Photo credit: The Edwinstowe Historical Society

ENTER THROUGH THE GIFT SHOP
Is There Still Magic in Sherwood Forest?

Led by: The Chronicles of Robin Hood
Rosemary Sutcliff

Are children in Britain born with an innate knowledge of Robin Hood? The outlaw who lived in the depths of Sherwood Forest is still my standard for: "It's your mythic destiny to run off to the woods and fight the forces of darkness." So I made my pilgrimage to Sherwood Forest.

The entrance to Sherwood Forest is through the gift shop. As I run the gauntlet of tunics, swords, goblets and feathered hats, Robin Hood ambushes me: “Can I interest you in an RSPB membership, sir?” When I decline to hand over my money, he goes back to chat with Maid Marian at the till.

By the time I arrive at a tree, I have been subjected to the full ‘Robin Hood experience’ – jokes, ‘fun facts’ and film memorabilia. In the café, a couple warns me to “watch out for naked people” – meaning the naturists who use the quieter parts of the forest.

Pumped full of forest folklore and with a slight sense of foreboding, I set out along the ‘Greenwood Trail’ to sample ‘the place where legends grow’.

Sherwood Forest, now managed by the RSPB, is smaller than I had imagined. Only 450 acres of the original 10,000 remain from when it was a royal hunting ground in the tenth century. A line of ancient oaks stands along the edge of the forest, looking out over the ploughed fields as if sensing how much has been lost. Their earthy scent reassures me as I am lured into the leafy depths ahead. Coming around a bend, a kestrel takes flight, swooping through the play of light and shadow beneath the summer canopy.

To enter Sherwood Forest is to walk into a world of story and legend. In literature, forests are places where we get lost and anything can happen. Shakespeare's Greenwood is a place of transformation; in fairy tales, a path through the trees might lead somewhere quite unexpected.

As I walk, the forest feels fortified and secretive. I can sense that the trees commune with each other. An orange butterfly flutters in front of me. If this were a fairy tale, she might want me to follow her. I feel that at any moment I might glimpse the Green Man – or a naked man peering through the foliage at me.

The Major Oak as it stood around 1890 | Public Domain Image

In Sherwood Forest, all paths lead to the Major Oak, a squat old survivor sitting in a clearing ringed by silver birches. This twisted pedunculate oak is between 800 and 1,000 years old, its hollow trunk a universe of myth and legend. The branches where Robin Hood and his Merry Men once dozed are now weary and braced by nine steel struts. Beneath me, its roots pass under the couple posing for a selfie, the father and son enjoying a mock sword fight, and the picnic benches where a party of primary school children are sketching.

I look at an old Victorian photograph printed on the shield-shaped information board. It shows a man with a white beard sitting by the Major Oak as a lady in a white dress emerges from the hollow of its trunk. A soft breeze lifts the leaves of the silver birches. I contemplate the procession of human history that has passed by this ancient tree.

Tired of the hubbub, I set off down an unmarked trail. With only the oaks and birches to keep me company, I indulge in some ‘forest bathing’ – nestling against the trunk of an oak to watch a lime-green caterpillar heave itself along a branch. Although the term originated in Japan, I would wager that visitors to Sherwood Forest have been practising mindfulness in nature long before it had a name.

Perhaps this is the real magic of the Greenwood. Beyond the gift shops and plastic broadswords, the dog-eared pages of my childhood The Chronicles of Robin Hood suddenly don’t feel so distant; it’s a place to lose yourself and, briefly, become that boy in the woods again.

I don't see any naked people during my walk, but it strikes me that Sherwood Forest is still a place of retreat and revelry for some, with surprises waiting in the forest for the unsuspecting traveller.

Postscript. The RSPB officially confirmed the Major Oak's death in June 2026 after it failed to produce any leaves during the spring.

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