Paradise Lost? The Noble Art of Swidden Burning

Ah, the noble swiddens! That iconic mosaic left by the benevolent, precise art of setting fire to the countryside, all for the good of its charming inhabitants: grouse—who, one imagines, must dance a jolly jig singing ‘hahahahahaha‘ when those nutritious shoots emerge. How delightful to know that we can rely on a “low-temperature” burn, barely a caress upon the moor, and designed to singe without scorching. Here on Great Ayton Moor, the swiddens lie fresh and fragrant, wafting the unmistakable aroma of burnt toast across the heathered landscape.

How splendid that the good people in nearby towns and villages are treated to the annual spectacle of a rolling, sooty blanket cascading from the moors, a rare, rustic charm! The joy of hurriedly snatching the washing from the line, tossing aside any tiresome talk of carbon emissions and excessive rainwater run-off. And those of weak lungs or delicate constitutions—well, it builds character, does it not?

After all, what is the inconvenience of a little smog in the face of that most sacred prize—a well-feathered bag of grouse? And let us not forget the many birds who benefit from these careful ministrations: curlew, lapwing, golden plover, all thriving save for those bothersome raptors. But then, every paradise must suffer its inconveniences, must it not?

And what, one must wonder, could be a concern? The heather roots, the keepers assure us, remain snug and untouched; the peat, that beneficial yet combustible layer below, remains unsullied. The notion of “trained practitioners” taking due cognisance of weather conditions and peat moisture content conjures a quaint picture not of some rustic gamekeeper but of some dashing fireman, solemnly assessing every puff of wind and wisp of dry grass.

Finally can we not take comfort in the sheer weight of tradition here? Burning—a time-honoured ritual, practically woven into the very fabric of our ancient souls! Why, it appears early humans were industriously setting fire to the African savannahs some 400,000 years ago, and who knows, perhaps they were cavorting around smouldering bushes even earlier. If something has been practised for centuries, millennia even, surely it must be beyond reproach.

Yet, does it not strike you as curious that such calculated benevolence requires the annual razing of the very thing it claims to protect? For all this admirable precaution, for all this diligent planning, is it not ever so slightly convenient that, lo and behold, burning serves the dual purpose of “benefitting wildlife” and preserving, most thoughtfully, the shooting interests of these moors?