They line a track deep within the conifer plantation. A row of tall beech trees – miles from any other beeches, miles from any road. Behind them is the ruined farmhouse of Westshiels.
The farm here was abandoned in the 1950s and sold to the forestry company Tilhill as part of the postwar conversion of huge areas of the UK’s uplands to timber production. I grew up an hour’s walk away from Westshiels. It was an oasis of childhood interest among miles of sitka spruce – a place to picnic, to play hide and seek with my brother, and to collect snowdrops in the spring.
