AVÊÓƵ

Our prehistoric landscape was broken woodland cover,

With heath and grassy areas, vying with each other.

In feudal times, villagers, worked both the heath and field,

Then when land went to private owners, men were made to yield.

Marginalized, to eke out a living on the heath,

While in the fields, agriculture degrades the soil beneath,

Leaving abandoned wasteland, for heather to move in,

Spreading the growth of Calluna Vulgaris - or ‘Ling’.

Ling turves were used for fuel, for roofs and walls were sold

And covering stacked root clamps, kept out the winter cold.

Cutting of ling turves in 1567 became law;

Known as ‘The Right of Turbary’, aimed to protect the poor.

It lasted from these feudal times and achieved it’s goal,

Until the coming of the railways, bringing cheap coal.

The short, young, twiggy growth was ideal for slow burn fuel,

With mats of fibrous roots to bind - a perfect little jewel.

This was helped by grazing, while to make the balanced match,

The taller material was ideal for brooms and thatch.

Turves were cut in summer and turned over to dry well,

Then carted home to burn on fires, with a few to sell.

Some ling was saved for livestock, as a vital winter feed;

A judgement for Manorial Courts, to balance local need.

The turves were cut in staggered rows, every third turf taken.

This stopped erosion, then in seven years, the patches reawaken.

A limiting factor in this slow cycle for the land,

Explains why the little heath communities did not expand.

To let pasture grow for hay, heath was grazed in May, June.

Cattle weren’t keen on ling, but Swaledale sheep found it a boon.

Burning of the old dead heath, promotes new growth in spring,

But only every twenty years, for best results to bring,

Because minerals are lost, though replaced in a few years,

But phosphorus takes twenty, so the need for time appears.

So, for four thousand years, our heathlands have been giving

An amazing history, where peasants struggled for a living.

There’s a network of sound plans in place, to save our heaths,

From Natural England to the National Lottery bequeaths.

To secure the future, needs the will to find the way

And public attitudes and values, have a very big say.

Oh, to see the sun rise again, in appreciation,

On wondrous native heathland, for the next generation.

Poem by  Don Filliston.