Beyond the Pine Trees

The sun was just beginning to rise over the green hills surrounding the farm when Clara rose to attend to her daily chores. Her bed was made of straw and old sheets that the Petersons’ had given her when she first arrived at the farm. Clara was not permitted to stay at the farmhouse but was given a little corner in the barn to sleep in and eat her meals. There were six stalls. Four of which housed two mare Fell ponies named Lita and Honey and one gelding Shire horse named Bishop. In the fourth stall was a black stallion Clydesdale Horse. Clara named him Dorian. Clara and Dorian bonded almost immediately. She often wondered if it was due to their similar fates; being torn away from the life they loved and now forgotten in the shadows of an old barn.

Clara was only nine when both her parents were killed on a trip to Hlankomo, South Africa. Her father, John Knight, was an English teacher and her mother, Alice Knight, a nurse. Together they visited Hlankomo to volunteer their time and knowledge for the locals. Clara stayed in London with her parents' close friends Mr & Mrs Wilson. One day a letter arrived in the mail, containing the terrible news. Unfortunately Clara was sent to stay with her aunt May and uncle David on their farm on the outskirts of the Thetford Forest in Great Hockham, which was two hours away from her home in London.

When Clara first arrived at the farm, her aunt and uncle told her if she wanted a roof over her head and food on her plate, she must work for it and so she did, minding the animals and seasonal crops.

That morning Clara headed to the farmhouse on top of the hill to give the Petersons the fresh eggs she had collected from the chicken coops. As Clara opened the door she heard the cries of two spoilt children complaining that their eggs were too runny. The Petersons had two daughters, Lucy and Anne. They were both very round young girls; Lucy was the same age as Clara and Anne a year older. Clara was allowed to have whatever was left over from breakfast but Lucy and Anne always made sure not much was left.

“You’re late!” screamed her Aunt May as she snatched the egg basket from Clara’s hands. “Clean up the dishes and sweep the floors. I expect this house to be spotless before I return this afternoon”.

Lucy and Anne sniggered with laughter as they put on their shoes to head into town.

“What a mess,” Clara grumbled as she started sweeping the floors. “Not even the pigs are as grimy as this.”

Clara sighed as she picked up some bread crusts the girls had left on their plates. Before she left the house Clara popped an apple in her pocket for later. There were a dozen freshly baked blackberry muffins on the bench cooling, but she knew better than to take one. When she first arrived on the farm she had taken a muffin thinking they were for everyone to share. When her aunt May noticed one was missing, Clara was punished. “Greedy little girl” Aunt May had screamed as she struck her across the face. That was the day she realised she was merely just an orphan the Petersons had no choice but to take into their care.

She headed back to the barn to let the ponies and horses out to stretch their legs. Bishop stood proudly as Clara attached the single-furrow plough to him. He marched forward with his head held high dragging the plough behind him with ease. Once the ploughing was done Clara headed off on her usual walk across the stream and into the forest. The trees were tall and lush and the smell of wet pine cones filled the air as she trudged through the forest. The singing of birds echoed throughout the trees. There must be at least a thousand different birds in this forest, Clara thought as she took a bite out of her apple. Just a short way in, Clara perched herself on a branch of her favourite tree and pulled out her book. She only had one book, which she must have read a thousand times over. The pages were worn and frayed at the edges and the cover was faded and wrinkled. The book was called ‘The Secret Garden’ by Frances Hodgson Burnett. She remembered her mother laying beside her at night reading the story to her as she caressed her forehead.

Suddenly there was a sound. A distant giggle.

“That’s strange” Clara said out loud looking in the direction of the giggles. Lucy and Anne weren’t meant to be back until supper time and they were too afraid to enter the forest. There it was again! Another giggle. Who could it possibly be? Clara thought as she slid off the tree branch. She headed into the direction of the laughter. Deeper and deeper into the forest she went. The giggles became louder and Clara knew she was close. She pushed herself through the thick shrubs and found herself standing in the centre of a perfectly cleared circle lined with trees on the outskirts. In the centre of the circle was the largest tree she had ever seen. It must be at least 5 metres wide, she thought as she brushed her hands along the base of its trunk.

The tree stood so tall she could barely see where its branches started. She circled the tree base, which felt like a lifetime to return to the spot she started. After a short while and no longer hearing the giggles, Clara walked back the way she came. Just as she was about to step back into the thick forest, she heard a big thud. She quickly turned and glanced in all directions, to see where the sound had come from. Her heart was racing and goosebumps ran up her arms. Back at the base of the ancient tree was now a small black object. I swear that wasn’t there before, Clara thought as she walked back towards the tree. As she got closer she realised the black object was in fact a black book. A rush of excitement filled her as she bent down to pick it up. The front cover was blank and as she opened the book so were the pages within.

“Aw, it’s just an empty journal”! She said as she scrunched her nose in disappointment.

Clara decided to place the black book inside the pocket of her apron and started heading back to the farm. The sun was setting and supper would almost be ready. She sped up her steps through the trees as the sun started to set.

“OUCH!” Clara screamed as she pulled herself up off the ground. She had tripped over a tree root that was camouflaged in the surrounding foliage. As she sat back on her heels she brushed off the dirt from her palms. When she looked up she realised the little black book had fallen out of her apron pocket. The book had landed amongst the leaves opened to a page. Clara could faintly see writing on the pages. She swore the pages were blank when she had first checked. She picked up the little black book and began to read the hand written words neatly scribed across the pages.

As Clara kept reading she realised that all the pages were now filled. How is that possible? she thought to herself. As she turned page after page she realised it was a journal of a young man. As she continued to read she felt this warmth of familiarity fall over her. She turned to the front page of the book to see ‘Journal of John knight 1915’ written on it. Clara gasped! She had read all the pages back to front before the sun finally disappeared. It wasn’t just an ordinary journal but her father’s journal, with notes and stories and a small map of the forest beyond their farm.

The journal detailed her father’s experience during the First World War. At the time he resided in London in a small apartment next door to the Dolphin Tavern where his mother worked nights. During the war most people fled the city. Clara’s father remained in London with his mother and two siblings. He was only 11 years old during the First World War. John grew bored of being locked away in the apartment and developed the habit of sneaking out at night while his mother worked next door at the tavern. He explored all the empty homes abandoned by their owners. He came across a great deal of odd collectables. There were detailed drawings of the items he had come across during his nightly searches. One night John came across a small hatch door under a rug inside an abandoned townhouse. When he opened the hatch door he found a wooden chest with odd engravings on the side. It was full of fifty pound notes.

“Counted twice over, twenty thousand pounds within the chest” John had written about the money on one page of the journal. That same night the Dolphin Tavern had been bombed by a German airship. His brother and mother died in the bombing but his sister May had survived. When brought to their family farm in Great Hockham, John buried the wooden chest of money under a great big tree in the nearby forest. Clara’s eyes widened as she realised what tree her father spoke off. She raced back to the ancient tree and started digging in the location her father noted in his journal. She dug and dug and dug until she almost lost hope but then her fingertips touched something hard. It was the wooden chest! She pulled it out of the hole with all her might and opened the lid. There it was, twenty thousand pounds!

Thankfully Clara was of age, so the money she had found was hers and hers alone. Clara knew she had to keep the money hidden until she was able to use it. The next day she headed into town and made a phone call to the Wilsons' residence. Mr Wilson was an accountant and Clara was hoping he’d be able to help her. After a long chat with Mr Wilson they decided he would head to Great Hockham to meet with Clara in person. Clara had thought long and hard of what she wanted to do with her new found fortune.

“I could go back to London” she pondered but that would mean leaving Dorian, Bishop and the ponies. “That’s it!” She screamed. “I’ll buy the farm from the Petersons.”

When Mr Wilson came to town they spent several afternoons opening bank accounts in Clara’s name and writing up a very generous sale offer to the Petersons. When the day came for Mr Wilson and Clara to approach the Petersons, Clara felt nervous.

“What if they say no?” she asked Mr Wilson.

“Ha! They would be fools to refuse such an offer.”

He said with a huge grin on his face. When the day came the Petersons were shocked to hear Clara had such an amount of money to offer. Mr Wilson made up a grand story of how her inheritance was somehow lost during the Second World War when the bank had been hit after another German air raid. Reluctantly the Petersons accepted the offer.

Clara had a fair bit of money left after the purchase of the farm was finalised. Sitting on the porch of her new home, Clara watched the sunset behind the pine forest and sighed, content.

“It is astonishing how short a time it can take for very wonderful things to happen.”

This was one of Clara’s favourite quotes from her book ‘The Secret Garden’ — and how true those words were.