“Downs” is a word I had never heard of before coming to the UK. Downs, commons, copses and coppice woods are all unique to this country in their own ways. At least, I had not seen any of them elsewhere. Each of these forms part of the fingerprint of Britain. As such, these words can be discovered with real meaning only by travelling through Britain. There are of course a lot more words that have a stronger local flavour – tor, beck, dale, scar, crag…
Today I was denied the discovery of Dunstable Downs in the usual way I prefer to discover the countryside. The Arriva Bus Route 60 from Luton brought me right up to the top of the chalky downs. The views were beautiful all around but the pleasure of a more beautiful walk was lost. So when I stepped out of the bus, the Downs suddenly discovered me before I could accomplish the reverse.
Dry bark of a dead tree
A good part of today’s walk was by the Icknield Way, passing Whipsnade, Studham and Dagnall, to the moderate summits of Ivinghoe Hills. The weather was ideal for walking. Better still, there blew a good wind for flying kites, toy planes and real gliders. The enthusiasts who had gathered on the hills made use of the favourable conditions, not the least because it was the first proper weekend to leave winter behind and welcome spring with a new breath. The views across the plains were clear on this bright sunny day but the expanse was without highlights. As such it did not capture my attention for long, much less my appreciation. The only eye-catching icon on the Downs was the modern chalk drawing of a lion. This I could only guess to be an advertising gimmick of Whipsnade Wildlife Animal Park.
The only notable aspect of the day, as often in my travels, came unexpectedly at the Whipsnade Tree Cathedral. I went with a completely different picture in mind – an ancient tree contorted or knotted by untamed elements of nature, a surviving relic of the past that somehow evoked images of choir stalls of a cathedral. Such is usually the case in some underground caves with fantastic limestone formations. This Tree Cathedral is not an accidental creation of nature named by the fancies of the human mind. Rather, it is a planned design of man but essentially the work of nature. Trees and bushes have been planted in a carefully planned layout that resembles very much the design of any cathedral. The crucifix design is obvious with lime trees creating a wonderful perspective along the length of the nave and horse chestnuts along the transepts. An Atlantic Cedar forms the focus of the Lady Chapel. Conifers grow in neat clusters within the Christmas Chapel. The cloisters to the north provide shaded walks for quiet reflection. There exists a dew-pond that could signify the baptismal font. Hedges of laurels neatly partition many of these spaces as walls would in a common cathedral. The best part of the cathedral is the Chancel, a semi-circular arrangement of ten young birches neatly brought together by well-clipped yew hedges. As always, simplicity does a great deal to please the eye, relax the mind and give room for reflection.
Here the pillars are living tree trunks. Here the roof is either the sky or the arching branches and their foliage. Here the stained-glass windows are redundant. The cathedral is open to the natural world and the glories of creation. Here there is no gift shop or a machine to dispense souvenir coins. Here music is made by birds, leaves and the breeze. Neither the organ nor the organist is required. Perhaps we may infer that when with nature the presence of the divine is always with us and cathedral as a place of worship is no longer necessary. Best of all, the Tree Cathedral is a celebration of life for here we find no crypt, no epitaphs, gravestones or effigies.
