I wrote this short review of Rob Wolton’s excellent book on hedges for the Devon Rural Skills Trust’s (DRST) summer newsletter. As it’s now autumn (or at least feels like autumn) I thought it would be worth re-publishing here. Enjoy.
Eddie Pollard, Max Hooper and Norman Moore’s influential book Hedges (Collins New Naturalist Library, number 58) is now a half-century old and an up-to-date treatment has been long overdue. Rarely has a book on conservation been more sorely needed.
The climate and biodiversity crises, in which hedges have a vital if still under-researched role to play, were unheard of when Pollard, Hooper and Moore published their lonely paean on behalf of hedges in the 1970s. Happily, as Robert Wolton’s erudite and absorbing book explains, hedges now occupy a much more prominent place in society’s consciousness, and there has also been a resurgence of interest in hedge-laying.
As Wolton, former hedge specialist for Natural England, chair of the Devon Hedge Group, and a long-standing DRST member, puts it: “The survival and revival of this traditional craft is a cause for celebration.”
Wolton speculates, rather pleasingly, that it may have been beavers that first whispered the secret that small trees and shrubs could be layed. Did ancient humans begin hedge-laying after having seen semi-gnawed small trees lying flat and still living?
Only in Britain and a few parts of France did hedge-laying retain a foothold during the fallow years of the second half of the 20th century, and even in these places there was a danger the skills would be lost. And only in Britain did hedge-laying become the dominant method of rejuvenating hedges, leading to the myriad regional and local styles. In Ireland, there has never been such a strong tradition of laying to rejuvenate hedges.
But this is a book about hedges rather than one about hedge-laying. Hedges are able to absorb and store as much carbon area for area as native broadleaved woodland, although the amount varies hugely depending on the trees and shrubs present, and the hedge’s dimensions and structure. Hedge-layers, meanwhile, might be disappointed to read that the scientific evidence suggests the more brutal methods of management often result in hedges that are better for wildlife than those managed using traditional techniques.
Wolton argues that a big attitude change is needed, and we should remember that a good hedge is more than just a line of trees and shrubs. He urges us to consider all the component parts: the trees and shrubs, the standard trees, the margins, the basal flora and, if present, the bank and ditch. Many species of wildlife need two or more of these things in a hedge if they are to prosper. Wolton also urges us to leave plenty of dead wood in hedges, in the same way we now do when managing woodland.
Wolton is adamant that new methods and thinking should not replace traditional hedge-laying styles, which are culturally important and worthy of our respect and support. He does suggest, however, that traditional and newer techniques can be practised together and that we should take advantage of every approach available.
Why not include wildlife-friendly classes in hedge-laying competitions, in addition to the more familiar repertoire, he asks. Is this one for DRST to initiate?
Readers in the south-west will surely be pleased to see so many of our own hedges pictured or discussed, and DRST gets several mentions at various times during Wolton’s all-embracing narrative. Our hedges probably have a higher profile now than they have had for more than a century, leading Wolton to end this authoritative, vital and hope-filled book on an optimistic note: “To be a hedge enthusiast is no longer to beat a lonely path.”
(Hedges by Robert Wolton is published by Bloomsbury as part of its British Wildlife Collection.)