During the massive programme of house-building that took place in the UK in the 1930s, when land on the outskirts of towns and cities was built on, there was an attempt on the part of planners to create the feeling of a smallholding around each property. An Englishman’s home, be it ever so humble, is his castle.

The period marked the creation of what we have known ever since as suburbia, a hinterland beyond the urban centre, and yet remaining quite distinct from the countryside. Each house was allotted a patch of greenery, either in front of or behind it (or sometimes both), to emphasise the sense that this was the inhabitant’s domain – grounds and all. Gardening and DIY began to become national pursuits at around this time.

The favoured way of enclosing these pieces of land was with hedges. A hedge marked off your lawn from the street but, even more importantly, it separated your land from that of your neighbour. It was low enough to talk over when there was good gossip to share, but firm enough to resist the incursion of unswept leaf-litter or rampaging pets and toddlers.

For generations, there was no better hedge for the purpose than the privet. A member of the genus Ligustrum, the privet is distantly related to the olive. It was a popular choice as a boundary plant for its dark foliage and its relative unfussiness about where it grew. It was easy to cultivate, and didn’t much mind the atmosphere of traffic exhaust to which it was increasingly subjected as the streets grew busier. As the species planted was evergreen, it didn’t leave your garden looking undefended in the winter.

Enter the leylandii

In recent years, the privet has been controversially usurped from its place as the suburban hedge by the Leyland cypress, otherwise known by the second half of its botanical name, leylandii. The offspring of a hybrid match between two other types of cypress – the Monterey and the Nootka – leylandii is the delinquent upstart of the hedge world, cause of many a fracas between previously peaceable neighbours, and now the focus of Section 6 of the Anti-Social Behaviour Act 2003.

Leylandii’s chief offence is precisely the reason that so many people have planted it: i grows precociously fast. Left unchecked, it can shoot up to almost 100ft high, until it towers imperiously over all it surveys, on its way to world domination. Not only does this mean that a new hedge can be established in next to no time, give plenty of shade and act as a sound barrier when it comes to its early maturity, but it also has the capacity to leave your neighbours living in a permanent twilight. The provisions of the 2003 Act allow those with a grievance to call in the local authority, and possibly have their neighbour’s hedge cut down to size.

Failing that, it may be possible to call upon the services of your local hedge dispute conciliator. One Southampton practitioner charges £70 an hour for her services, a small price to pay perhaps to prevent the kind of escalation that might end with air-rifles at ten paces.

Before hedges get too much of a bad press, though, we should remember their benefits. One advantage the hedge enjoys over the fence or wall as a boundary is that it allows a certain amount of airflow. A solid border can create a pocket of air turbulence within your own or your neighbour’s garden, which can damage bedding plants and blow litter around.

Also, a hedge provides a welcome habitat and source of sustenance for much wildlife – typically birds, insects and small mammals. Ask yourself how the hedgehog got its name. Establishing (and prudently maintaining) a hedge is one way of contributing to biodiversity.