A dilapidated iron gate marks the forest boundary. Perhaps this is the ‘hatch’ from which the name Rhymers Hatch was derived.
The rusty gates welcome Crinkle back to Rhymers Hatch.
Equipped only with her grandfather’s old and torn map, Crinkle enters what is left of the Greenwood to do battle with Hawk Enterprises.
This ancient path has been used for centuries by forest folk going about their business.
The trees on either side of the path lean inwards to form a shaded, leafy tunnel.
The height of the grassy bank shows how much the path has been worn away over the years by the tramping and trudging of travellers’ feet.
The long-neglected gates lean drunkenly against the supporting trees.
These ivy-adorned trees, propped up by their comrades, have withstood the flattening fury of countless storms and gales.
Along this quiet and peaceful wooded path there are no signs of environmental destruction. The Clunkers’ devastation has yet to extend this far.
Seeing the beauty of the Greenwood all around her here, Crinkle finds it difficult to believe that anyone could even consider destroying such a heavenly place.
Oak and hazel, ash and birch, can be found by all who search.
Holly and chestnut, alder and yew, can Crinkle save the remaining few?
As she marches along the track, Crinkle wonders whether anywhere in the world could be more beautiful.
While some people regard these trees as obstacles to be removed, Crinkle sees them as living beings which have as much right to be left in peace as the other inhabitants of her world.
It is only a matter of time before these proud trees are reduced to a heap of logs, sawdust and ash.
Not so long ago, the whole of the Greenwood was covered with trees as majestic as these.
At the edge of the cleared site a repellent-looking viscous substance is oozing from the earth.
This grotesquely beautiful scene is the result of contamination by a cloud of poisonous gas leaking from one of Hawk’s chemical plants. It would be unwise to proceed any further.
To amuse herself, Crinkle tries to remember some ‘bog’ words. She can think of: swamp, fen, marsh, mire, morass, quagmire, and slough.
The bark of the old forked tree has been worn smooth over the centuries by countless weary travellers resting their aching backs against its trunk.
The path dips down into a modest hollow where a small puddle lingers in the shade.
Crinkle is saddened by the thought that all this luxuriant, verdant growth could be destroyed in the name of progress.
The picturesque nature of Miller’s Brook has been tarnished by Hawk’s industrial development.
Only Hawk Enterprises know what foul fluids flow through these pipes.
Maintenance is not high on Hawk’s list of priorities. A toxic sludge oozes from a fracture in one of the pipes.
Crinkle wonders how many poisonous pollutants are pumped into the air by the chimneys.
Crinkle follows a meandering path southwards through a verdant coppice.
A waterless waterfall remains as a desiccated monument to the memory of Sparkling Brook, the gurgling, leaping, dancing stream whose flow is now confined to the dark and steely interior of a metal pipe.
The waterfall forlornly waits for a miracle to occur.
Crinkle gazes in astonishment at the transformation which has occurred. The waters of Sparkling Brook are flowing once more and the water sprites have returned.
The brook flows over a water-smoothed bed of rock.
An overhanging clump of grass forms a turfy roof over the dark recess beneath.
Sparkling Brook once more provides an important and tranquil habitat in the Greenwood.
The stagnant water provides a habitat suitable only for the reproductive requirements of small, biting insects.
The water mill provides clean power. The energy source is renewable and there is no pollution.
A half-submerged log floats aimlessly in the water.
The cold and stony stares of the Clunkers are sufficiently intimidating to make Crinkle wish she were somewhere else.
A cool, shiny mist gradually envelops her hand and begins to spread up her arm.
The few patches of sunlight in this scene emphasize the darkness of the woodland.
The vegetation grows profusely along the unshaded verges of the path.
A solitary pine leans precariously over the cliff.
The reflected cliffs plunge down into the depths of the lake.
In her imagination, Crinkle can see the faces of the wicked people who were once tied to posts on the edge of Gloomy Pond until their wickedness had been devoured by the Mindstone.
An ancient pine stands like a sentinel on the crest of a rocky ridge.
The gnarled roots cling tenaciously to the shallow, needle-strewn soil.
The giant bubble soars through the air and softly settles on the strange island.
Dappled sunlight, a rustic bridge and a gurgling brook make this a very attractive part of the Greenwood.
The Emerald Brook winds its way through the wooded valley.
Many a day has passed since this rusty old circular saw last sank its teeth into a Greenwood log.
A few logs remain to mock the old saw.
The Wishing Ring is an enchanted place. The sense of mystery makes Crinkle’s skin tingle.
