How Harry Potter put a spell on our woods
THE WOOD FOR THE TREES by Richard Fortey (William Collins £22)
SOME eyes may see the world in a grain of sand — Richard Fortey can certainly find one under a log. It’s not just the creepy crawlies that get him going, he’s as big a fan of fungi — ‘the unappreciated heroes of decay’ — and the kind of wriggly things that only make sense under a strong magnifying glass.
Fortey is a man whose pocket lens is always at the ready. A Fellow of the Royal Society, he was, until his retirement, senior palaeontologist at London’s Natural History Museum. Trilobites, he confides, are his ‘favourite animals’.
Now, he has turned his attention to the Chilterns. In particular, the four acres of beech and bluebell wood a stone’s throw from Henley, of which he is the owner. This marvellous book documents a year in the life of his patch — and he chronicles its changing moods superbly.
In May, ferns are busy unfurling as overhead new leaves flutter pale green. But even in the dead of winter, there is an abundance of lichen meriting closer inspection.
Fortey’s prose is a joy. A terrific storyteller, he can wax lyrical, but he’s no touchy-feely ‘fuzzy’ nature writer. ‘I prefer the eloquence of detail,’ he says.
But if that sounds a trifle pompous, fear not: his mischievous wit keeps things lively. Take Fortey’s attempts to make beech leaf liqueur. The first step is to steep young leaves in generous amounts of gin.
‘I do not use a high-class brand suffused with many exotic botanicals, but the cheaper stuff from that supermarket shelf marked “Youths and Alcoholics Only.” ’ Apparently, the end product tastes like brandy and vanilla — though as his recipe calls for both, that’s no great surprise.
There’s plenty more woodland bounty to be had. In April, Fortey forages ground elder for soup; in September, golden chanterelles (above) for supper with potatoes and bacon. He carves a walking stick from a holly tree and transforms fallen beech branches into barbecue charcoal.
Timeless though the wood may seem, it hasn’t lacked for drama — it was the site of a grisly slaying in 1893.
Fortey vividly conjures the scene when the Civil War reached Henley in 1643, imagining how the racket must have put up pigeons from the trees.
And he ponders whether a poacher, lying low in the wood, might have glimpsed an on-the-run Charles I as he fled Oxford in 1646 disguised as a servant.
As coal became king and demand for firewood fell, the wood’s days appeared numbered. But then came World War I and the need for rifle butts and tent pegs saw beech booming.
Things looked grim again as the century wore on, but salvation came from an unexpected quarter. In the new millennium, the Harry Potter books triggered a ‘besom bonanza’ — beech makes the best broomsticks, it turns out.
Today, the woods of the Chilterns are cherished by city-dwellers in search of R&R. A well-known harpsichordist, an actor-turned-psychologist and a founding member of Genesis are among Fortey’s neighbours: it seems safe to assume a wood of one’s own doesn’t come cheap.
Yet, while few of us will ever own a sylvan glade like Fortey, we can all take a leaf out of his book. Simultaneously attuned to the smallest detail and the bigger picture, his sharp eye and ceaselessly inquiring mind are an inspiration.