I once had a little conversation with the genial landlord of the George about these very beeches, one evening when he was showing me his garden.
He was telling me of the famous people who had visited the George and signed its visitors' book, amongst them Bernard Shaw and Rudyard Kipling; and then he added: "It's a funny thing, but do you know, Mr. Rudyard Kipling didn't know the difference between a beech and an oak—clever gentleman as he is. Would you have believed it?"
I said: "What makes you think that?"
"Well, he came up to me, and he said: 'Mr. Simmonds, you have some very fine oaks in this part of the country.' I said: 'They're not oaks, sir, they're beeches.' And he said: 'Oh, are they?' So you see he didn't know."
"But how can you be sure he was not referring to the oaks, for there are oaks about here too?"
"Oh no; he meant the beeches right enough."
And so we left it at that.