Of Chainsaws and Hedgelaying.

The first glimmers of spring.

Daffodils are out, Snowdrops have been and gone, Crocuses (Croci?) - either way ugly little plants - are polluting herbaceous borders.

And the woodlands and hedgerows are alive to the sound of … chainsaws. 

It’s a country convention that you don’t cut hedges between March and August in case of disturbing nesting birds. (Indeed it’s actually an offence under Section 1 of the Wildlife and Countryside Act of 1981 to intentionally take, damage or destroy the nest of any wild bird while it is in use or being built.)  So hedge cutters are busy trying to beat the deadline, while woodsmen are trying to tidy up and prepare next year’s firewood before the sap rises and the leaves are out.

We hosted a traditional hedgelaying course at the orchard a week or so back. A five man and one woman team from the South of England Hedgelaying Society arrived complete with staves and binders and billhooks and … chainsaws.

I was rather disappointed.  I thought that this ancient and noble craft would eschew anything so modern as a chainsaw.  But once I saw (no pun intended) how much time and effort they saved I was converted.

The first job is to clear out all the old and deadwood in the hedge and snip through any brambles or blackthorn.  Then one post is put in at the end and with careful use of your bill hook you slice three quarters of the way through a stem as close to the ground as possible and bend it over towards the post.  This is the art.  Cutting just the right depth into the stem.  Too much and you sever it completely. Too little and it won’t bend,  but snaps in half.

The trouble is that the stems of old hedgerows come in all thicknesses.  Anything up to a couple of inches diameter you can do easily with a bill hook, but for anything much over that, out comes the chain saw.

Anyhow a few hours later and you’ve got a succession of semi-severed stems leaning over in the same direction.  Then you drive posts in between them at 18 inch intervals, and then weave your binders along the top.  A few bits of tidying up and you’ve got a beautifully laid hedge which is, pretty much, sheep-proof.  I say pretty much because there were a few holes through which I thought an ambitious lamb might just make a bid for freedom.  So I tentatively asked the chief hedge layer if he would be insulted if I put back the old wire fence that we’d moved at the start of the operation.  No, he replied to my surprise.  We’d be insulted if you didn’t.  The new buds and shoots need to be protected from the sheep while they grow.

It’s a pretty labour intensive job though. Six of them and we three trainees managed just 40 yards in a day.  But extremely satisfying.  Ant it does look beautiful.  Apologies though to anyone disturbed by the angry buzz of our chainsaws first thing on a Sunday morning.