Words from the Hedge is a passionate evocation of the history, beauty and importance of our hedgerows by a craftsman who has been laying hedges for almost three decades and has the scars to prove it.
Hedges are as old as civilisation and as emblematic of the British countryside as chalk streams, hay meadows and oak trees. But unlike woodland and rivers, farmland hedges remain on the periphery of the public consciousness, often going unnoticed and almost always underappreciated. Wielding his pen as deftly he does a billhook, professional hedgelayer Richard Negus takes us on a journey that reveals these ribbons of thorn and barb are so much more than mere decoration or boundary markers. They are essential for much-needed wildlife recovery. If we don’t get our hedges right, there is little hope for species like the almost-extinct turtledove.
And yet, no hedge is truly 'wild'; each one is a testament to generations of human skill and labour, requiring ongoing maintenance to survive and thrive. But there is a we need more hedgelayers, and this is something Negus is trying to solve.
Introducing a lively band of fellow countrymen and countrywomen along the way, Negus explores everything from the practical complexities of modern farming and land ownership to the challenges faced by conservationists. Written with vigour and humour, as well as rare insight and honesty, Words from the Hedge is a timely exploration of how we can use hedges to make the British countryside a place where nature has a home.
Did I, a lawyer in Georgia, think I’d spend several evenings reading about the art, the practice, the true human beauty of hedgelaying in East Anglia? Gotta say that wasn’t on my bingo card. But the pages overflow with the genuine kove the author has for the subject. When passion is there, the rest of it falls into place.
I'm a frequent reader of nature writing, usually memoirs but occasionally more descriptive pieces. The opening paragraphs of many of these chapters read like some of the better examples I've read. There are some lovely phrases that brought the writing to life, a heron like a "discarded carrier bag set flapping by the wind," long-tailed tits "rollercoastering" through terror of "hooked-beak death." These were a pleasure to read.
My favourite chapter was chapter 8, Flailing About. I liked this because it told me his own history, how he got into hedgelaying, the different regional styles, the competitions. Genuinely interesting.
I live in a city. I've always lived in an urban environment. I know little about rural life. I love nature and the countryside, but I'm always there as a visitor. So I struggled with some of the writing, because at times the vocabulary assumes shared countryside knowledge without translating it: hunting parlance, fox coverts, a stoat's "hunting eyes." It's clearly written for readers already inside this world, not readers arriving from outside it.
There are a lot of facts in the various chapters, and a lot of opinion too. Sometimes it's obvious where one becomes the other, but not always, so I read this with an AI alongside me, fact-checking as I went. Most of what I checked held up well; it was the framing around the facts, not the facts themselves, that usually needed the closer look. He makes 70% of his income, his own figures, from shooting estates, and I felt that reflected in the bias I noticed throughout: hedges and shooting get defended; rewilding, which needs neither, doesn't.
Overall, a challenging but interesting read. I've learned quite a lot more about farming, shooting and gamekeeping than I'd expected. More than about hedges.
I loved this book. It describes the county I live in beautifully, and gives me a little hope for conservation efforts, even as all these new housing sites pop up around us.
Richard covers many topics in the book, but one that stands out in my mind is the Hunter's paradox. I had not given game shooting much thought, being a vegetarian myself, but Richard makes a practical argument in the book for it, and I have found myself swayed in favour of responsible enterprises. It is not so dissimilar to the game reserves in South Africa that support trophy hunting because it generates revenue for anti-poaching efforts and habitat conservation.
Just one example of how complex an issue can be, and how we should think deeply to reach a practical and sustainable solution.
Hedges are the central character, but they link beautifully to everything else. Sharply observed and sympathetically argued, you won't find a better book on the working English countryside this year.
Beautiful cover, great sounding subject with drooling quotes on the dust jacket, but frankly, unless you are a member of the Countryside Alliance and believe ‘townies’and conservationists have got it in for you, this is a book to pass by. Arrogant and rude.