At the other end a stately elm embraces a similar number of young saplings.
Perchance they’re two woody coaches offering final advice to their young teamsters before kick-off.
A wind gusts a knotted football of twigs and leaves onto the pitch.
‘Go, Oaks,’ vaporous voices whisper as the ball rolls back and forth.
‘Give it to ‘em Elms,’ spectral cries from the opposition.
Wraithlike supporters cheer from the sideline as a long-forsaken game reignites.