This time last year I thought that I had paid my last visit to Great Yews, that extraordinary piece of ancient woodland anchored in the Longford Estate some way to the south of Odstock. Now, those contorted evergreens are another year older and I have just returned from another two camping trips towards the close of another Summer Term at Bishop’s. For the uninitiated, we take each Year 7 tutor group of 32 boys for an overnight wild camp – walking them the 14 miles there and back, cooking over open camp fires and scaring them witless in the woods after dark. It’s immense fun, it’s been happening for generations and it is the stuff of legends. Old boys from decades back still recall their experiences, and friendships forged at Great Yews often last a lifetime.
I suppose I have been taking trips to Great Yews for around two decades, so the landscape has a stubborn personal familiarity that is able to defy the challenges of ash dieback and the changing pattern of the tracks through the trees. The ways through the woods really do evolve as an organic maze through which we have to pick our way with wondering, ever-so-slightly nervous youngsters. They will probably never have done the like before, nor will they have lit fires from scratch or cooked their own food over a naked flame. These are the tangible skills that they learn, but still more valuable is problem solving together, learning to trust and discovering where their own personal limits lie.
I, too still learn every time I end up at Great Yews. How hard the ground is to sleep on and just how cold it can get in the Wiltshire countryside after dark, even in the heights of summer. And then there’s the natural world in which I become completely immersed. The insect and plant life are both pretty special, but it’s the birds that draw me back. This visit was no exception, and again my long experience told me where to go. At the eastern edge of the trees is a seldom visited field margin where the grass is allowed to grow waist deep; this is Barn Owl territory, and at around 10:00pm on Wednesday I was in position and ready. I wasn’t disappointed, as a white moth like form quartering the tall grass swiftly resolved itself into the form of an owl, now floating, now hovering, now accelerating on stiff wings towards the next sound among the stems. I dropped into the grass and the shape swept above in complete silence, a heart shaped face with fierce eyes, death in pale form. I was stunned, the moment quite overwhelming. On this, my last visit to Great Yews I had renewed my acquaintance with the fun of the camp, but I had also rediscovered something special too – the light burning anew among the natural world.
