Amid the winding paths and timeworn timber-framed buildings of the Weald & Downland Living Museum, you may chance upon a seemingly humble task: men and women in thick gloves and weathered boots, rhythmically slicing, bending, and weaving stems into place. They are not planting nor felling, but engaging in a craft older than many of the buildings on site: hedge laying.
At its heart, this ancient practice is a profound expression of sustainable land management. A properly laid hedge is a living fence, a boundary that shelters wildlife, protects crops, and knits the landscape together with quiet resilience. While modern barriers are often made of concrete or steel, a living hedge is made of time, knowledge, and the woodland itself.
A Living Fence: What Is Hedge Laying?
Hedge laying is the careful process of transforming a line of trees or shrubs into a robust, living boundary. It is not a matter of simply planting and leaving nature to take its course. Left alone, trees will grow tall and thin, with bare stems below and dense foliage above, offering little by way of a solid barrier. Instead, hedge laying involves selectively cutting and bending the stems (known as pleachers) so they lie at an angle and are interwoven with each other along the hedge line.
By partially severing the stem and laying it down, new growth is encouraged from the base. Over time, this fills in any gaps and creates a dense, thorny barrier capable of turning away both livestock and wild animals.
Traditional stakes, typically made of coppiced hazel, are driven into the ground at regular intervals to support the pleachers. The laid stems are then woven around these uprights, creating a remarkably strong and self-reinforcing structure.
The process is rhythmic but it requires skill and sensitivity. Each cut must be deep enough to allow the stem to bend without breaking entirely. The angle must be just so. Too sharp, and the plant may die; too shallow, and it may not take. It is a balance between damage and growth, between control and nature.
Why Lay a Hedge?
Today, most modern fencing is designed to contain animals. But historically, the aim was more often to exclude them. A farmer’s first concern was to protect crops from deer, pigs, and cattle that roamed the open landscape. Before the age of barbed wire and chain-link, the hedge was the staple of countryside woodland management.
Quickset hedges, as they were often called, were especially valued for this task. The term ‘quickset’ refers not to the speed of planting, but to the use of quick, or live, cuttings, often hawthorn, which root easily and establish a living wall. Over time, these would be laid and maintained in cycles, typically every seven to ten years, ensuring they remained stock-proof and vibrant.
Hedges are not merely functional; they are biodiverse ecosystems in their own right. A laid hedge provides habitat for birds, mammals, and insects, offering food and shelter through all seasons. In spring, the open structure allows light to reach the ground, encouraging a carpet of wildflowers. In winter, its dense tangle offers refuge from cold winds and predators.
In short, a well-laid hedge is more than a boundary, it is a living part of the countryside.
Coppicing and Sustainability: A Circular System
At the Weald & Downland Living Museum, our approach to hedge laying is rooted in the same principles that guide all our woodland management: sustainability, circular use, and respect for traditional methods.
The stakes and binders used in hedge laying are typically harvested from our coppiced woodland. Coppicing is the practice of cutting trees such as hazel down to the base every few years, encouraging multiple straight stems to regrow from the stool. This ancient method not only provides a renewable supply of timber for fencing, tools, and fuel, but also keeps the woodland open and rich in biodiversity.
The Museum’s woodland resources are used across the site, in our gardens, fences, kitchen demonstrations, and, of course, our hedges. Nothing is wasted. Even offcuts and brushwood find a second life.
Dead Hedges: An Alternative with a Purpose
Not all hedges are meant to grow. Dead hedges, made by stacking brushwood between upright stakes, serve as practical, short-term barriers. While they lack the regenerative qualities of a living hedge, they are quick to build, easy to source, and ideal for protecting newly planted areas from grazing or trampling.
In fact, a dead hedge can be an excellent precursor to a quickset hedge. It offers immediate protection for young whips and saplings, giving them a chance to take root without interference. It also provides an excellent habitat in its own right, offering shelter to birds, beetles, and small mammals as it gently decays.
These humble structures speak to a broader truth about traditional land management: that there is value in every part of the landscape, even the bits that others might discard.
The Practice Lives On
Today, you can still see the Museum’s rural interpreters at work along the hedgerows, weather permitting, reviving a craft passed down through generations. Jon Roberts and his team often restore the hedges around the site.
This is not done for show, but as part of our ongoing stewardship of the land. Hedges must be maintained if they are to thrive. Left too long, they grow leggy and sparse. Managed well, they will last for centuries, serving as habitat, fence, and living record.
The work is slow, deliberate, and quietly satisfying. It brings together physical labour, traditional knowledge, and a profound connection to the land.
Why It Still Matters
In an age of rapid change, the practice of hedge laying offers something enduring: a connection to time, to place, and to nature.
For those who care about conservation, about heritage, or simply about the beauty of the countryside, there is much to learn from the hedge. It teaches patience. It rewards attention. And it reminds us that the best boundaries are those that live and breathe.
So the next time you walk along a country lane and notice a neatly laid hedge, thick at the base, woven through with hazel and hawthorn, pause for a moment. You are looking at the living history of the land, still unfolding, one pleacher at a time.
