Forests of Imagination

A childhood of trees

Trees seem to have been part of my life since a young child. I was born in Oakengates in Shropshire, now part of Telford new town. The area was an old industrial landscape, coal mining, ironstone and clay pits, a lot of them very small, and still being found today.

The height of the industry was in the late 1700s dubbed the industrial revolution. So when I was a child in the late 1950s and 60s a lot of the pit mounds were well wooded and nature was reclaiming the old disused canals and railways.

The woods were mostly Beech, with some Oak, Sweet Chestnut, Ash, and Field Cherry, Hazel and Hawthorn on the margins. Outside Willows lined the old canals.

As a child, trees were for climbing, especially the cracked and half fallen Willows, with the added frisson of being over the water. There were other trees for sitting on and chatting to my best friend or for hiding inside. The hollow in the centre of the tree that smelt of history and greenness.

The smooth blue-grey trunks of the beech trees on the Cockshutt, the nearest wood to me, were most tactile, they were for touching, running your hands along their bark and admiring their height, solidity and strength.

Standing there year after year, there was something timeless and magical about the woods. I probably didn’t put most of what I experienced into thought or words, but I remember the feelings of stillness at times, of there being no judgement, of qualities of endurance, resilience and beauty. I was aware however of the impact of human activity on the land and the woods. I was passionate about keeping the landscape and trees alive.

on to part two