In Greenwich the relics of equally old sweet chestnuts seem to have

In Greenwich, the relics of equally old sweet chestnuts seem to have petrified into sculpture. Somewhere in every borough, be they exotic imports or soul- lifting avenues of horse chestnuts, London planes (in fact, a relatively recent - mid-17th century - hybrid of the Oriental and American planes) or of limes buzzing with bees, there are examples of the selflessness with which successful Victorians thought of the future.To destroy any part of this with chainsaw or axe is an act no less criminal than, say, the stealthy midnight demolition of the Firestone building, or cruelty to animals. You might think that a man with four young children would not be so immersed in the present-day and seasonal irritation of leaf litter, that he might have half an eye to the years to come. Yet my neighbour was only doing what is done all the time by farmers, developers, road- builders, utility companies, local authorities and Rupert Murdoch.

Thanks to him and his insistence that we should have an infinite choice of televisual fecal matter, our streets are likely to be badly scarred, perhaps mutilated beyond recognition, in as little as 20 years. Roots have regularly been severed by cable-laying outfits, leaving behind badly destabilised trees.Even minor damage underground results in weakened immune systems, and a kind of arboreal HIV. Sadly, RM cannot be solely blamed (though it is estimated that 54 per cent of root-damage is caused by cable-laying for television).In spite of protection under the Wildlife and Countryside Act and the Environment Protection Act, and notwithstanding the zeal and commitment of borough Tree Officers and the army of volunteer tree- wardens, urban trees are frighteningly vulnerable, as if the pollution they tolerate and filter on our behalf were not enough. In the building boom of the early Nineties, the leader of a band of cowboy contractors was dubbed "Quick Saw McGraw" in dishonour of the many trees he illegally removed from the path of builders' progress.

He no more deserves his comic, Runyon- esque soubriquet than Idi Amin would have "Ah'm in de pink". A tree is not just for life, but for several lifetimes, and all their assassins bear a life sentence of shame.Illustration taken from `Tree-Talk: memories, myths and timeless customs' by Marie-France Boyer, published by Thames & Hudson, pounds 14.95. BRIAN FINNEGAN is an unlikely kind of saviour. A slight, softly spoken man with a strong Birmingham accent, he arrived in the Devon village of Colaton Raleigh early this year. He bought the site of the petrol station, which had long fallen into disrepair, moved into the flat above it and spent tens of thousands of pounds renovating the forecourt and the disused shop, which until its closure had been the only one in the village. A few weeks after he arrived, the pumps were ready for action again, the shop stocked with groceries and newspapers, and the Post Office counter inside fully operational Elderly villagers started collecting their pensions there Younger ones did their shopping. Colaton Raleigh had a focal point again. "I wanted to create a heart for the village," Finnegan explains.