Peter Rhodes on felling trees, hunting recruits and a lesson from Just William
May I apologise for some of my colleagues in journalism who have been agonising over the felling of an ancient oak near a Toby Carvery in Enfield. Each outbids the other with claims to be heartbroken, traumatised and outraged at the spiritual vacuum left by the felling. We have all got a little overwrought.
Reality check, please. The oak was judged by Mitchells & Butler's tree experts to be dying and seriously dangerous. As any insurance broker will tell you, if you ignore a public-liability warning like that, you may as well tear up your policy. Let us suppose the company had dithered and the oak had fallen and killed a blameless pensioner. Those zealots queuing up to condemn the felling (Headline: “Heartless pub bosses ripped down our beloved oak”) would be the first to condemn the lack of felling. (Headline: “Greedy pub bosses killed our Elsie”).
I don't share the modern fad for tree-worship. Human history does not suggest we love trees and trees, after millennia of ruthless deforestation, have no reason to love us. You must have noticed how every storm brings a deadly harvest of “freak” accidents caused by falling trees. I have the tiniest of suspicions that if a tree can kill you, it will. You hug trees if you wish but I will stand well back, thanks.
