A walk among the victims and survivors of nature's savagery

Being winter, the wind was strong and chilling, albeit not blowing at gale force, but the ground was frost free and there was no snow. It meant we could move at an energetic and brisk pace along the forest tracks, but what made a lasting impression was the sheer scale of the damage caused by recent gales.

Lines of young Scots pines had been smashed in half like matchwood, others had been uprooted and some had their tops broken off, as if snipped by a giant pair of secateurs.

We encountered rows of young pines which had been toppled like dominoes and some which had been blown down across our route. What was surprising was that the victims were apparently selected at random. There was no clear pattern to the damage and it was not restricted to a particular area.

Why, for example, would an apparently healthy pine tree in the middle of hundreds of others be the only one to fall in the teeth of the gale? And why would rows of pines in a sheltered position be the ones to suffer, while those at the forefront of the forest, facing the wind, all seemed to weather the storm?

I can only think that small, strong but very localised gusts were created by the geography of the landscape or, of course, the trees in question may have been weaker than the others.

The conifers were not the only ones to suffer in those storms. During our drive to the forest, we came across others which had succumbed to the gales. A large and venerable ash on a hilltop had been split down the middle, a young sycamore in an exposed position had been blown down, narrowly missing a house, and an elderly cherry tree had crashed onto a car.

In addition, the roofs of some outbuildings had been blown off and we saw a distant farm with corrugated iron panels scattered about the fields like giant pieces of confetti.

Deep in the forest, however, all was at peace during our walk, but we soon became aware of groups of small birds twittering in the conifers around us.

In fact, they seemed to be accompanying us during the walk, moving from tree to tree beside us as we progressed, but the odd thing was that they remained out of sight high in the branches.

The height of the trees, the dullness of the winter day and the heavily leafed evergreen branches helped to conceal the birds; even with my binoculars, I failed to spot any of them in spite of their constant calling.

It was obvious they were very tiny birds, so I think they were goldcrests. The goldcrest is the tiniest of birds, one of the smallest in Europe along with its cousin, the firecrest. Smaller than the wren, the goldcrest spends a lot of time in coniferous forests, where it moves through the higher branches seeking its food.

It is extremely difficult to see against a leafy background because its plumage is a dull green colour with lighter underparts, and its small size means it is easily concealed. The only bright part is the orange crest on the male's head. The female's is yellow.

Despite their small size, goldcrests are surprisingly tame and do not spend their entire life in coniferous woodland. From time to time, they visit our gardens and parklands in their eternal search for titbits, but our evergreen forests are their most likely habitat. And the chances are that you will not see them, your attention to their presence being drawn by that pleasant twittering song somewhere in the high branches.

It did occur to me, of course, that the invisible birds might have been redpolls, but they are considerably larger and more easily seen, especially as they have pinkish-red breasts. They are related to the finch family and are somewhat similar in appearance to linnets, having many of their characteristics, such as an undulating flight and strong beak. Their favoured habitat is coniferous woodlands, but they also like birch and alder trees, and their presence is often revealed by their high-pitched alarm call from somewhere deep in the forest.

This Labour Government has produced yet another of its crackpot money-wasting schemes which will adversely affect the lives of country people while costing an estimated £20m pounds of taxpayers' money.

There are times when I wonder why Labour politicians dislike the countryside and its people with such venom, for it appears they are continuing to produce schemes and laws which are appallingly wasteful and destructive.

The most recent of their anti-countryside plans is to research every disused track and byway listed in the public archive to check whether such paths were legally closed. Some of those old routes fell into disuse centuries ago simply because they were no longer needed and, more recently, many former pathways closed when motor vehicles and railways began to cater for people travelling from place to place.

From what I understand, if there is no record of a pathway being officially closed, then Government ministers will attempt to re-open the route in question, the scheme being part of the "right to roam" legislation.

Today, of course, some of those old paths might have been built upon or they might pass through privately-owned property, even parcels of land as small as someone's back garden. Estimates suggest there are about 20,000 of those former paths which are no longer in use, but I do not know how far back in history the researchers will delve in their desire to re-open such ancient routes.

If they are re-opened and incorporated on new maps, then they will be available not only to ramblers and dog-walkers, but some will also be used by horses, cross-country cyclists and 4x4 vehicles.

In all, this appears to be a time-wasting and money-wasting exercise, paid for by our hard-earned taxes, but I wonder if any of those researchers will also be checking similar ancient routes which once passed through our cities and towns, or is this scheme just another attack on the countryside and its people?

I wonder, for example, whether there is an old footpath beneath the Houses of Parliament? Or beneath some of the offices now used by Government departments? If there is, people of the countryside might want them re-opened.

I would never have expected to encounter a dinosaur in a school playground, but recently I was chatting to some youngsters about the kind of games they enjoyed during school playtime, and it seems they had a game in which a dinosaur featured.

I was not able to determine precisely what the game involved, except that it had two dinosaurs, one a goodie and the other a baddie. I believe part of the game was to believe that the good dinosaur had a home in a cave, the cave being a corner of the playground, and the wicked one was attempting to take over the happy home.

The goodie had to stop him, but I have no idea how this could be accomplished in today's politically correct and sue-orientated society.

Dinosaurs are always popular with children, but in this case I was unable to extract any kind of rules or procedures from the tots in question, except that they took turns in being the goodie or the baddie.

Precisely how the goodie was supposed to be tempted or ousted from his home by the baddie was never explained, but it was obvious that the children knew how to proceed.

Now that we have quite a crowd of grandchildren, it is interesting to observe their inventiveness so far as games are concerned. There is a temptation among adults to believe that television has obliterated some of that childhood creativity, but I suspect our playgrounds remain a fertile source of new or updated games.

Furthermore, it seems that old favourites like tig are still played, along with those lovely old-fashioned singing and dancing games which have survived down the years, with many being given a modern flavour by inventive children.