Gospel Oak - Polstead - The Place By The Pool
‘The Gospel Oak when felled in 1953 revealed 1400 growth rings, dating it back to approximately 653AD where the Oak would have already been 100 years old during the reign of King Anna, who ruled over the Kingdom of East Anglia’.
Slightly off the beaten track, Polstead is up on the hill beyond Stoke by Nayland, venturing out from the Stour valley and into the Box Valley, on a Sunday stroll we found our way up towards Polstead, a reference when reading Ronald Blythe and the mention of the ‘Gospel Oak’ drew us out from familiar territory, between St Mary’s church, Maria Marten and what is now the grounds of Polstead Hall are the remnants of the Gospel Oak. The church itself is worthy of a visit dating back to the 11th century and has the oldest original stone spire in all of Suffolk, as well as the earliest English bricks dating back to the 1160.
When it fell in 1953 it was a great age and measured 32 feet at its shoulders, a huge oak, it was believed to be one of the oldest in England but this is very unlikely, Suffolk perhaps. The Gospel Oak when its trunk was cut revealed 1400 growth rings, dating it back to approximately 653AD where the Oak would have already been 100 years old during the reign of King Anna, who ruled over the Kingdom of East Anglia.
What makes the Gospel oak stand out other than its vast age, is that it is associated with the Northumbrian missionary Saint Cedd and it is a site where he reputedly would preach the gospel beneath. This tree is one of two trees associated with Cedd as they stood within his diocese, the other is in Great Yeldham in Essex, dead many years and now unfortunately stood encased in concrete and iron.
These great oaks were likely regarded as sacred or sentient by the Anglo Saxons, the trees were symbolic and connected with the celestial realms with the underworld. Trees mythological statuses were maintained into the Christian era and absorbed into the Christian message, ‘Dream of the Rood’ is a poem that links the wooden cross of Christ with its status as a living tree.
It is believed that ceremonies have been held annually for millennium, and that this ceremony is known today as beating of the bounds which is held by the parish priest and would mark the extent of the parish lands and ask God for a fruitful harvest, these processions would pause beneath an ancient tree where the priest would read a sermon from the gospels, hence the ‘Gospel Oak’. The Gospel oak of Polstead has held such ceremonies the first week of August since 1902.
Polstead – The place by the pool
‘Dream of the Rood’
The rood, or cross, on which Christ died. The rood tells him its own story. Forced to be the instrument of the saviour's death, it describes how it suffered the nail wounds, spear shafts, and insults along with Christ to fulfill God's will.
What — most choice of dreams I choose
 to chatter, what dreamed me in middest night,
 once other chatterers crept to couch… 
Every inch bethinks me, what eye blinks to see,
 tree of your dreams borne aloft on breeze,
 dragged out in dazzle, brightliest of beams. 
Thoroughly gotten in gold, poured & pouring,
 a beacon, a trace — a sign. 
Gems from foreign corners
 faraway fairness all enfolded,
 like these five found uploaded
 across this sibling span. 
Divine creatures cradle it each & every one
 beauteous promise of things to become 
 No longer some gallows for the guilty,
 they nourished it, these holy messengers
 watched it grow for human types
 across this mortal garden,
 matter & mold made famous. 
Every tree a winner, & this one most of all 
 and here I was splattered with sin,
 impaled on my imperfections.
 I gazed upon the glorious growth,
 wreathed in its worthy windings,
 joyfully aglow, garnished in golden:
 gemstones gladsome bandaged its scars,
 the wielder’s tree. 
Yet even through dearworthy dressings
 I could still look upon its traumas,
 wretched & old, so that it began at once
 to sweat blood along its right half.
 In every part I was dredged in regret 
 I was afeared for its fearful beauty. 
I witnessed the change, the streaking beacon,
 warping its own in clad & color:
 sometimes it was blood steaming,
 swilling in trills & rills of ruddy sweat;
 sometimes it was bedazzled with richness. 
Yet I, couching there many long whens,
 cradled that healing tree, raw in cares,
 until I picked up on it echoing, resounding.
 Most fabulous of the forest it flowed in words: 
“The years further, memories yet fresh 
 hewn down at holt’s end,
 dragged from secret dreamings.
 Surpassing foes snatched me there,
 stood me their own shivering spectacle,
 compelled me to crop their criminals.
 Carriers carried me upon their shoulders 
 though I am no brother to them 
 until they rooted me in their realm,
 enemies enough fixed me there. 
“Then I spotted the first free-born
 racing bracing with bravado
 to mount me up merrily.
 Me there, I didn’t dare sway or shiver
 unless lordly words should allow 
 then I watched in wavering
 the reaches, the distances of earth.
 I could have mown these foes down 
 yet stood I still. 
“Unyaring himself then, this young 
 it was god all-surpassing 
 strong and set in purpose.
 He mounted upwards on gallows,
 heightened & humiliated,
 impetuous in the imagination
 of many & all, when he wanted
 to undo his humankind. 
“I tremble in the man’s embrace 
 Hardly dare to humble me to earth,
 tumble down around distant regions,
 obligated yet to tower right here.
 I was areared a rood — tree, tower, & sign 
 heaving aloft the hearty first,
 heavenly bread-giver 
 hardly dare to heel or halter. 
“They forced me through
 with darkness, with nails 
 Witness in me their woundcraft
 the gashings of gnashing spite.
 Hardly dare to savage that lot
 making us shame, us two together.
 I’m all ooze, bedrooled with blood,
 sluiced from, juiced from his side 
 once this one had flickered forth. 
“Me on hill, I’ve known so much, 
 the wrathing words. I watched
 that being well-attended stretched
 into agony. Shadows splinted
 by clouds, sovereign raw flesh,
 the blearing of the clearness,
 darkness blown by & gone away,
 skulking beneath stormy skies. 
“All creation was wrung,
 a hue & cry for first one’s fall 
 The anointed was anointed,
 as appointed 
 Anyways they come cruising,
 rushing in from afar to their noble.
 I take all this inside. 
“Pained perplexed & punctured 
 yet I was bowed by crowds,
 their hands humble-minding me,
 my valor, my greatness. 
“They snatched that almighty one,
 hefting him from hard heaviness.
 Fierce to fight, they’ve forsaken me
 to stand there, made to drape blood,
 put through with piercing. 
“They laid him down, weary limbs,
 attending him at the body’s head,
 winding up the lord of heavens,
 while that one slumbered for some time,
 wearied by so much winning. 
“Right away they wrung him a warren —
 that company in sight of slayers —
 carving it from carbuncle, chalcedony
 setting him thereon, the player of fortune. 
“They set up too a sorrowing song,
 wretching in eventides, wanting
 to venture out at once,
 wearied on behalf of
 that ever-known lord—
 still among that stilted circle. 
“All of us, however,
 gruching those good whiles,
 footed the foundation,
 as murmurings up & left,
 of those battling off.
 The carcass cooled—
 lovely lively-hall—
 when wicked ones lopped
 us both, laid to earth.
 Such a dreary outcome! 
“The wicked carved us down
 into a cavernous cave.
 Even still, lordful thanes
 —said they were friends
 searched me out
 and dragged me up
 in gold and in silver. 
“Now can you hear,
 O you mortal thing you,
 how I waded through
 the workings of ones
 haunting their harrowing,
 their sores, their sorrows. 
“Now the season is very much upon us
 the hall arrived— when humans
 clenched to earth, rooted wide & broad,
 worthy me — and all these workings
 widely renowned.
 Beseeching this bright beech. 
“Upon me the child of god
 travailed & tribulated some time.
 And so, I tower tall once again,
 under pendant skies,
 pressed with potence,
 now able to cure any one of you,
 you who are as afeared as me. 
“Back then I became
 the worst of ordeals,
 hateful to humanity,
 before the lively way
 was stretched out properly
 for all those, the chatterers. 
“Okay, at that point in time,
 the skipper of splendor,
 worthied me above foresty trees,
 the ward-keep of vaulted realms.
 Just like he honored his own mother
 Mary, that’s her name
 above the lot of other women.
 He was god all-surpassing. 
“Now let me charge you this,
 my charming man, to unclose
 this disclosing, speak it wordfully,
 to all humanity — it is this glorious beam
 that the ever-powered god pained upon
 for the endless defaults of humankind 
 even Adam’s ancient workings. 
Tasting death, he was mounded under
 while this other lord mounted up
 amid his manifold mights,
 as helpmeet to humankind.
 Then he shot into the heavens. 
Soonward, he will strive
 back to this middle yard,
 seeking the seeds of mortals
 on the day accounts are due,
 the lord themselves,
 god ever-compassing
 among an angelic entourage,
 the urge to judge upon them,
 who keeps the right to reckon
 each & every one, alone
 just as they accrued in the earlier
 during this loan we call life. 
“Nor can any of them stand fearless
 at the pronunciation
 that the potentate proclaims.
 They will inquire before the entirety
 where the mortal might be
 who dared to drink death’s bitters
 in the name of this lord,
 just as this one once did
 upon the beaming tree. 
Yet they will shiver then
 few imagining what they could
 offer up to Christ in reply.
 No need for any to dread there,
 those who blazon the better beacon
 across their breast — instead
 they shall root out the realm
 by means of the rood,
 every soul who plans to keep
 their reservations with the ruler.” 
At that moment, I put in my request
 with that shining tree
 with brimming heart,
 courage overcupping
 where I was lonely planted,
 my own host scanty.
 The channels of my ownsome
 so very eager to ferry themselves
 onto the forthwards ways,
 greeting and meeting
 all these whiles,
 these miles of mourning. 
Now — my life hopes forward,
 to find permit to trace the track
 of that triumphant tree,
 lonesome more often than not 
 lauding those limbs as befits
 more than other mortals.
 The urge in me urges urgently,
 the patronage of my heart rood-right. 
How am I overfraught with friends
 along the folds of the earth,
 ever since they turned away
 from the pleasances of this place,
 flowing forthwards far from here?
 They quested themselves towards
 the chief charged in grandeur
 cohabiting now in the celestiality
 with the highest daddy,
 glamping out in glory. 
Hoping my way all these days
 for when this rood, lordly to me
 the one I pour over here
 on this plane, shall put paid
 to the loan of my life
 and then pack me up
 towards where is every joy,
 happiness through heaven 
 where the captain’s crew
 are seated for the cookout. 
There is a singularity of bliss 
 I will be seated there as well,
 where I may be granted
 afterwards an abiding
 in all this abundance,
 living swell among the sainted,
 brooking these blissings. 
Let the lord sponsor me,
 the hallowed who swallowed
 here on earth a forest of gallows
 for the sins of their fellows. 
Delivered from bonds
 and given life, a home upwardly.
 Anticipation was granted fresh,
 draped in fruits & every fairness
 to all those who weathered the burning. 
That child was surpassing. a sure bet,
 poured into the cup of their way,
 able and accomplished,
 when they entered the fray,
 the companionry of souls,
 in the realm of god
 single hand on the rudder,
 every every power 
with angels as ecstasy
 and all those sanctified,
 the ones who climbed
 before into heavens to abide
 in all that splendor 
when their wielder arrived,
 divine power multiplied,
 where their dwelling was.