It is a cold, frosty morning as we arrive at the site of the former farm turned small nature reserve - the grass is a crisp white and the brambles look as though they have been dusted with snow. In fact the temperature does not rise above freezing all day; it is a day for working, not for standing around. It is a day when it is good to feel the muscles working.
The hedge, separating a footpath from a horse field, is approx, is 130ft in length and made up almost entirely of thick and gnarled hawthorn - with just a few ash and spindly holly – which, apart from occasional trimming when it has overgrown the footpath, neglect has allowed it to grow tall and gappy. As a hedge it has long since lost its ability to fulfil the purpose for which it was planted and the horses are now confined to their field by a wire fence. Before the introduction of wire, the laying of farm hedges was an important winter task (today, the hedge-laying season is governed by law and runs from October to early March so as not to interfere with nesting birds) and a competent hedge-layer could complete about 20yds in a day. Today, hedging is seen as a specialist craft, whereas in the past it was a skill that every land worker was expected to have; no one could afford to pay specialist contractors to do the job for them.
Like most jobs, the key to a good finish is in the preparation - a well-laid hedge is a work of art; a badly-laid hedge is a mess, although whether the wildlife that benefit from the shelter and security care either way is doubtful. The first step is to inspect the hedge, removing dead wood and unwanted vegetation such as the brambles and wild clematis that are climbing through it, binding the stems and branches together. I also take the opportunity to remove a few low branches that threaten to hamper access to the base of the stem - kneeling amongst a face-full of thorny twigs is not a pre-Christmas treat. It’s good to get working as the winter chill is beginning to seep through the multiple layers of clothing. By lunch we are left with the selected stems, called ‘pleachers’ and a large pile of debris that will need to be disposed of in the dense undergrowth on the other side of the path. The hedge is already looking a lot neater, although the gaps are now more obvious.
The cold encourages a quick return to work, when the task of laying the stems can begin properly. For this we are using traditional tools: axes and billhooks, with a less traditional chainsaw on standby for any stems that prove to be too awkward. Having done this before I immediately pick one of the long-handle axes, as I know that this will deal far easier with the thick stems; it also makes a good leaver to ease cut pleachers over. The lighter billhooks may be easier to swing but against the hawthorn’s thick stems and tough wood, progress will be painfully slow and tiring. I know that a good workman is never supposed to blame his tools but I’m also wondering whether these billhooks are as sharp as they could be.
Following the precedence of the hedge the other side of the field gate that was laid last year, we are laying this next section to the right. I eye up the first of the stems, working out the necessary cutting height and angle required to bend it over without it splitting or, worse still, snapping off. It is vital that hinge by which the stem remains connected to the rooted butt is thick enough to ensure a steady flow of sap when spring returns. If this contact is broken, the stem will die and become nothing more than a piece of dead wood, left to rot, no longer able to provide new growth to rejuvenate the hedge. And, in the enthusiasm and rush to get the job done, it is all too easy to aim that one blow too many and ruin ten minutes of strenuous effort.
Hitting the same point time after time also proves to be easier said than done – relatively good hand-eye coordination is a definite bonus - as is getting the angle of the blow right, too shallow and the blade glances off the stem, too deep and the angle and length of the cut is wrong, threatening to cut through the stem instead of diagonally down it. Each misplaced strike sends a shower of woodchips exploding upwards. It’s only when you try it for yourself that you can truly appreciate just how much effort it takes to successfully achieve the desired effect.
Eventually, I am three-quarters through the stem and can concentrate on angling the blows downwards to lengthen the cut down the stem, using the axe blade to gradually lever it open, making it easier for each blow to fall in the right place. Soon the stem shows a willingness to bend. Carefully, so as not to snap it off and waste all that effort, I lay it into position along the centre-line of the hedge. To finish I use a bow-saw to cut off the remaining ragged stump or ‘heel’ in line with the angle of the pleacher. That’s ‘literally’ the first one down. Looking down the hedgerow I don’t even want to consider how many more to go.
The next stem is a perfect example of the different challenges faced – not only has it grown leaning in the opposite direction to the way I want to lay it, it has an unhelpful curve near the base, making a clean strike even more difficult. Just working out the correct angle of attack is taxing enough, without actually trying to execute it in the confines of a dense hedgerow. I crouch, bending one way then another but the swing is too awkward, so I twist and shift position to try from another angle. Maybe switching to the other side of the hedge and using a backswing would be better; at least my knees and back might find less to complain about. I begin to get a real appreciation for the old hedge-layers who did this for hour after hour, from dawn to dusk, day after day. And, not only is the angle awkward, the cut have to be a longer to prevent the pleacher from snapping as it is pulled over at a greater angle. Still, it’s all good experience and adds to enjoyment of the task.
As I progress along the hedgerow, each newly cut stem is laid on top of the ones preceding it, the length of the stems bridging the gaps that have formed over the years. Some of the bushier ones do not lay easily or neatly into each other and require further nicks, applied with either a billhook or a bow-saw, so that branches can be tucked into the required position. This will also encourage new growth within the hedge, as well as allowing more light to get to the base to encourage growth. Some branches are twisted so far out of alignment that I decide to remove them altogether, the resulting debris adding to the already substantial pile from earlier.