The Birch Bark Cross
ARTICLES of GENERAL INTEREST
THE BIRCH BARK CROSS
I am not sure if this story really happened to me.
A few years back I lived in a small village called Wenvoe between Cardiff and Barry. Wenvoe itself used to be a big farming estate back at the turn of the 19th to early 20th century. I used to take my dogs for a walk through Wenvoe Woods on a regular basis up to the Horse and Jockey Pub and have a cheeky pint without the Mrs knowing about it (am sure she knew).
I was walking in the woods one sunny day with my two dogs (a Pomeranian and a King Charles). My route took me through the “Orchid field” (It is managed as a traditional meadow with an annual mowing to encourage the sort of wildflowers that are fast disappearing from our landscape).
At the top of the field, there is an old bench which I headed to for to sit down with the dogs. I was half dozing off with the sun shining on my face, when I felt a shadow standing before me. I looked up from the bench to see the shadow of a man wearing a brimmed hat. The light was shining behind him, giving him a glow like form. “Hello” the figure said. I put my hand to cover my eyes, “Hello” I said back.
There was no sound of traffic and all I could hear was Crow cawing about five times. The man said, “Nice dogs you have got there”. The dogs where around the man’s feet rolling around. The man said, “My name is Thomas Jones”. I said, “Like the singer”. “Who?” said the man.
The man had what looked like a felt suit and hat and looked quite old fashioned in appearance. He turned to me and said, “I am the local Woodsman for Wenvoe Woods. I live at the back of Ravenswood Farm”.
“Oh” I said, “I moved to the village about three months ago”. The man put his hand in his pocket and pulled out a long strip of bark of a tree. As I watched his hands move with subtle dexterity, The man produced something out of the bark. “This is for you” said the man and handed me the bark he had being working on.
The man said goodbye to me and gave the dogs a rub on their heads. He headed towards the shrubs to the right of me, but the sun shone straight into my eyes. When I adjusted to the light, the man had disappeared as quickly as he appeared. I looked down at my hands and saw that the man had left me a freshly made cross out of the bark. I stuck the cross into my pocket and carried on to the pub.
I was talking to some of the old locals about what had just happened to me and they all started laughing. One local said, “You’re very blessed, you have just met old Tom.” The local man went on to tell me that Tom was the woodsman for the Wenvoe estate over a hundred years ago.
The old local said “Did he give you a Birch Bark Cross.” He then took me over to plaque on the wall with a dark cross inside of it. The local said ” There’s only two in the village; one in here and one in St Marys Church in the village.” He said, ” They are both around one hundred years old.”
When I got home, I put my hand in my pocket and took out the cross, it had turned a dark colour and looked very old and brittle. I still have it in a box on the wall in the house.
This is a fictitious story, so don’t go looking for any crosses.