The Forest - Edward Rutherfurd [364]
So when Grockleton approached the meeting place, he found the young man practically standing to attention. This alone would have made him well disposed towards George; but even without this reception he would probably have been in a sunny mood.
Because they were meeting at Grockleton’s Inclosure.
It was a fine thing to have a building or a street bear your name. But when this inclosure had been made a few years ago and Cumberbatch had announced it would be named after him, Grockleton had realized with a sense of wonder that this was something more: a whole wood, a feature on maps for generations to come. Grockleton’s Inclosure: it was his greatest pride and joy.
It lay in the central area of the Forest, west of Lyndhurst. It covered over three hundred acres. But best of all, as far as Grockleton was concerned, was the timber with which it was planted. For Grockleton’s Inclosure was nearly all Scots pine.
They had been planting fir trees in the Forest for half a century. Usually they were used as a nurse crop to protect young oak or beech from the wind. Though great firs would sometimes be grown as masts for ships, it was oak and beech that the Navy really needed. Or used to need. For wooden ships were giving place to ships of iron. Buckler’s Hard made ships no more; its pleasant building yards were all grassed over, its cottages let to artisans and labourers.
Since 1851 the new plantations had contained a different mix of trees. Slow-growing, broadleaved oak and beech, whose wood was hard, had given way to softwood trees, quick-growing cash crops of Scots pine and other conifers. Though recent, this process had already begun a subtle change in the character of the Forest. The ancient, gentle pattern of oak grove and heath was becoming interrupted by the straight-edged military lines of the fir plantations, dark green all winter. Further, the pines would spread, growing here and there on the open heath, or even sending up stunted seedlings on the acidic bogs.
What pleased Grockleton most of all about his plantation, however, was its wondrous efficiency. ‘See how close-planted they are, Pride,’ he remarked with satisfaction. The trees were so closely set that you would be constantly brushed by their needles if you tried to walk between them. ‘All the goodness of the ground goes into them. There is no waste.’ The greensward and undergrowth between the spreading oaks had always seemed wasteful to Grockleton. Beech plantations were better: the ground under the beech woods was mostly moss. But under the fir trees there was neither light nor space. Nothing grew, not even grass and moss. It was lifeless. ‘That is the utility of the pine plantation, Pride,’ he explained to the woodward. ‘A great improvement.’
‘Yes, Sir,’ said George.
They went along the path through the plantation and admired its wonderful uniformity. When the Commissioner was finally satisfied, he announced that he wished to make a tour of the northern part of the Forest. So, walking their horses across the open heath, they made their way northwards.
George Pride was a pleasant-looking young man. His fresh, clean-shaven face was framed by a soft fringe of beard that ran down the line of his jawbone and under his chin. He seemed willing and eager. This was a good opportunity to educate him and Grockleton did not fail to make use of it.
‘You’ll find me very straightforward, Pride,’ he explained. ‘And I like people who are straightforward with me.’
‘Yes, Sir,’ said George.
‘The Office of Woods,’ said Grockleton, as they descended from a tract of high ground towards the stream known as Dockens Water, ‘is making great improvements in the Forest.’
‘Yes, Sir,’ said George.
‘I’m glad you agree,’ remarked Grockleton. So many did not. The state of the Forest roads was a typical example. When the old turnpike roads had started falling into disrepair around the middle of the century, it was usually the local parish councils, in most parts of England, who had taken over responsibility