About 15 years ago livestock grazing ceased in this field, on the southern edge of Blaid’s Wood, two miles south of the city centre. An aerial invasion from wind-borne tree seeds followed, and ash, silver birch, alder and willow seedlings appeared everywhere. Bird-sown seed of bramble, briars and hawthorn sprouted. A few oaks even arrived, from acorns cached by jays then forgotten.
The field became what is often disparagingly referred to as scrub, a biodiverse halfway-house habitat between woodland and grassland. Spectacular displays of northern marsh orchid, angelica and knapweed flourished in gaps between rapidly growing saplings.
Today I stood among birches and ashes that are now six metres tall and bear their own seed crop; a bridgehead, scattering winged seeds to colonise fields downwind. On the ground, shaded by a dense leaf canopy in summer and carpeted with decaying leaves of autumn, vivid green mosses have replaced the tussocky grass that once covered this site.
This is now indisputably woodland and, as if to authenticate it, a woodcock, hidden by its mottled brown plumage amid dead leaves, rose from almost under my feet and zigzagged through the trees.
This is what happens when nature is allowed to take back control.
It’s a far cry from planted woodlands, with their evenly spaced saplings swaddled in plastic tree shelters. Wind and birds have scattered seeds here at random, to thrive or fail according to their ecological destiny; alders have established well in the boggy soil at the bottom or the slope, birch and ash on the better-drained hilltop.
Natural competition will eventually determine which will reach maturity. Browsing animals will create paths and clearings. In some places, young trees are so densely spaced that there is barely room to squeeze between them; in others a chest-high ground layer of bramble and dog rose is impenetrable. All I could do today was stand beside the footpath, look and listen.
A family of bullfinches passed through the branches overhead, shredding ash and birch seeds. A party of long-tailed tits, acrobats undeterred by entanglements, passed almost close enough to touch as they searched every nook and cranny for food.
This is how some future ancient wildwoods might begin, if people did nothing.
