I’ve been involved in Wychurst from about 2002. The first sight I had was during an adventurous re-enactment event held there dubbed (by my wife, Carole and I) as “Vikings on Mars”. It was too hot, the ground was baked clay, fires were blazing in the midday sun, and Carole took two steps into the compound and promptly fell over a root.

Off to one side were large piles of timber, fit for some purpose or another – I didn’t really feel bothered to ask, and was bemused by the whole prospect.

Four years on, and I’m besotted. I’ve spent hundreds of pounds on tools, driven thousands of miles, eaten the crispiest of bacon, and developed a serious love-hate relationship with Oak. Oh, and it’s greened up a bit since then.

My main task at these weekends is that of carpenter. That I am possibly known more for my carvings is a testament to the nature of work there. You can spend an hour labouring on a joint, only for it to be instantly forgotten as you move onto the next one. The labour is invisible, as everyone’s all to busy themselves, to notice.

That so much can be accomplished in such a short space of time (effectively a day and a half’s work each weekend is prime working time) continues to astound me.

We mostly work with “green” oak – that is, recently felled Oak trees which have been sawn into square or rectangular cross-section, and of various lengths. It’s a bit of a bugger to work with, as we have to use what we have, and usually where we want saw or chisel a joint, there happens to be a huge knot. That means it harder to work with, and the grain is temperamental, forcing you blade or chisel tip in all sorts of unwanted directions.

Back in the early days, when more people did sawing, people tended to rush the job. You eventually learn that yes, you may get it done quicker, but you did it badly. Check out the joints on either side of the longhall. Compare them. One is seriously better work than the other. That’s what practise does. You even get “rusty” when not wood-working over the winter break. Sharp tools help – and due to neglect, few of the tools, bought for general use, have survived well. Consequently, those who can, buy their own, and look after them!

Us relative few are the carpenters, and we’ve measured cut, chiselled and sawn the rods for our own backs.

Yegods what an ordeal! Forget what everyone else says, six inches makes all the difference, especially when those six inches are absent to the base of the porch. Check out the “spacers” as you enter the front porch. They are tightly fitted and dowelled into place it most certainly wasn’t easy and they shouldn’t be there.

I shalln’t even describe the joint that the lintels fit into each other. It appears to work, so that’s the main thing. And then the purlin. Ah the purlin! (Cue Obi-Wan-esque chuckle). Now there’s one thing I didn’t mention about green oak. It is rarely straight. But we carpenters like straight lines. Things work better that way. So when we measure, we assume that everything is how we expect it to be. Things change, however. Wood twists, contracts, and warps. All this makes fitting one bit of wood to another very interesting indeed. Cutting the recesses for the purlin at the same height was the correct thing to do, but assuming that the purlin itself was “exactly” the same width all along, was the fly in the ointment. Let’s just say it took a bit of persuading.

Aside from the bottom section not being cut too short, the back porch was a little easier.

But nobody ever said that working with oak was going to be easy.

Damned satisfying when it all fits together at the end!

I then, at the Military Odyssey show at the end of the work week, made the fortunate mistake of showing to Kim Siddorn, a carving I’d copied from the Hylestad stave church depicting scenes from the sage of Sigurd/Sigfried,

“Ooh, that’s nice, you should do some carvings for the longhall!”

“Why not”, I thought. I enjoy carving and it would give me a chance to make a name for myself perhaps. It would certainly give me something interesting to do on the Wic, other than stirring the embers of a fire and waiting for the battle.

My life certainly hasn’t been the same since. And after a word or two with Kevin Cowley, the Longhall foreman (also my group leader) and Steve Ethridge, the Regia Authenticity Officer, I set to work designing and carving the bargeboards for under the eaves of the front porch.

The porches had yet to be finished, and the boards couldn’t go on until the roof had been laid. So I had plenty of time.

But then, in the middle of all this creativity, someone had the cunning idea to carve the lintel that lies over the front door. Some more oak was cut and shaped, and my garage was filled with the sound of mallet hitting chisel for a few weeks. I shalln’t bore you with the design process (I shall post that elsewhere, later) but in the summer it was put into place.

Nice and jolly it looked to. Certain references were made to it oriental appearance, which whilst understandable, were somewhat unappreciated by yours truly. The addition of the bargeboards will change all that, as there is little that would be found over a Chinese restaurant there!

But, artistic differences aside, I was proud to have made my mark and the Summer of 2005 looked good.