Hello, I’m Dan’s son, Daniel. And Danson Park is where I emerged from a caramel-coloured acorn over 200 years ago. It’s still where my roots travel deep into the hidden world beneath your feet, and my branches reach out to all corners of the park.

At the last count, I had 693,274 leaves and 273 species of insects, birds and animals that nestle, rustle, crawl and creep, munch and feast , making their home in my branches, down my trunk and circling my roots. Every one of them is my friend.’ Daniel ponders for a moment but eventually concludes:

‘Even Patrick Parakeet who dislodged a few of my leaves when he theatrically landed on me when I was midway through counting them.’

‘My friends are not only found tunnelling between my roots or mountain-climbing up my trunk. Delia Duck often waddles up from the lake with appetising treats she has prepared. Although roasted pondweed with a chiffonade of slugs cooked al dente, is not my favourite menu. And then there’s Roald Rat the writer. When he tells his stories about big friendly giants and chocolate factories, crowds gather around him, transported to magical faraway places. He often competes with Mary Moorhen because her uncle wrote a book called ‘The Water Babies,’ about a boy who falls into a river and discovers a world inhabited by a swashbuckling swordfish and a lobster complete with tartan beret. Sometimes I stare into the inky darkness of Danson lake and wonder if there are towering water forests and gossipping fish darting among the branches.’

Daniel’s thoughts return to his friends.

‘And Roger Raven. What can I say about Roger, Daniel smiles to himself. He’s an aspiring actor who imagines the picnic table he is strutting across is a stage, with crowds of devoted admirers listening to him deliver his lines. He is convinced that one day he’ll be given the role of a government spy who travels around the world in fast cars. The biggest role he’s had so far is stealing someone’s chips near Bexleyheath Clocktower.

But William worm…now he is truly special. You should see the stylish home he has crafted between my roots; the wallpaper designs are worthy of being displayed in an art gallery. He has one wallpaper called ‘Trellis’ that was inspired by roses he saw in the nearby Red House. It was an exhausting journey for him wiggling through the soil to visit the Red House. I had to revive him on his return by showering him with raindrops. Bernie Bat wasn’t very sympathetic. William and Bernie aren’t the best of friends.’ Daniel lowers his voice conspiratorially:

‘Bernie doesn’t really get on with anyone. Like Roger, he loves fast cars and drives his batmobile around the park like it’s a Grand Prix racetrack.’

‘But that’s why I love living in this park. We’re a community of species living together, like a family. We sometimes argue and tease each other, and a few times I have wanted to put Bernie in a box and send him to live with my cousins in America. But I don’t think he would have been allowed through customs.’ Daniel begrudgingly admits:

‘And I guess Bernie can be quite entertaining sometimes when he disguises himself as a leaf, hanging upside down on a branch, and then purposely drops onto the head of a pampered poodle trotting alongside its equally pampered owner.’

‘And I have seen many generations born, grow up, and have families of their own. Although when I recently had a conversation with Isis and Geb the Egyptian Geese, they proudly told me that their ancestors came from the land of the pyramids, thousands of years ago. Even I’m not that old. Geb and his daughter, Isis, are named after the god of farmers and fertility and the Goddess of motherhood and magic. I feel humbled that my friends are descended from such powerful deities who, according to the Ancient Egyptians, held the Earth in place and brought the dead back to life. I am convinced that Isis and Geb carry some of the magic from Egypt in their iridescent green feathers, sprinkling this magic across our park, helping it flourish.’

‘But my friends not only come from the lands of the Pharaohs. Diana, the Roman goddess of the countryside and hunting, also made Danson Park her home. Human visitors assumed she was just a stone statue, elegantly posing where the Boathouse is now located. But when the sun had set, Diana’s shadow began to move and the stars brought her to life. She could often be found glamorously reclining on the steps leading to the miniature temple near the lake that looked as if it had been carried on the wind from Ancient Greece. At other times, she thundered around the park in her chariot, pulled by two magnificent leopards, arrows firing from her bow. (A committee meeting of furry Danson Park residents kindly requested that Diana refrain from this antisocial behaviour as too many of them had suffered the consequences of Diana using them as target practice.) But Diana was a wild goddess who used her power to ensure that Danson Park could never be fully tamed. Although Diana no longer reigns over the park, there will always be mysterious areas where shadows growl and Diana continues to cast her spells. The landscape might appear tame but just like Diana’s crouching leopards, it is ready to roar whenever humans attempt to control it.’

‘If you look hard enough, you might see other royal footprints that have walked through our park.’ Daniel glows with pride and announces:

‘I have met two Queens of England. Exactly 100 years ago, Queen Mary swept into the park with a flowing red velvet robe and her jewel-encrusted crown glinting in the sunlight, Daniel exaggeratedly describes. The day that Queen Mary came to visit, changed my life. When I was a tiny oak tree, this land was owned by a family who lived in Danson House. The entire park was their back garden.’ Daniel excitedly waves his branches in a sweeping circle, imagining if the park had been his own private playground.

‘I would have invited every creature in the park to exotic banquets, with tables stretching the length of the lake, and then danced to an orchestra of emerald-coloured parakeets.’ Daniel’s imagination begins conjuring increasingly fantastical scenes;

‘And I would have borrowed clouds for everyone to float on, skimming across the ground and then soaring into the sky, looking down at the patchwork of shapes and colours below.’

Daniel’s mood suddenly changes;

‘But I was actually quite lonely. The residents of the house rarely ventured out of their opulent home. Of course, I enjoyed listening to Diana telling me wondrous stories about the man she turned into a deer because he had been spying on her. And that the constellation Orion- that you can see in the night sky- was a man she loved who she was forbidden to see by her brother.

I had fun chasing squirrels around my trunk, and my roots being tickled by worms.

But I missed seeing people.’

‘When Queen Mary opened our park, I was surrounded by more people than I had ever met in my life.’ Teardrops of happiness, the size of marbles, start rolling down Daniel’s trunk.

‘Since I was born, I had stood rooted in the same spot, but I desperately wanted to meet the Queen. A thought dropped into my mind and for the first time in my life, I began to sway so hard that I was eventually able to pull my roots out of the soil. It was a strange sensation- guiding my roots forward, pulling me across ground that had laid all around me, but seemed so distant. The crowds of people stood frozen as I shuffled over to Queen Mary and bowed so low that my top branches almost touched the ground. She tied ribbons of red, white and blue around my branches. I felt like I had been crowned the king of England. For many hours, I joined in the dancing and celebrations, swirling and spinning, sending clouds of confetti leaves onto the ground, creating a carpet of emerald, olive and moss green. And I sang ‘Land of Hope and Glory’ so loudly that it almost felt like the ground itself was shaking in agreement.

It was one of the happiest days of my life.’

Daniel suddenly rummages around in his branches;

‘I know it’s in here somewhere….’ Eventually he produces what resembles a book, only each page is made from delicate leaves, carefully stitched together by the thread from spider’s webs. It is filled with photographs of Queen Elizabeth II.

‘No one had been living in Danson House for a long time- except for Gavin Peacock. He wasn’t actually a peacock, but a mouse, although he seemed to think he was the most beautiful creature in the park. When he managed to tear himself away from gazing at reflections of himself in a fragment of crystal that had fallen from a chandelier, he spent most of his time playing football with his furry opponents, Jimmy Bullard and Joe Healy. People assumed that the house looked like a teenager’s bedroom because it had been neglected for so long, but it’s amazing how much damage can be done by a group of mice celebrating after their team has won their latest match.’

‘But eventually, Gavin and his friends were encouraged to leave their palatial home, and someone waved a magic wand over Danson House, transforming it into the magnificent house it is today. In 2005, Queen Elizabeth was invited to afternoon tea in the house.’ A dreamy look settles on Daniel’s face.

‘She was a very special person. I wanted to bow to her, but when you are over 200 years old…..’ Daniel awkwardly shifts his position, his trunk creaking as if to demonstrate his age.

‘I felt embarrassed that I could not bow to her, but Queen Elizabeth took one of my branches in her hand. She told me that she wanted to bow to me because I have stood here since the time of her ancestors, providing shelter, nourishment and beauty to this land that she reigns over. I shyly told her that I wanted to wrap my branches around her, protecting her, like I have served this small part of England.’

‘Of course, not all Queens are as well behaved as Queen Elizabeth,’ Daniel cheekily grins.

‘A few years ago I was standing here, minding my own business and tidying up my branches, when a crowd of people appeared carrying enormous cameras and dazzling lights. It looked as if some people had travelled through time from a past century. Men were dressed in waistcoats, embroidered with gold and silver.’

At this point, Daniel wistfully drifts into dreams of a time even before he was born.

‘The women wore dresses of such beauty, they could have been mistaken for angels. Sweeping skirts decorated with ribbons, lace and flowers were complimented by the sparkling diamonds suspended from their owner’s necks, like stars plucked from the sky.’

Daniel gives a small ruffle of his branches to bring him back from his time travels.

‘I strolled over to one of these angels, who was intensely studying a slightly crumpled sheet of paper, and enquired what was going on.

‘I’m Olivia Colman. We’re making a movie called ‘The Favourite’ and I’m playing Queen Anne. We’re just about to start filming our scene in the mud bath.’

‘I thought I had misheard,’ Daniel says.

‘A mud bath? In Danson Park? I have seen Quentin B Crow almost disappear as the mud in the Rock Garden threatened to swallow him. But I have never witnessed people gathering with their fluffy towels and shampoo, ready to indulge in a comforting mud bath.’

Olivia continued: ‘The Hollywood fairies have waved their wands and transformed the basement of Danson House into a luxurious Turkish Bath. I have been told that lying in a mud bath is similar to bathing in hot chocolate.’

Daniel’s disappointment is evident as he admits:

‘I wanted to watch the filming of this scene but I was politely told that having a large oak tree dropping leaves into the mud bath was not written into the script. But I did manage to smuggle in a couple of my acorns. I cannot repeat some of the tales conveyed to me,’ Daniel slyly says.

‘If only the open-air swimming pool still existed, down by the lake. Queen Anne could have leapt off the diving board, launching into the water, transferring all the mud she was caked in, onto Sam and Sheila. I know that swans are considered to be royal birds, but I did secretly enjoy seeing Sam and Sheila looking so filthy that even Queen Elizabeth would have turned them away from the gates of Buckingham Palace. They can sometimes glide around the lake as if crowns are permanently glued on their heads. It felt good to see them realise that they are not superior to everyone else in the park.’

‘But I shouldn’t be unkind,’ Daniel uncomfortably says, quickly steering the conversation back to the swimming pool.

‘Sometimes when everyone in the park had returned home, I used to creep down to the swimming pool and slide into the silky water. I would lie on my back, my branches outstretched, my roots drifting on the surface dreaming of…….well, I don’t know what roots dream about, but they looked very content.

It was always a mystery to people why acorns would often be found sailing across the swimming pool in canoes made from oak twigs. If they were feeling brave, the acorn sailors would join the boats on the lake. Although that was quite dangerous. There used to be a large motor boat called ‘Miss Lingaid’ who would patrol the lake, sending large waves rippling across the water. Not good if you are a tiny acorn in a boat the size of your hand. Many times I slipped on my lifeguard’s uniform and scooped bedraggled acorns out of the water with my branches wrapping them in my leaves to warm them up.’

Daniel suddenly jogs on the spot and flexes his limbs. ‘Do you think I could have done that if I was unfit and past my prime?’ Steam starts rising from Daniel’s uppermost canopy and the soil quivers like an underground monster is awakening from its lair.

‘A few years ago, someone told me that I have ‘lazy branches.’ Can you imagine how that felt?’, Daniel’s voice overflowing with indignation. ‘I have never had a lazy day in my entire life,’ Daniel forcefully declares.

‘And to prove it, I sometimes go and play a game of tennis on the tennis courts.’ The tone of Daniel’s voice softens as more pleasant memories rise from within the personal archive of his life.

‘I have a secret advantage when playing against humans’, Daniel shares, this thought counteracting the offense he experienced at being told he was lazy.

‘They have to use tennis rackets, whereas I have lots of branches that are perfect for hitting tennis balls.’

Although,’ Daniel admits, ‘few humans want to play with me any more because I can hit the balls a little too vigorously. They often land in the nearby bowling green, creating dents in the perfectly manicured lawns. More than once I have had angry members of Bexleyheath and Barnehurst Bowls Club marching over to me, hands on hips, threatening to……’ Daniel squirms uncomfortably at the memory…..

‘They threatened to cut off some of my branches,’ Daniel whispers, although with a trace of admiration in his voice at how such tiny beings could give the illusion they were the size of giants.

After a few moments, Daniel regains his composure.

‘I now just play tennis with my Horse Chestnut friends down by the lake. We use conkers instead of tennis balls.

‘Although’, Daniel concedes, ‘we sometimes hit so many conkers simultaneously that it creates a floating conker arch between us. Occasionally, a stray conker decides to make an escape attempt and dives into the lake. I’m not sure who has the worst headache- the innocent fish whose head he’s landed on, or the conker himself, after having been used as a tennis ball.’

‘But I am in the prime of my life,’ Daniel repeats, perhaps trying to convince himself more than anyone else as he creakily stretches his branches up towards the clouds and then fails in his attempt to lower them to the ground.

Daniel grows quiet.

‘But I suppose I’m not as young as I used to be.’ Daniel shudders as he recalls an occasion when:

‘Men and women in white coats ran towards me with needles the size of your arm. Well, maybe I’m exaggerating slightly. They were actually very friendly. They explained that because I am such a popular resident of the park…..’ Daniel unconsciously stands up slightly straighter, dreaming about hundreds of parakeets polishing his ego until it glints in the sun. Daniel continues:

‘My many visitors have squashed the soil around my trunk, making it hard for rainwater to sink down to my roots so I can drink. So the kind men and women gently injected big bubbles into the soil, which created more space for underground pools of water. Daniel chose not to admit to the fear he had felt, imagining the army of needles approaching him in slow-motion, like a scene from a horror movie. But the subtle change in colour of his leaves from vibrant green to a more autumnal shade of red, revealed Daniel’s embarrassment.

‘Afterwards, we chased each other around the park, blowing giant bubbles. One man even got trapped in a bubble and started floating over the lake.’ Daniel sniggers as he describes how he had to pop the bubble with one of his branches, sending the man tumbling into the muddy, stagnant water below. It is obvious that Daniel had experienced a degree of pleasure at watching the man clamber out of the lake, smeared in mud and algae.

‘Although I did feel slightly guilty,’ Daniel quickly emphasises, ‘because I knew the man had been helping my roots become healthier so I can continue living here in Danson Park for many more years.’

A threatening cloud passes over Daniel’s head, sending darkness racing across the park. The atmosphere that only moments ago had been playful, becomes menacing. Daniel remains silent. But above him, spanning the now ferocious sky, images appear, like those projected onto a screen. They are Daniel’s memories; too powerful to be spoken out loud. In these aerial displays, the park is trembling as aircraft glide overhead, their seeming innocence in contrast to their intention. The ground erupts as an ear-piercing explosion and a blinding flash of light turn this once peaceful park into an inferno. The air choking with soil and shards of rock shrapnel. This tranquil landscape that Daniel calls his home is shaking uncontrollably at the horror engulfing it. It was 1941 and the United Kingdom was at war.

But Daniel defiantly grows taller, as if determined to meet these aeronautical bringers of destruction in their own territory. To protect those he cares about from the bombs falling around him, Daniel extends his branches across the park, sweeping it into his protective clutches. It was as if the park had been folded and held within the safe environment provided by this mighty oak tree. After what seems like an eternity, silence gradually creeps nervously across the park, almost too scared to believe that the turmoil had ended. And Daniel slowly releases his branches, enabling the park to unfurl itself; the tennis courts, Old English Garden, and the lake being segmented back into their correct positions, and Danson House carefully placed back into its rightful location, Only now the scene before it was no longer a rolling landscape gently descending to the lake, but a violent, brutal terrain, scarred by what it had just experienced.

The sky begins to lighten and the billowing purple clouds are replaced by ones resembling creamy marshmallows, bobbing across the sky. Daniel chooses to return his painful memories to the tightly locked box in his mind that he prefers not to open too often. There is a thoughtful silence as a new stream of memories begins flowing through Daniel’s mind. But this time, he has opened a box containing more pleasurable memories. He eventually settles on one of these and says in a distant tone:

‘I’m remembering the day the Olympic torch came to Danson Park on its way to the Olympic Games in London in 2012.’ As if unsure how honest to be, Daniel says with uncertainty:

‘I was actually feeling quite subdued on the day of the torch relay. I didn’t want to face the thousands of people who would be gathering in the park. I know I seem like a very sociable tree, but on that day I wished I had an invisibility cloak. Instead, I wrapped my branches tightly around me, my leaves knitting together like a living blanket.’

‘At first my plan worked. Everyone ignored me. But then a tiny flame started running towards me. It was the Olympic torch, being joyfully held by a famous boxer, Lennox Lewis. He stopped in front of me and asked why I was hiding from the world. I explained that I was feeling sad. Lennox encouraged me to unfurl my branches and he placed the torch on one of them, declaring:

‘This torch is a symbol of unity, peace and friendship. The flickering flame represents the light of life. I know you are feeling sad but the Olympic Games are about bringing people-and trees- together. I have been told that you are an important member of this community and we want you to be a part of our celebrations.’

Daniel started shaking, his leaves rustling the words his tears were preventing him from saying;

‘Holding that torch and staring into its flame, I could feel its warmth travel along my branches, down my trunk and into my roots. It was as if I had been frozen in a black and white landscape but the flame, and Lennox’s words, melted away my sadness and the world became alive with vibrant colours.

Even now, as I remember that day, I can feel how special it was to be part of those celebrations; to feel valued and included.’

Daniel again steps into the time machine that has carried him to the events in his story. But this time, the dial spins rapidly, backwards and forwards. The years spin past at high speed, seasons changing within seconds. Trees grow and fall. Boats on the lake move at the speed of a racing car. But the heart of the Park remains the same. It continues to be a green oasis beating in the centre of our Borough, telling stories of the 100 years since it was born.

At this thought, Daniel halts his time machine, a grin spreading across his trunk, as his imagination now leads him to visions of holding a 100th birthday party for the Park.

‘I would ask Roald Rat to write a story about the man who owns a chocolate factory; how he would create a scrumdiddlyumptious birthday cake that transformed into the favourite food of every person who ate a slice. Isis and Geb would sprinkle some of the magic from their wings over the cake and Delia would use her culinary talents to bring it to life.

100 balloons would be made from flower petals donated by crimson red roses, ivory-coloured snowdrops, and cobalt bluebells. Messages would be attached to the balloons and then released on their journeys to countries around the globe, sending words of goodwill to those who discovered these international messengers.

And instead of gifts, people would bring seeds; each one containing a future dandelion, willow tree or blades of grass. Daniel solemnly declared that he would bring one of his acorns;

‘I would plant it myself and nurture it until it grew into another oak tree that can watch over this park for the next 100 years.’

At this point, a contented silence descends over Daniel. He closes his book of memories and turns the cover of a new book, its pages blank, wondering what future will be written about his home, Danson Park, in the next 100 years.