went missing, only to be found lying fast asleep on a bough of a nearby tree.
They awoke him so suddenly that he fell off his perch and slithered helplessly down the grassy bank to splash right into the deeps of a nearby brook.
His friends noticed that Simon was the only one who failed to laugh.
This was not like our Simon at all.
It got worse.
Wanted for a game, he was not to be found. Eventually they gave up looking for him and found someone else. Full of apologies when eventually he did appear, but he gave no explanation for his embarrassing absence.
He felt that he had no explanation himself—it was as if something more powerful than himself had taken possession of his willpower, and was directing his actions. He was not unhappy, indeed he felt somehow that he had come home. A kind of peacefulness much like that when he was very young now filled him. He found it profoundly satisfying.
But what the cause of this strange feeling was—he had no inkling.
The holiday over and a return to base, Simon recovered some of his usual drive and activity—but not entirely. He developed the habit of walking from school to their home via a small wooded hill. It was not the shortest route by any means nor was it the easiest entailing as it did clambering over two awkward stiles and negotiating an often muddy path, but Simon found himself driven to take this route. To begin with this walk home took him a full twenty minutes as compared with the road which took just ten. But soon Simon found himself dawdling along gazing up into the all enclosing green canopy, stopping ever more frequently to peer around. It was the trees. He found himself studying the way in which tree roots at the surface stretched and twisted as they strove to find a purchase in the stony ground. He found himself watching fascinated as small animals were busy making their homes on the leaves and under the bark. He saw how fungi grew on old dead wood.
And one day it came to him that every tree during its life and beyond was home to hundreds of tiny elements of life.
He was enthralled.
The library, he discovered, had a good range of literature on the subject and he spent most of his spare time browsing its shelves.
Did this affect his school activities both in and out of the classroom? You bet it did.
After some particular poor performances he was dropped from the rugby and the cricket teams and only succeeded in the sports due to his inherited running ability.
But here is a strange thing.
Every now and then after some hard activity he would find himself standing quite still and unable to move for some seconds. Strangely this did not worry him as it seemed to be a natural thing.
It was about this time when his doting mother noticed another more subtle change in her cherished one. Only discernable in certain lighting she noticed that his skin was showing a kind of leathery look. It was as if he had spent a great deal of time at sea. It was of some concern to her but as it seemed not to affect Simon she merely watched him.
Then at school his companions noticed that he had become somewhat slow of movement. He found it impossible to catch a thrown ball. His empty hands would meet some time after the ball had passed between them.
Then there were his interests.
All his previous ones were subjugated to his new fascination with plants. Plants of all kinds. Their growing habits and living methods grabbed his attention. Soon it was difficult to hold a conversation with him about any other subject. One would start a discussion about the weather only to have him wandering if all trees could withstand heavy rainfall or if this was confined to those growing in rainforests.
`Hi Simon, what do you think of my new bicycle?’
`It’s OK you could use it, if you stood on its seat, to reach some of the lower acorns on that big oak.’
And again.
`Simon, would you prefer to go to the baths tomorrow or to visit the new sports shop in town? Some lads are doing one some the other.’
`If you don’t mind I want to see how those young saplings at the edge of the woods are doing.’
And so on.
Very gradually it became almost impossible to hold a proper conversation with him. And so people didn’t.
This was his final year at school and he should be looking at prospects for a job. Their domestic situation demanded it. But It was difficult to pin him down. He did however mention forestry, and was persuaded to apply. He did well at the interview. They said that they had never had anyone before with such an extensive knowledge of trees and their growing habits. Sure enough after the usual delays an offer arrived through the post for a trainee forester. The salary was disappointing to his mother but as he was unlikely to succeed elsewhere she urged him to take the job. And he did. But there was a good twelve months before he was required to take up the offer.
And people were now getting worried about our Simon.
He was now very, very slow.
His every movement took an age. It took him the best part of two hours to get himself dressed and would often appear with only one arm in his jacket sleeves.
Not only that but he found it hard to wear anything, preferring to stand around for extended periods almost naked preferably out of doors.
He had to be cajoled into returning indoors even on the coldest and wettest days, taking a special joy in being out on windy days.
Then he would stand unmoving for long periods at a time. Once his mother found him in the same position in the morning as that which she had last seen him in the previous night.
Conversations with him came to a stop, he just never responded.
It began to pain him to be indoors, he would stand still looking out of a window with a wrapt look of longing on his face.
And that was another thing his flesh was slowly becoming stiff and even hard in places. It had a gnarled appearance.
Then one day he simply vanished. Gone. Not there anymore.
The police were called in and the district was thoroughly searched from one end to the other—he was not found.
The search was extended to nation wide and a TV appeal was launched—he was not found.
Give him time, they said he is bound to turn up.
A year on—he was not found.
As you might imagine his mother was distraught, but with nine others occupying her concern, Simon’s continued absence took a back seat.
Simon was gone—he was never seen again.
* * *
Some couple of years later the elderly farmer in whose field Simon had played, also owned the nearby small area of woodland trees. He loved his trees and he knew his territory well and was used often to take his dog for a walk along its grassy path. He reckoned to know every tree. He knew the one with a hole in which woodpeckers nested, and the one broken at its base the rotten stump of which was favourite site for fungi of many kinds. And so on—his walk was like saying `hallo’ to old friends.
However on this occasion on entering a familiar glade he was astonished to see a small oak tree that he had not noticed before. As he looked at it he was sure that it had not been there on his last visit.
Then as he stared he began to notice a certain familiarity about it. What was the resemblance? Yes, that was it—there was an almost human look about it. What is more the human reminded him of someone he knew but could not recall. Then to his everlasting astonishment a breeze stirred its branches and ruffled its leaves and he swore he could just make it out—
`SSSsssssiimmonnn’
—it said.
JML
7/3/2011