Lost Art Press

Author: Kara Uhl

Discoveries in Translation

Posted on by Kara Uhl

I experienced several surprising coincidences and discoveries while working on “Cadi & the Cursed Oak.” In the beginning, all I had was a short passage about the Nannau oak while working on “Honest Labour.” To turn the tale into a children’s book, I wanted the story of the oak to be so much more than what happened on that fateful day in 1402, when Hywel Sele and Owain Glyndŵr went hunting, which is the tale that has long made the Nannau oak famous.

The longbows carried by Owain and Hywel on their hunt brought to mind an entirely different hunt – an Instagram post by Welsh stick chairmaker Chris Williams in which he was arm bow hunting with his daughter, Alice.

Couldn’t my main character, I thought, be a Welsh stick chairmaker’s daughter? Hence, Cadi.

I spent hours considering Welsh names. At the time, Cadi ranked No. 90 on a “popular names in Wales,” list. It’s one of the Welsh diminutives of Catrin (then ranked No. 82). Owain Glyndŵr had a daughter named Catrin, Catrin of Ferain (c. 1540-1591), a noblewoman known as “the mother of Wales.”

How do you connect a present-day character to a tree that no longer exists and an event that took place more than 600 years ago?

That’s one of the beauties of wood, and a good editor.

I discovered there were actual objects claimed to have been made from the Nannau oak, that still exist today, including some acorn-shaped cups (how fitting!). The acorn cup became the tie between past and present, and the reason for which the story of the Nannau oak was passed down to Cadi.

After reading my first draft it was Christopher Schwarz who told me that he expected a scene in which Cadi drank from the acorn cup. After seeing pictures of it, he asked, “How could anyone not?”

I researched the cup some more. According to Remy Dean, it had been said “that those who drank from the cups were plagued by ghostly apparitions and suffered nightmares for several nights afterward.”

Without giving too much away (the book is, after all, only 48 pages), Cadi, finds the cup, accidentally cracks it, drinks from the cup and hides it by stuffing it into her backpack.

There are two silver discs attached to the wooden sleeve of the cup. In my research, I discovered that there are inscriptions on each disc. One is an engraving of an oak tree with the words Ceubren yr Ellyll, and 1813. The other? A coat of arms and ASGRE LÂN DIOGEL EI PHERCHEN: a good conscience is the best shield.

How apt.

Sometimes, when I’m in the thick of a project, I lose sight of the obvious. Months had gone by when I realized I had forgotten that the four acorn cups also have four inscriptions or toasts. (You can learn more about them here.) By this point, “Cadi & the Cursed Oak” had become longer and a bit more complex; the Nannau oak was also representative of stories that are passed down through generations.

Cadi’s grandmother pulled out a small pile of acorns from her coat pocket.

“These acorns may be from the same tree. Or different trees. They might be related to the blasted oak, holding its stories within. But each acorn has a different story, depending on where it grew on the tree, what it witnessed, where it fell – what it will be. All you can do is gather and listen. All of it, the bad, the good, the mundane, the thrilling, it’s all part of the acorn’s truth. And with time, the stories can change. In fact, they almost always do.”

Now Cadi was mad. She didn’t understand why things had to be so complicated. She didn’t understand why some stories could be so scary. Or sad. She didn’t understand why she had to be the one to find the cup and she didn’t understand why the cup had to crack – she didn’t want it to crack, she didn’t mean for it to crack. And she didn’t understand why the spirits’ stories were haunting her so.

“The worst thing you can do,” her grandmother said, interrupting Cadi’s angry thoughts, “is hide a story that needs to be told.”

They walked back to the car park, mostly in silence. As Cadi climbed into the car, her grandmother turned to her.

“Sometimes,” her grandmother said, “I hear the cries, too.”

Suddenly, Cadi realized what she had to do.

I fully expected the second inscription on the acorn cup to be something about a toast for a birthday celebration (which was the reason the acorn cups were made). Imagine my delight when I discovered the transcription:

Lle gwreiddio y Fesen, Llwydded y Dderwen: the oak tree may succeed where the acorn takes root.

It fit the story, particularly the already-written end, so beautifully.

Near the end of the production of “Cadi & the Cursed Oak,” we hired Dr Iwan Wyn Rees, lecturer and director of the Cardiff Centre for Welsh American Studies, to edit and correct the transcriptions, and create a simple pronunciation guide for the 20+ Welsh words and phrases we have scattered throughout the text. He was so incredibly thorough and patient and wonderful to work with. Also, as if it were meant to be, he said he remembers his Nain (grandmother) telling him that her own Nain was head housekeeper at none other than — the Nannau estate.

“Cadi & the Cursed Oak” is at the printer and will be available for $19 hopefully sometime in March.

— Kara Gebhart Uhl

Point of Honour

Posted on by Kara Uhl

In these latter days of war it is sometimes difficult to hold firmly to the vision that was ours in times of peace. We may be craftsmen who once had high standards of accomplishment which the rush and tear of wartime production, or lack of proper materials, have insensibly lowered; or we may simply be amateurs suffering from fatigue and scant leisure who have lost our one-time zest for creative work. Creation implies effort, and effort—whether of body or brain, or both—is not always an easy thing to produce when both are wearied. It could make things easier if we could recapture the vision, if we could consider anew the point of honour which existed among older craftsmen almost as though it were a natural law. A many might only be making a chair rung; if it fell short of his best the customer might never know, but he, the maker, would know and feel no satisfaction in his work.

***

But the attitude of mind which can be sensitive to our own shortcomings must needs be sensitive to perfection everywhere. That is another of our difficulties and dangers at the present time. When there is so much destruction wherever one looks, one’s finer senses are apt to become dulled. Even to lose hope is to let something slip which needs cherishing. Hope and vision cannot be separated, and the one will depend upon the other in the post-war world. But how are we to keep them alive? To do so we need to be able to refresh our minds and give them new courage and stimulus; and it is by contact with lovely things, either of the hands or the spirit, that this is best done. It has been no mean deprivation of the war years for people living in towns that they no longer have contact with the many beautiful things in our museums and picture galleries which have been sent away for safety. Until the time comes when they will be brought out of their hiding places, books are our best substitute ….

— Charles Hayward, The Woodworker magazine, 1945, excerpted from “Honest Labour“

Woodcarving Book to Benefit Veterans

Posted on by Kara Uhl

Iain Whittington, a woodworker and retired army engineer, has published a second book on woodcarving, “Amateur Woodcarving.”

For those interested in learning the craft of decorative carving with a chisel and knife, “Amateur Woodcarving” covers everything from tool selection, including basic carving tools and carving knives, to sharpening techniques, workholding and finishing, all within a historical context. Whittington then looks at the use of geometric design in ornamentation and spends some time talking about design and drawing before diving into simple techniques. Thirteen projects, which increase in complexity and are accompanied by step-by-step descriptions and photos, include a chip-carved panel, horse, simple end piece, breadboard, 17th-century panel carving, wood spirit, Norwegian-style wall clock, mangle board, acanthus barge board and more.

As with Whittington’s first book, “WoodCarving: A Norwegian Textbook,” a translation of Odd Fauske’s “Lærebok i treskjæring” (a compendium of project plans for woodcarving and folk art first published in the 1970s), all proceeds of “Amateur Woodcarving” will go directly to the SSAFA, the Soldiers, Sailors, Airmen and Families Association, a U.K. charity that provides support to men, women and veterans from the British Armed Forces, along with their families and dependents.

To learn more about the book and order, go here for U.S. customers. In the U.K., go here. In the EU, here.

— Kara Gebhart Uhl

A Million Tiny Candles

Posted on by Kara Uhl
Cache after a deep snowfall, March 1990. (Photo by Dick Proenneke, courtesy of the National Park Service)

Today may you find the love Dick Proenneke did, alone but not, 39 years ago today. A journal entry, written by Dick, excerpted from “The Handcrafted Life of Dick Proenneke.”

December 25, 1982:

Partly Cloudy, Calm & 21°

A real nice morning for that special day. A few nights ago I was reminded of Christmas. It was -6° calm and very frosty. By lantern light every busy and spruce sparkled – a million tiny candles winking on and off as I went to the woodshed … On the stump out front I had nailed a big strip of gut fat. I hollered for the birds and it was some minutes before they arrived … Boy oh boy! what a Christmas present. They would work like beavers – get tired and rest for a while and then back at it again. If I called them, they would quit and come to the door for hotcakes.

Everything in order I started to open parcels. Nine in all – excuse me – one in the cache makes it ten. Ten plus small gifts from Glen and Patty, Laddy & Glenda which turned out to be candy and cookies.

Before I got involved I remembered my little turkey bird in the cache. It would be frozen solid and I had better get it thawing …

What a batch of stuff – everything from soup to nuts. Two packages of Beef stick that is very good and will keep well into spring. Two gallons of chopped dried onions. I had ordered one and please write the price on the can so I could pay. Two came and as a gift. Any more I wanted I could pay for. Fruitcake, candy, nuts, a new Taylor thermometer which is a nice one – a tube case with a clip so one can pack it to the mt. top. Dish towels and some material to cover my aluminum foil of the fireplace cover. I find the foil is of benefit in keeping the cabin warm. Heat is reflected back into the living area from it. The excess that I cut off stands against the wall behind my stool next to the stove. Sit there and I can feel the heat reflected from the foil. Items too numerous to mention. Even genuine imported Millet Spray bird feed for caged birds and wild birds. Be interested to learn if I have any birds that will sample it.

Cinnamon drops and lemon drops, dish towels and pot holders and on and on. Nectarines a batch, semisweet chocolate, lentils and white beans and a note “Is there anything we can do for you?” And I suppose the next plane in will have more. I should hang out a sign “Twin Lakes general store.” With the flag flying my cabin has already been mistaken for a Post Office. I do appreciate everything and wish there was some way I could repay everyone for everything for I feel in debt. If only they had all gotten together and sent in a 25 lb. sack of rolled oats from “Nature Kitchen” I would have been “happy as a clam”. It would be evening before I pawed through the boxes again and find Christmas wrapped gifts that I missed first time around. I hate to disturb the contents because I often end up with more than the box will hold when I try to put it back.

Everything neatly stacked in a corner, I did more work on my ice creepers. An uncommon amount of creeper ice this winter. Straps wear and heel claws need replacing.

— Kara Gebhart Uhl

Objects Made from the Nannau Oak

Posted on by Kara Uhl
Stirrup cup, © Amgueddfa Cymru – National Museum Wales

In our forthcoming illustrated book, “Cadi & the Cursed Oak,” much of the plot centers on an acorn cup.

Once there was a cup.

But it was not an ordinary cup, for it was a silver cup with an oak sleeve turned in the shape of an acorn, one hand high, as if it had been crafted for a child.

And on a winter day in Dolgellau, a small town in northwest Wales, it was Cadi who found the cup, lodged between a stone wall and her grandmother’s oak coffer.

Cadi pulled the cup until she heard a quiet “pop” muffled by the coffer’s cobwebs. A tiny split opened in the wood, smaller than the breath of a bee.

“Oh,” Cadi whispered, fearing what her grandmother would say. Cradling the cup, she examined the two silver discs attached to the wooden sleeve. One had an engraving of an oak tree above the words Ceubren yr Ellyll, and 1813. The other was engraved with a coat of arms and ASGRE LÂN DIOGEL EI PHERCHEN.

It was so lovely and so unknown, Cadi thought she might cry. Although she had never seen the cup or heard talk of it, it was beautiful and important-looking. And the tiny crack grew heavy in her mind.

Cadi and her grandmother are fictional, of course, but this cup, made by John Reilly, exists at National Museum Wales. According to the museum, “On 25 June 1824 one of Wales’s grandest 21st birthday celebrations took place for Sir Robert Williams Vaughan, the son of Merioneth’s biggest landowner. Held on the Nannau estate in Dolgellau, 200 guests sat down to an extravagant banquet … Various items produced to commemorate the event are now in the collections of Amgueddfa Cymru, including two of the six acorn-shaped toasting cups made for the occasion. They were made from the wood of the Derwen Ceubren yr Ellyll, ‘the hollow oak of the demon,’ the ancient tree at Nannau associated with Owain Glyndwr.”

Many objects made from the cursed oak exist in Wales still today.

What happened to it, to the tree? Cadi asked.

“A terrible storm, in 1813,” said her grandmother, who began to walk again. “A man named Sir Richard Colt Hoare visited here. Sir Richard was a wealthy man, an antiquarian. He also loved plants. He collected exotic plants, he planted thousands of trees, and he loved to draw them. While at Nannau, Sir Richard became enchanted with the blasted oak. By this time it measured 28 feet around and was more than 900 years old. So he sketched it. That very night, lightning struck the tree and destroyed it. The remaining wood was collected and quite a few things were made from it – tables, candlesticks, picture frames and some lovely stirrup cups, set in silver and shaped like acorns. I own one of the cups, although it appears to have gone missing.”

Cadi dared not move.

“There are two silver discs on it, opposite each other. One disc says ceubren yr ellyll, the hollow oak of the demon. The other, ASGRE LÂN DIOGEL EI PHERCHEN, a good conscience is the best shield.”

Cadi’s grandmother turned and looked at her.

Legend says if you drink from it, the tree’s stories will haunt you.”

They walked a bit more and then Cadi quietly asked, “How do you get the dreams to stop?”

“You can’t stop stories, child,” her grandmother said. “Even bad ones. Every living thing has a story. And every story deserves to be told.”

Photo by Philip Nanney Williams

This is the actual sketching of the Nannau Oak, by Sir Richard Colt Hoare, which is part of the Stourhead House collection (National Trust). The inscription on the top of the frame says “The Nannau Oak fell to the ground 27 July 1813. This frame is made of the real wood.” The inscription on the bottom of the frame says, “Sketched by Sr Richd. C. Hoare on the morning preceding the night on which it fell.”

Victorian breakfast table, sold at Auction by Bonhams

This Victorian breakfast table, sold at auction by Bonhams in 2014, is said to be made from the Nannau Oak. It came with a printed etching of the tree and text about the tree as referenced in Sir Walter Scott’s poem, “Marmion,” framed in wood also said to be from the cursed tree.

Photo by Philip Nanney Williams

Here you can see more photos by Philip Nanney Williams, author of “Nannau: A Rich Tapestry of Welsh History,” of a book slide made in 1848. It was reportedly made from wood from the Nannau Oak supplied by the third bart’s wife, Lady Vaughan of Rhug. Philip was of wonderful assistance to me during the research phase of this book.

Photo courtesy of Philip Nanney Williams

The website nannau.wales, created by Ian King, provided a wealth of information while working on this book. There I found a transcription of a 1960s tourist guide, which included an image of candlesticks and more cups made from Nannau oak.

Photo by Philip Nanney Williams

Philip writes about these candlesticks, made from the Nannau Oak, in Chapter 3 of his book. Made in 1840, they are modeled on the chimney of the Archdeacon’s House, Bangor, where Owain Glyndŵr met with Henry Hotspur during the rebellion.

Snuff box made from the Nannau Oak, photo courtesy of Philip Nanney Williams
More objects made from the Nannau Oak, photo courtesy of Philip Nanney Williams

And according to Woolley & Wallis, this folding table has a 19th century veneered top with “Ceubren yr Ellyll,” inscribed underneath on a later turned folding base.

— Kara Gebhart Uhl