UNDERGRADUATE PAGE
The Two Woods
By R. J. EDEN (Christ Church, Oxford) THE fir-wood which had stood by the house was felled and cleared away, leaving two bare ugly acres of tree- stumps and pine-needles. The winter was stormy, and the prevailing west winds, biting inland from the Argyll coast, howled around the buildings in unrestrained and jubilant mockery at our foolishness in depriving ourselves of such an effective wind-barrier. The little loch which the wood had sheltered was whipped up into a pattern of hurrying wavelets, and the duck which had found there a nightly resting-place sought sanctuary elsewhere on the evening flight.
The household was divided in opinion as to whether it was a greater advantage to have the benefit of a fine view than dis- advantage to be exposed to the weather. The fire smoked more, the windows and doors rattled more loudly, and the draughts blew more strongly than they had done before, but to compen- sate for this we, had a view previously denied us. From the window on a fine evening we could watch Ben Lomond and the Cobbler merging into the twilight, and the sun sinking behind Ben Ledi, its rays piercing the darkness above the mountain and reflecting downwards to illuminate the eastern slopes. But outside the house the need for shelter from the wind was more apparent. When the frost came and the loch froze hard enough for curling, the anglers gazed through the ice with alarm and sadness at the corpses of several dead trout which lay on the bottom. Nothing would convince them that lack of oxygen rather than the west wind had caused their fishes' fate. Worse, befell when a group of young larch-trees blew down and choked the burn which ran into .the loch, thereby preventing the trout from ascending it to spawn.
A sequence of such disasters finally persuaded the majority of the family that the fir-wood must be replanted. But why fir again ? Why not something less monotonous ? The old wood had been dark, gloomy and devoid' of undergrowth. For some obscure reason also the trunk of each tree was pruned to a height of about seven feet above the ground. There were said to -be excellent reasons for this measure, but it seemed only to reveal the mathematical and unimaginative mind of the planter, each line of trees being perfectly straight and parallel to the next. However, when the spring came and the replanting began, another problem had to be faced. Instead of a bare, soft surface of pine-needles in which to plant the seedlings, there were now vast quantities of rank grass and a purple mass of willowherb, that beautiful but prolific plant which so loves to adorn desolate places, and which many in the war had cause to welcome for gracing the bomb-sites of our cities. Among this rival vegetation our baby trees struggled in vain, and the coup de grace was finally administered on them by the selective feeding of three stray and very greedy goats which broke into the plantation. There seemed now little that we could do except resign ourselves to accept this tangled wilderness, and persuade our- selves that the view compensated for the discomfort caused by the weather. But nature provided us with a better solution. Eight years have passed since the wood was cut, and there has meanwhile sprung up of its own free will a dense wood of birch. Wordsworth's host of golden daffodils could not have given him more delight than this host of silver birch has given us. And how infinitely more interesting than the sombre phalanxes of fir is this new wood, gay and spread about in disorder, a grove here and a grove there. There was of course opposition at first from those of the household who preferred bodily comfort to beauty and who, although admitting that no tree is so lovely as the birch, maintained that it provided inadequate protection against the wind. But these supporters of the fir were silenced by the birch faction which, as the tree it supported was already in possession of the disputed territory in large numbers, was in a far stronger position.
No one complains now of the decision nature made for us. Much'of human pleasure is derived from change and contrast; comfort cannot be appreciated without discomfort; beauty is heightened by contrasting ugliness. So, as through the 'Winter the wind moans through the bare • branches, we can look forward to 'the advent of milder weather, all the more to be enjoyed for what has been endured before. Then there is the change of the trees themselves. The firs always stood in an unvaried mass of form and colour, whereas it can be said of the birch, as the anonymous seventeenth-century poet said of his loved one, that " For every season she hath dressings fit, For winter, spring, and summer."
A feminine comparison is not unsuitable, for no tree is more graceful and delicate, nor, incidentally, more fragrant in scent, particularly in spring when the leaves are bursting from bud, and after rain or heavy dew. Coleridge described her as " Most beautiful Of forest-trees, the Lady of the Woods," but she is also a lady of the hills and moorland. Often on some dreary waste, at such a height above sea-levels that no other tree native to these islands could there survive, we find a shy and lovely birch. Far from human dwelling and from others of her kind, springing from poor rocky soil or, it some- times seems, from the pure rock itself, battered by cruel winds which wither all other plants and drive all living creatures from the hills to the valleys, she survives the winters in her solitude.
It surprises us when we meet a birch in such a barren place, for her gentle qualities are in strange contrast to the stern surroundings. Yet perhaps there is something symbolic in these qualities. If of all trees the oak best represents the spirit of the English people, surely the birch should represent the Scots. Certainly it is a better choice than the fir, which is such a dour tree that even most Englishmen would admit the Scots suffer in comparison. The independent nature of the birch, its delicate freshness, the tendency for offspring to establish themselves in some lonely place—all these qualities reflect the firm initiative, the gentleness and the restlessness of the Celtic peoples. -The Scotsman Pontius Pilate may not, as legend tells us, have wandered round the Arctic on an iceberg, but it is a symptom of the fact that both birch-trees and Scotsmen may be found in most unexpected places, and indeed thrive best on barren soil.
Nor are their attributes limited to the abstract. Both have a practical bent. John Evelyn spoke of birch as the worst of timber, but the Highland cotter with his solid birch furniture would scorn him. Perhaps the diarist would have been less \harsh if whisky, in the distillation of which birch is used as a fuel, had penetrated south of the Border in the seventeenth century. And if he did not care for spirits, some birch-wine, a quantity of which was annually prepared for Queen Victoria at Balmoral, who was said to prefer it to more costly beverages, might have tempered his opinion.
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