In every essence this is a true story. It is part of Bermuda’s history. The events did happen, the place does exist.<$>Many years ago Bermuda’s landscape was dressed in Magic: the vibrant green of the fragrant Cedar tree, and from lofty hills, soaring cliffs, to precipices washed with rain — from limestone quarries, inland marshes to misty vales — the Kingdom of Cedar was proclaimed.

The Cedars had existed since the length of time’s length, the stars’ state, the moon’s wane, the tides’ flow, and they prospered in their Island paradise centuries before man’s first footfall descended upon the eternal silence of their land.

One such glorious dynasty of Cedars lived in a secluded, sunken grassy hollow on the edge of the South Shore and because they snuggled in sunshine all the birds and other living flying crawling things took refuge in their warm green limbs away from the winter winds, and thus they became known as the Cedars of Winterhaven.

The Cedars of Winterhaven laughed and played with light air breezes, weaving graceful patterns with sunbeams. They drank deeply of summer showers, shook jingling-bell limbs to undress themselves of morning dew, and during gales of hurricane threat they loved to taste the stinging, slashing salt of ocean spray upon their lips.

In Winterhaven there lived the happiest of all little cedar trees by the name of Cedarliddle who giggled every time an ant crawled up his skin, chuckled when a bird rustled a branch, and he laughed and laughed each time a tree frog or little lizard tickled his chin.

One chilly morning Cedarliddle caught an infection — just as little children do, but this was called ‘a Christmas infection’ and was far worse then any runny nose or snivelling cold, for it was a yearning that penetrated right through his bark.

The little tree grew very quiet and very sick, and when he was asked: “What do you want for Christmas, Cedarliddle?” by one of the buzzing band of bees, he sadly sighed: “All I want ... Ahh ... ahh — all I want is to be a Christmas Tree.”

“A Christmas tree!” — All the nestling birds and creatures cried.

“Why, yes,” he replied “ I have heard of choirs singing Christmas mirth of the great and wondrous things on the Eve of the Christ Child’s Birth. The birds that perch in our boughs mime every song in every home on every child’s lips, and they praise the glory of the Christ Child’s Tree — the radiant, beautiful Christmas tree.”

Now what a lot of big, big thoughts for such a little tree to have. Poor Cedarliddle had heard the song Tannenbaum — or Christmas Tree — and this was his infection: his heart was heavy as a dead rat’s hide, he ached and longed to uproot his toes, pull away from his wood to become one of the merry band.

‘What an incurable infection!

A malignant malady! A monA malignant malady! A monstrous monstrosity!’ the birds and black beetles exclaimed. “No tree that is true to his girth — would wrench his toes from the earth — and leave all the creatures that loved him so, to be wrapped in false tinsel and mirth, to be smothered in candy cane, angel’s hair, red ribbon sash — only to be thrown out to whither and die in the trash!”

They took his temperature, mopped his brow and reassured him that his blue berries were far merrier than any glistening ornaments found on any Christmas tree.

“You can’t leave us, Cedarliddle, for one night of tinsel glory,” the little creatures cried, “for all of us currently residing in your branches would surely have to flee!”

Sadly all the happiness in the haven, all the love of his friends, could not soothe his aching bark, and he ignored the birds and spiders in his fold, the ants that tickled his bark, the raindrops that cleansed his green skin, and whispered to himself: “Where I as clouds, I would be floating free — have none of the doldrums of a plain old tree. The colours of rainbows my skin would — as sparkling and glistening as a Christmas tree.”

Unfortunately, Cedarliddle was never cured of his Christmas infection. He recovered in the spring and summer to become his former giggly,frivolous self, but as soon as winter approached, his spirits sank into the depths of the deepest, darkest despair.

No men ever tramped into Winterhaven to fell the trees with sharp gleaming axes, and Cedarliddle anxiously listened to the clip-clop clip-clop of horse and carriages carting Christmas trees home and he longed to be with them.

The birds, creatures and fellow trees clicked their tongues: “Tut-tut-tut-tut ... that child will never learn that his roots are where his heart belongs!”

They loved Cedarliddle dearly, for he was the kindest — when he wasn’t infected — the gentlest and the most beautifully shaped tree in Winterhaven, and they would have given their hearts to make him happy — to make his secret longings come true provided they didn’t have to harm one berry on his head.

In the 1940s, when Cedarliddle was only fifty years old and considered a youngster because trees don’t age as we do — tragedy struck. Bermuda’s magic was stifled as quickly as a flame. Blight,an uncontrollable disease, engulfed the Island and killed the noble cedar trees almost overnight: thousands of trees shed their rich green coats and reached grey naked skeletal arms to the sky.

Birds wailed, singers screeched, beetles battered their heads, grasshoppers hopped off cliffs, tree frogs hid underground, spiders hung themselves — for millions of birds, lizards, and insects — were losing their beloved trees — their homes.

The Cedars of Winterhaven wept when they heard the heartbreaking cries of the fleeing birds: ‘The Kingdom of Cedar is dead! The Kingdom of Cedar is dead!’

Horror gripped the glen as the trees of Winterhaven waited for the first signs of disease: the first signs of death among their friends. Cedarliddle extended his green branches to accommodate the creatures fleeing from dying trees and almost fainted under the weight of all those living within his folds.

The little tree was so concerned about these little homeless creatures, that he forgot his aspirations to become a Christmas tree and was so absorbed in their care he did not notice the withering of one of his limbs or that some of his green had dried up and blown off with the wind.

Cedarliddle — beautiful, gentle, little Cedarliddle — was the first tree in Winterhaven to contract the heinous terminal disease.

Birds whispered in his presence, lizards glanced at him with tears streaming from their eyes and that December, Cedarliddle made a proclamation:

“I renounce m-my s-selfish desire to become a Christmas tree ... for my true place is here in the sunshine where I can protect, love and cherish all my dear little friends.”

No one told Cedarliddle that he was dying. On Christmas Eve when from sheer exhaustion he fell asleep, the hundreds of birds, thousands of insects and lizards that he had befriended gave him heart’s desire — they transformed him into a Christmas tree.

Spinning spiders spun webs of gossamer around him that caught the moonbeams in silken threads. Honeybees rolled balls of golden honey to drip as pearl drops off his chin. Every singing insect gave one glass wing to hang and chime as crystals in the wind.

Night moths from lands of darkness dusted him with silver pollen from mercurial wings, while butterflies perched on every inch of him, fluttering prisms as beautiful as aurora skies.

Green bugs, grasshoppers, brown ants, black beetles, twitchy nosed mice, and clicking crabs all played a part in decorating their beloved tree.

Red Birds and Bluebirds made haloes of bright feathers strung with cedar-berry balls, while little brown sparrows flew off to the churches of Smith’s Parish, where they beseeched the choirs of heavenly Angels standing guard over the Christ Child’s manger to: “Please come quickly and sing for our Tree...”

When all was ready the hundreds of birds and lizards, the millions of insects, and the choirs of Angels commenced to sing the words of “Tannenbaum”... Oh, Christmas Tree, Oh, Christmas Tree ...”

Cedarliddle woke up. He blinked his sleepy eyes and saw the millions of his creatures, the Angels with white spread wings. An unearthly iridescent light illuminated the whole glen — and when he looked down he saw that the light was radiating from within him.

“Oh-oh m-my w-word,” he softly sighed. “I must be in Heaven — for at last! — I’m a Christmas Tree ... !”

As the spider webs, the insect wings, the bees golden honey, the moth’s silver dust, the butterfly prisms and the linked lizards, blinked on and off in the moonlight, happy tears streamed down the little cedar tree’s cheeks, for through his tears he had recognised his friends.

“O-O-O Oh — thank you — th-thank you all ...” he sniffled. “I-I-I’m so sorry that I ever wanted to leave this wood. Your love has given me the-the-happiest m-m-moment of my life.”

That night Cedarliddle dies. As his tiny spirit slipped out of his bark, he smiled for he was carried to Heaven by the choirs of Angels for being the most beautiful Christmas Tree on earth and in that stream of light and spirit that flowed up to the Heavens and Milky Way stars that night were most of Bermuda’s Red Birds, her Bluebirds, her yellow-breasted birds, her singing singers and her green buts, - for no one has seen them since.

That night was Magic — don’t you agree? Also a true Christmas Miracle took place, for whether it was that the love of little creatures, the spiders’ tent of gossamer or the singing of the Angels’ choirs, the disease did not spread to the Cedars of Winterhaven. Even though the rest of the Island’s cedars continued to perish — Cedarliddle was the only one in Winterhaven to die.

Let us pray that the remaining Kingdom of Cedar will continue to exist the length of time’s length, the star’s stare, the moon’s wane, the tides’ flow and that God preserve them and their Island above all.

Author’s Note:

One of the most beautiful shaped cedar trees in Winterhaven and upon whom this story was based, suffered severe salt and wind damage during Hurricane Felix, August, 1995. It was scorched but did have green sprays in the top branches. In the meantime, a wall was built over the roots of the tree and consequently it has died. I used to watch this tree as a child and this is a tragic ending for such a beautiful tree and one that had to be over one hundred years old.

The Cedars of Winterhaven