Epping Forest

I live pretty close to the Epping Forest in Essex and the changing of the seasons in the forest, particularly at year-end when nature is at its mellowest, has always been a fascinating phenomenon to me. My favourite season of the year happens to be the autumn. The tranquillity of autumn with its hint of the approaching bleakness of winter cannot be matched, for somebody of my disposition, by the vigour and exuberance of spring, - even with its promise of the glories of summer yet to come. I enjoy the gentler pace of life that is engendered by the rapidly shortening days of autumn and I warm to the thrill and anticipation of Christmas that the onset of autumn brings. But above all autumn enchants me with its brilliant display of colours as the trees prepare to shed their leaves. I can think of nothing more enchanting than a gentle drive along the Epping Road in early November soaking in the grandeur of trees bedecked in the hues of autumn. The red and gold of autumn leaves never fails to fascinate me even though I scarcely have the artistic sensibilities that one surely needs to appreciate such splendour of nature. And nature at its most splendid had been just as evident this last autumn in the Epping Forest as ever. However, last autumn, as though in an attempt to entice me away from my beloved Epping Forest, circumstances combined to present to me an altogether different autumnal scene which appeared to rival, if not surpass, that of the Epping Forest. I was in Canada last October and saw for the first time, in several years, the amazing variety of colours that autumn brings to the forests of North America. Here the trees are adorned not simply with reds and golds but also with shades of purple, orange and blue, - indeed all the colours, virtually, of the rainbow except, of course, green, although that is still to be seen on the evergreens. Faced with this extravaganza of myriad colours, I had to concede, much to my chagrin, that the Epping Forest had a worthy rival after all in the Canadian forests. Driving at autumn time along Canadian freeways, which seemed unfailingly to be flanked by forests, it was impossible not to be awestruck by the blaze of colours that stretched for miles on either side. Nevertheless, as someone whose aesthetic sense is lamentably shallow, the breathtaking beauty of the Canadian forests only served to remind me absurdly of the title of the famous song from the musical “West Side Story”, “Everything big in America”, and it occurred to me that like most things in North America, nature’s display of autumn beauty was on a much grander scale there than anywhere in the Epping Forest. Not that it in any way diminished my affection for the Epping Forest. The grandeur of the Canadian forests may have turned my head momentarily but I was always going to return to the charms of the Epping Forest rather like a man who returns ultimately to his first love. For the Epping Forest doesn’t just enchant in the autumn, in the winter too it has an allure that is irresistible. I took the opportunity to drive through the forest this winter during a particularly cold spell, - not long after a heavy fall of snow. As often happens in the days that follow a heavy snowfall, the landscape was still covered in snow but the road had mercifully been cleared so that I wasn’t beset by my usual anxiety about driving on snow-covered roads. On either side of the road, the trees, which had long since lost their red and gold of autumn and had stood bare in early winter, were now a frosty white, - their snow-covered branches strangely florescent in the gloom of mid-winter. Further into the forest, the forest floor that had once been strewn with the leaves of autumn was now resplendent in a blanket of snow. Under a grey winter sky, the snow on the ground had acquired its characteristic strip-light effect which in urban streets lights up the faces of passers-by and which here in the emptiness of the wild illuminated the forest in a cold white light. In the subdued light of a winter afternoon, the forest seemed to exude, to a town person such as myself at any rate, an inexplicable air of almost transcendental calm and quietude. Those attuned to the ways of nature might attribute it simply to the oft-talked-about winter absence of birdsong. Others with a more poetic imagination might ascribe it to winter’s eternal magic. I am scarcely poetic and seldom rise above the mundane. But that afternoon, even I recognised something in the beauty of the forest’s winter scene that was wondrous and quite sublime.

Halloween

Halloween up until recently had meant very little to me other than as a day in the calendar that had some strangely rustic associations with the world of witches, warlocks and ghouls. Until recently also, it was not a day that was marked by the observance of any particular custom. Children especially were as unaware of the passing of Halloween as the Ides of March. The 31st of October, in those days of pre-Halloween-bliss, was not a day that children awaited with anticipation, thrilling at the prospect of dressing up in ever more expensive witch-costumes and frightening the neighbours into handing over money and sweets. The thought of wreaking such havoc at Halloween scarcely stirred the childish imagination in those days and peace and normalcy prevailed at Halloween just as it did over Christmas. Little did any of my generation then suspect that these happy times would soon be a thing of the past. It is not possible to-day to say when exactly it was that the idyll of Halloween-obliviousness ended and the purgatory of Halloween “trick or treat” began. But “trick or treat” has now found a firm foothold amongst the popular customs that children in England follow; and the children’s adoption of this American custom has had some serious repercussions for the adult population as well. For adults, “All Hallows Eve” is no longer the inconsequential day in the church calendar that could easily be ignored. It has become a day that must be noted and carefully prepared for, - to ensure survival at the end of a demanding evening of “trick or treat”. Preparation for the rigours of modern Halloween can be a daunting task but the elderly like myself have found that they can do worse than to begin by acquiring a plentiful supply of sweets and chocolates in readiness for the evening’s trials. Also to be advised is the precautionary step of ensuring that a sufficient amount of small change is to hand to dispense to groups of importunate children arriving at the doorstep. Following these two simple guidelines has served me well over the past few Halloweens. I have always managed to send away “trick or treat” children knocking on my door with very little to complain about and in the process have given myself what I consider to be a well-deserved feeling of smug satisfaction at having coped adequately with a formidable challenge. However, life is always full of surprises and even great wisdom acquired through long experience is not immune to being frustrated by the turn of events, - as I found out for myself at this year’s Halloween. This year, to my great disappointment, all my diligent preparation for meeting the challenges of Halloween turned out to have been totally in vain. I followed all my carefully devised plans this year as in previous years, to prepare myself for Halloween. On the day, I went to my local Sainsbury’s and purchased a goodly quantity of sweets and chocolates. Next, to obtain some loose change, I decided to forego my usual custom of paying by credit card and chose instead to pay by cash at the check-out. With some trepidation but with all the charm I could muster, I asked the check-out girl if she would oblige me with some twenty-pence coins. Noticing that she showed not the slightest bit of irritation at this possible impertinence on my part, I went on to impose on her good nature by explaining that my strange request was actually intended to spread happiness amongst “trick or treat” children who were sure to be around later that evening. The check-out girl exceeded all my expectations and let me have three pounds’ worth of twenty-pence coins. Armed with my shopping bag full of sweets and weighed down with my small change, I felt confident that I was fully prepared for the ordeal that lay ahead that evening. Little was I to know, as I awaited the arrival of fearsome mask-wearing Halloween children, that the evening was to end without a single child deigning to grace my doorstep with his presence. I waited nonchalantly, with the confidence that comes with good preparation, for the ring on the doorbell but to my complete surprise and some disappointment the doorbell remained silent. The hours ticked by, - six o’clock, seven o’clock, eight, nine! At half past nine, I conceded that this Halloween night had gone by without troubling me with the ritual of “trick or treat”. I was more amazed than relieved. How could this have happened? Could this have been Sod’s Law working in my favour or had Providence rewarded me with a lucky escape for some good deed that I might unwittingly have performed in past life. With my usual mistrust of children, I was even tempted to believe that this might have been a fiendish trick played on me by the kids, out of sheer wickedness, deliberately to deny me the opportunity of giving them a treat and feeling smug about it, - but deep down I would have to admit that I was quite glad that this Halloween, “trick or treat” for once, seemed to have gone back to being what to me it always was, - not at all a very English custom, at least in my little corner of England.