Sycamore Gap
I was horrified and sickened by the news of the terrible destruction at Sycamore Gap. Here's a sketch I made of Sycamore Gap, and a short story about a tree that was an important refuge for me. All the best, Lynne May’s call had been frantic, so George drove home as quickly as he dared. ‘Ella’s missing. She went out first thing this morning and hasn’t been seen since.’ His daughter had always been a solitary soul, but it wasn’t like her to go missing for this long. ‘Yes, I’ve called the police and the City General,’ she confirmed. ‘We should never have argued like that in front of her last night.’ ‘But if you…’ George stopped himself. ‘What about friends?’ ‘I’ve called Helen and Sue’s families, but they haven’t seen her.’ ‘Has she taken anything, a coat, a book?’ He’d never known Ella be far from a book. ‘Her coat’s gone.’ May bit her lip. ‘I don’t know what book she might have; she went to the library yesterday.’ ‘We’ll have to search.’ In a field above Wetley Moor stood a ta