Big, beautiful, long-lasting and life-giving... I adore majestic oak trees

EVERY so often when I’m out walking I stop, stand and stare to admire a great old tree and wonder at its size and longevity.

Some are impossibly tall, others squat but with great girth and a hollow trunk.

I’m alluding to the majestic oak trees that grace our woods, roadsides and stand as landmarks in their own right.

Two species are native to the British Isles, the pedunculate or English oak (Quercus robur) and the sessile oak (Quercus petraea). The former is far more common in our part of the world, the latter more so in the west.

A simple way to distinguish between the species is to examine their acorns in autumn. Those of the pedunculate are borne on stalks or, as you may have guessed, peduncles, those of the sessile without.

Another curiosity that distinguishes them is the fact that whereas the sessile’s larger leaves are stalked, the pedunculate’s are not.

Nevertheless, the pair are closely related and can hybridise. The hybrids are knows as Quercus x rosacea but I’ve never come across one.

Despite the fact that the UK is one of the least forested countries in Europe, Britain has, by a long way, the most ancient oaks.

There are many fine examples. For instance, those in Windsor Great Park or in the grounds of Blenheim Palace, near Woodstock.

Most of the oldest around the Henley area are pollards, a result of the upper branches having been removed. Pollard oaks live much longer than their cohorts and, over time, lose their heartwood.

The hollow trees go on to provide home to countless animals, vertebrate or invertebrate.

Both of our natives must be very old on an evolutionary scale as evidenced by the high number of insects that depend upon them — some 400-plus species, from moths to tiny gall wasps.

The colourful jay (Garrulus glandarius), a member of the intelligent crow family, loves to eat acorns.

They make winter stores and poke the acorns into the ground for sustenance to excavate when the weather turns worse.

But the birds are forgetful as to where all their secret caches are buried, so young trees rise. Oak trees are also renowned for the strength of their wood, seen as an emblem of fortitude. Indeed, one of our leading political parties uses a portrayal of the oak in its logo.

Out of some 6,000 trees, approximately 5,400 oaks were used in the construction of HMS Victory, Admiral Nelson’s flagship at the Battle of Trafalgar in October 1805. Replanting was a necessity and done.

I take them as they are — wondrous in their own right.

Every so often oaks (and beech trees) produce an extraordinary abundance of fruit and nuts. These are known as mast years.

I have an assignation in Henley and my good friend Matthew Coome collects me mid-morning and off we go to explore Harpsden Wood, which is on high ground near Henley Golf Club, south of the town.

On the way we pass through the Berkshire/Oxfordshire border. As my late wife Rosemary used to say, you can see which county cares more for nature — vegetation clipped like a lawn on one side but free to flourish for a while on the other.

It is on approaching and passing the Flowing Spring at Playhatch that I notice the abundance of hemlock (Conium maculatum), a native, highly-poisonous, tall umbellifer with purple blotched stems. The bluebells in Ash Copse are now bearing fruit.

After passing through Shiplake Cross, we take a sharp left into Woodlands Road and pass through an avenue of cultivated maples — among them Crimson King, which adds a sense of grandeur.

I have not been here since my last visit with Rosemary some two years ago. We both loved it but I’d forgotten what a marvel it is.

Thankfully, it is owned by the Woodland Trust, so the wood is in very good hands.

We park in a suitable spot at the side of the road and prepare to wade into the sylvan shadows on another bright day.

We are immediately confronted by extremely tall and broad examples of pendulous sedge (Carex pendula).

This plant loves heavy, damp, clay soils — it’s clay-on-flint here — and is quite striking and as tall as I am.

Here is where my memory returns thanks to the scent of a very old wood in a natural state, of rotting boughs and flowers, stately trees, the distant drumming of greater-spotted woodpeckers and the song of a blackcap not too far away.

The true wonder is what Matthew and I see all around is how it would probably have looked hundreds of years ago, a true “wild” wood.

The trust does not remove dead or fallen trees so everything, nutrients and all, are recycled by nature itself from beetles, crustacea (various woodlice) and a plenitude of the woodland fungi.

We walk into the interior to find a large crater in the forest floor. I assume this is a pit for the extraction of flint as evidenced in these parts for free building material.

The dip adds a magical nuance to our surroundings circled by an array of beech trees standing like sentries.

As a bonus, we find a comfortable wooden bench that affords some good views.

The forest floor is made up of a carpet of last autumn’s bronze-coloured, fallen leaves. Walking through it, a bosky perfume rises.

Under the tree canopy many indicative species of ancient woodland make up the understorey. Common or woodland figwort (Scrophularia nodosa) mixes it with enchanter’s nightshade (Circaea lutetiana). I’m pleased to see both.

Gaps in the canopy provide sunlight and space for rapidly growing brambles (Rubus fruticosus), a member of the rose family that is so diverse in leaf, flower and fruit colour that we may be watching evolution in action.

I don’t mind the autumn blackberries but the aggressive plant seems to be determined to trip me up. Here their flowers range from pure white to pink.

Although the wood is relatively small — 40 or so acres — the range of tree species is large. Beech, wild cherry, English oak, field maple, hawthorn, hazel, holly, large-leaved lime, rowan, silver birch, a lone horse chestnut and what looks like a pair of wild service trees.

Sapling trees — many older than most would guess — are waiting to compete with each other for a parcel of sky vacated by a forebear, especially the beeches.

Before we depart we take a look at the woodland verges along the winding road. The flowers of dogwood (Cornus sanguinea) and wild privet (Ligustrum vulgare) are in full, white flush.

The privet smells heavenly. It takes me back to my childhood.

Matthew drops me off in Henley Market Place as I have a lunch date.

After gazing at the wonderful church of St Mary, I decide to commission a memorial to Rosemary in the wood that I’ve just revisited and that she enjoyed. Matthew and I came across dedications — metal plaques on sturdy, square, wooden, treated posts. I think she’d like that.

After catching the bus home, the first thing that comes to my attention is a male stag beetle (Lucanus cervus) flying around 10ft up like a large, tipsy bumblebee at a 45 degree angle.

How it got off the ground seems miraculous. He is obviously looking for a female. Good luck to him.

As I approach home, ground elder, the scourge of many gardeners, is flowering with vigour. I believe this plant is a Roman introduction. The fresh leaves are good to eat and I cook them like spinach.

As I open the gate to my mother’s house, I’m pleasantly surprised to see a colourful nuthatch searching for spiders as it clambers down a tree trunk.

Nature will carry on regardless whether our species survives or not. The earth will continue to spin at around 66,622mph for a while yet. You could have fooled me. I’m still standing.

vincent.ruane@hotmail.com