natural woods on the continent of Europe, it may be asked why the result
of planting them together in British woods should be attended with such
evil consequences. The explanation is to be found in the climatic
conditions to which the larch is exposed in these islands. Naturally a
mountain tree, in regions where a high summer temperature, long and
strong sunshine, with little rainfall, but with much subterranean
moisture from melting snow, promote vigorous growth, to be followed by
total rest during severe winter weather, the larch meets in Britain with
the reverse of these conditions--namely, a cool, cloudy, generally wet,
summer, and an open and still wetter winter. The wonder is that the tree
can adapt itself to the change as well as it does; there can be no doubt
that its constitution does not remain so well able to resist attack by
insect or fungoid parasite. Nature, which is ever as solicitous to
provide for the perpetuation of what we consider ignoble vermin as she
is for that of more admirable forms of life, has adapted the spruce-gall
for a dual existence upon two species of tree growing in company; but
she has also endowed these trees with a constitution vigorous enough not
to suffer materially from the presence of the parasite. When that
constitution becomes impaired by unnatural conditions of climate and
environment, the parasite gets the upper hand, just as lice multiply
upon a diseased bird or mammal. In the case of the larch, the mischief
does not end with the aphides.
Another enemy lies in wait for the tree that has been weakened by loss
of its sap. A minute fungus (_Dasicypha calycina_), gaining access by
its spores through any lesion of the bark, causes that incurable ill
known as larch canker, which has now become so generally spread through
British woodlands as to cause many landowners to give up planting larch
at all. In this case, also, we have a parasite which may be found on
larches in their native forests, but which the inherent vigour of the
trees keeps in check. That this is the true and only reason for the
excessive prevalence of larch canker in this country, causing
incalculable pecuniary loss to many owners of woodland, is shown by the
behaviour of the Japanese larch (_Larix leptolepis_). The fungus may
easily be found upon this species; but so great is the vigour of the
young trees that the fungus exists, and no more. The tree repels the
inroads of mycelium into its tissues affording the invader foothold
merely as a harmless guest.
Serious doubts are entertained as to whether the Japanese larch will
prove as valuable a tree commercially as the European species; it has
not been grown long enough in Britain to prove its quality as a timber
producer. But the extraordinary rapidity and vigour of its growth in
early years, its beauty and the readiness with which it takes hold when
planted out, have induced many people to discard European larch in
favour of this Asiatic species. Travellers in Japan report that the
larches of that country never attain the bulk and stature of European
larches; but it does not follow from this that they may not do so in
this country. The holm oak, more commonly known as ilex, is a native of
the hot and dry Mediterranean region, yet what is probably the tallest
specimen in the world is growing in the moist atmosphere of County
Wicklow. So with the horse chestnut, only to be found wild in a few
spots in Macedonia and Asia Minor, lands which can show none to equal
the noble trees of this species at Bushey and elsewhere throughout the
British Isles.
Meanwhile, the lesson of our experience is that we must still treat the
European larch as a foreigner of great distinction. Let it never be
exposed to contact with the Norway spruce, a useful tree in its way,
but, commercially, not half the value of larch. Let it not be planted as
a pure crop, but let it be mixed with other trees, as it is usually
found in a wild state. There is no better companion for it than the
beech, none, indeed, equal to that beneficent tree, owing to the manner
in which it screens the soil from evaporation and radiation, and
refreshes it with an abundant annual leaf fall. Finally, let the utmost
care be bestowed upon the critical operation of planting; see that in
removal from the nursery the roots are not suffered to get dry, as they
often become when sent to a distance by rail; and let these roots be
fairly spread in the pit dug for them, instead of being rammed in a
bunch into a mere notch in the ground, as is too often done. It is worth
much effort to retain such a desirable denizen of our woodlands in
health and vigour.
Attention has been drawn within the last few years to the Western Larch
(_L. occidentalis_) of North America, a tree which Douglas found in
British Columbia in 1826, and mistook for _Larix europæa_. It has now,
however, been recognised as a distinct species, the mightiest of the
genus, reaching a height of 180, perhaps 200 feet.[22] In habit and
outline it is very different from the European larch, still more so from
the Japanese species, for the side branches, though horizontal, are
short, which gives the tree a fine columnar habit. Owing to the great
height of the trees in Montana and British Columbia, and to the cones
opening and scattering the seed as soon as ripe, it is difficult to
collect a supply of seed, which can only be done from trees in
September. Dr. Henry visited Montana in the autumn of 1906 on purpose
to obtain a supply. Unluckily, very few cones were formed that year; but
a good supply was obtained in 1907, whereof I was given some. It
germinated freely; the seedlings grew as rampantly as those of Japanese
larch, forming beautifully rooted plants; I cleared the hardwood off
three acres of good land, and planted it with 12,000 western larch, fine
rooted plants, in the spring of 1910. The result has been discouraging;
about 50 per cent. died outright, and by the end of 1914 the remainder
have made poor growth. On the other hand, a dozen seedlings which Mr.
Elwes sent me, raised from seed in 1904, and planted on moist but
well-drained bottom land, have grown fast and well, being now 14 to 18
feet high. Evidently this tree, like the Sitka spruce, requires moist
deep land; the other place, though far from being poor, was not wet
enough for it.
There are three specimens of the western larch at Kew, one being 34
years planted and about 35 feet high; but the soil of Kew is too dry to
nourish without much coddling a tree whereof all reports go to show that
it demands so much moisture at its roots as would be fatal to the
European and Japanese species. Sheltered valleys on the western side of
Great Britain seem to be the likeliest environment for the development
of this most valuable timber tree, and probably nearly all parts of
Ireland.
The Yew
What the ash was to the Scots of old, the yew (_Taxus baccata_) was to
the English; for while the ash furnished staves for the national weapon,
the pike, which the Scots learnt to handle from their Flemish allies,
the most powerful longbows were fashioned of yew, and it was as archers
that the English excelled all other infantry until gunpowder came into
general use. Even long after the smoke and stench of "villainous
saltpetre" had altered the conditions of battle, much attention was
given to archery in the English army. Despite the many Acts of
Parliament enjoining the planting of yews, the supply had run short
before Queen Elizabeth came to the throne, so that in 1571 it was
enacted that bow-staves should be imported from the Continent (13 Eliz.,
c. xiv.).
Apart from military association, the yew is a tree of gloom, taking the
place in British churchyards which the cypress, "like Death's lean
lifted forefinger," occupies in Eastern cemeteries. Tennyson was least
likely of poets to miss the significance of this tree's melancholy; at
first he could recognise in it nothing else but that and its
changelessness:
Old yew, which graspest at the stones
That name the underlying dead,
Thy fibres net the dreamless head,
Thy roots are wrapt about the bones.
Oh not for thee the glow, the bloom,
Who changest not in any gale!
Nor branding summer suns avail
To touch thy thousand years of gloom.
Shakespeare received a similar impression:
But straight they told me they would bind me here
Unto the body of a dismal yew.
Sir Walter Scott applied the self-same epithet:
But here 'twixt rock and river grew
A dismal grove of sable yew.
* * * * *
Seem'd that the trees their shadows cast
The earth that nourished them to blast;
For never knew that swarthy grove
The verdant hue that fairies love;
Nor wilding green, nor woodland flower,
Arose within its baleful bower.
The dark and sable earth receives
Its only carpet from the leaves.
[Illustration: FRUIT OF YEW (_Taxus baccata_)]
Anyone who has stood on a summer noon within one or other of the two
remarkable yew woods on Lord Radnor's property near Salisbury cannot
fail to recognise the truth of this picture in every detail. The sense
of gloom and envious shade in those "swarthy groves" must oppress him
who enters it. They are known respectively as "the Great Yews" and
"the Little Yews," the former being of the greater extent--about 80
acres--but the largest trees are growing in the Little Yews. Although
these two woods are almost certainly of natural origin, traces of
replanting may be recognised here and there by the regular lines in
which some of the great trees are disposed, telling of a time when the
timber was in request for bow-making.
Tennyson came to realise that the yew really responds in its own fashion
to the summons of spring as briskly as any rose or lily, and that a
sparrow cannot alight upon it in April without disturbing a puff of
pollen:
Old warder of these buried bones,
And answering now my random stroke
With fruitful cloud and living smoke,
Dark yew, that graspest at the stones
And dippest toward the dreamless head,
To thee, too, comes the golden hour
When flower is feeling after flower.
Surely there is nothing more delightful in English verse than the
delicate phrase in which Tennyson touches upon some of the less obvious
workings of nature.
Evelyn observes regretfully in the seventeenth century: "Since the use
of bows is laid aside amongst us, the propagation of the eugh is
likewise quite forborn; but the neglect of it is to be deplored."
Howbeit, on the whole, one cannot regret that this sombre tree is less
often planted than it was when the Kings of England were striving
desperately to retain their rich lands in France. The yew requires two
or three centuries to acquire dignity. Such venerable ruins as the great
yew in the churchyard of Leeds, in Kent, measuring 32 feet in girth at
3½ feet from the ground, command admiration akin to awe from
creatures whose span is but three-score years and ten. So do the yews on
Merrow Down, near Guildford, reputed to have marked the Pilgrims' Way to
Canterbury; and the yews of Borrodale and Inch Lonaig, on Loch Lomond,
we cherish as traces of the primæval forest. But for decorative work,
for sheltering hedges in garden and pleasure ground, let us take some
more lightsome evergreen from the wealth of choice that the enterprise
of collectors has furnished us withal. The Lawson cypress, the giant
thuja, the so-called Albert spruce, and many others, are of far nobler
growth than the yew and equally patient of the shears, if clipped they
have to be. True, they are foreigners, but so are the Spanish and
horse-chestnuts, the silver fir, the sycamore, the English elm, and many
other growths which have become integral parts of our home landscape;
assuredly our forbears would not have hesitated to plant better things
than yews if they had been given the chance. That they did plant what
they had may be seen from the note made by Giraldus Cambrensis when he
visited Ireland in the year 1184:
"Here the yew with its bitter sap is far more abundant than in all
the other countries where we have been, but chiefly in old
graveyards; and of these trees you may see plenty planted of old in
these sacred places by the hands of holy men who did what they
could to honour and adorn them."
[Illustration: THE EARL OF RADNOR IN HIS YEW GROVE NEAR DOWNTON,
WILTS]
Given elbow room, the yew takes liberal advantage of it, and is apt to
spread to a breadth equal to or greater than its height. A singular
departure from this habit was made by a seedling found in 1767 on the
hills near Florence Court, in County Fermanagh, which grew in a strictly
fastigiate or columnar form, and became the progenitor (by cuttings) of
what is now known in all temperate parts of the globe as the Irish yew.
Geologically the yew is of immense antiquity in this island; indeed, it
grew in what is now the island of Britain before that was severed from
the Continent, as is proved by its remains in the forest bed underlying
the glacial drift on the coast of Norfolk, where its fruits, identical
with those of the present time, have been recognised lying among the
bones of elephant, rhinoceros, and four species of bear. A closely
kindred form of yew, with somewhat smaller seeds, has been found in the
German coal-fields, showing that the type has existed from an
incalculably distant period, before the formation of the chalk.
Botanically, therefore, the yew must be regarded as contemporary with
such archaic types of vegetation as the Gingko, the Umbrella pine
(_Sciadopytis_), the Cycads, and the Horsetails.
Of the age of individual trees exaggerated estimates have been formed
and statements devoid of evidence made. Thus a fine yew at Yew Park,
Clontarf, near Dublin, is confidently shown to visitors as that under
which Brian Boruimh, King of Ireland, died on Good Friday, A.D. 1014.
Very likely he breathed his last under a yew tree growing on that spot;
but it is incredible that this should be the identical tree, for
although it has a wide spread of branches, the trunk only measures 12
feet in girth. Compare this with the recorded increase of a yew at
Ankerwyke, near Staines, which in 1822 girthed 27 feet 8 inches, and in
1877 had increased to 30 feet 5 inches, and it is clear that the
Clontarf tradition cannot be seriously entertained.
It would grievously wound the feelings of a townman of Chichester to
express any lack of confidence in the tradition which affirms that the
yews in Kinglye Bottom, near that town, were growing there when the
Norsemen landed among them a thousand years ago; but listen to Dr.
Lowe's chilly analysis of the grounds for that belief. "Had it been said
that yews were there, the statement would have been accurate; but that
'the yews,' meaning those still existing, were then in being, is too
large a demand on our credulity, as there is no tree at that place which
exceeds 15.4 feet in girth, or possibly about five hundred years in
age."[23] In like manner the belief that Montrose rested under the fine
yew at Abercairney, in Perthshire, must be dismissed, for it only girths
10 feet 7 inches, indicating an age of about 200 years; whereas to have
afforded effective shelter in the year 1640 it ought by this time to be
at least 370 years old.
The usual indication of age by annual rings of growth cannot be trusted
in the case of the yew, owing to a peculiarity in its habit of growth.
Injury to a main branch often causes all that part of the stem with
which it is connected to die under the bark right down to the ground,
the injury being repaired by a rush of young shoots from the living
bark; and these, if they get head room, grow vigorously and ultimately
become welded together. This process vitiates the record of annual
rings, and although it is a means of rejuvenescence which no doubt
prolongs the life of the tree, it would not be safe to assume that there
is any yew in the British Isles more than five hundred years old. Dr.
John Lowe was at great pains to collect evidence on this matter, and
failed to obtain _documentary_ proof of any yew exceeding 250 years of
age.
The practice of planting yews in churchyards helps to account for the
extravagant statements about the age of certain trees. Generation after
generation has become familiar with seeing a yew beside the parish
church; the date of the building of the church being accurately known,
it comes to be assumed that church and tree are coeval. Dr. Lowe gives a
case in point of two churches in contiguous parishes in Kent, each of
which has a large yew in the churchyard reckoned to be the same age as
the church. One of these yews measures 16 feet in girth, the other 17
feet; but as one of the churches dates back to the eleventh century, and
the other only to the fourteenth, the tradition about the trees would
have one yew to be three hundred years older than the other, although
only differing in girth by one foot.[24]
The poisonous properties of the yew are pretty generally known; in fact,
Pliny says that the adjective _toxicus_, poisonous, was once written
_taxicus_ from _taxus_, the yew. But in the _English Encyclopædia_ is
the mischievous statement--"It is now well known that the fruit of the
yew may be eaten with impunity." It is quite true that the pulp
surrounding the seed, with its sweet but sickly taste, does not possess
the poisonous properties of the foliage and young bark; but the seed
itself is deadly, numerous fatal cases having been recorded as the
result of swallowing it. On the whole, therefore, it is best to give
children nice chocolates on condition that they leave the pretty yew
berries alone.
A yew bearing yellow berries originated at Glasnevin about 100 years ago
and has been pretty extensively propagated in Ireland, but I have never
happened to see it in fruit, though I have a clear recollection of the
weird yew avenue at Glasnevin.
The Irish or Florence Court yew, described above, found high favour with
garden designers seventy or eighty years ago, owing to its fastigiate
habit; but, at best, it is a funereal object, and a more cheerful effect
may be obtained by planting Incense Cedar (_Libocedrus decurrens_),
Lawson Cypress or Pencil Cedar (_Juniperus virginiana_).
Dr. Prior, in his excellent work on the _Popular Names of British
Plants_ (1879), argued confidently that the names "yew" and "ivy" were
but different forms of the same word; but the late Professor Skeat
declined to admit that there was any connection between them. It is an
elusive element in English place-names; Yeovil in Somerset being
assigned to a totally different origin. Yeoford, in Devon, has been
variously written Uford and Yewford, and may possibly be named from a
yew tree, and so may Uffculme in the same county. The Gaelic _iubhar_
(pronounced "yure") is more easily recognised in the suffix -ure or
-nure to many Irish and Scottish place-names. For instance, Gortinure,
near Londonderry, is written _Gort-an-iubhair_ in the _Annals of the
Four Masters_; Glenure in Argyll and Palnure in Galloway are
respectively the glen and stream (_pol_) of the yews. The word is more
closely disguised in Newry, County Down; but that name is explained in
the aforesaid _Annals_ as derived from a yew planted by St.
Patrick himself, whence the monastery founded there was called
_Iubhar-cinn-trachta_, the yew near high tide-mark. The name was
shortened into an-Iubharach, whence the transition was easy to Newry. In
Galloway, Palnure is the stream of the yews, and in Ayrshire Dunure is
the fort of the yew-tree.
The Cypress and its Kin
Among all the green things that clothe this wonderful globe--that globe
which man strives so desperately to unclothe that he may pile upon it
leagues of bricks and mortar, defile it with the smoke of myriad
furnaces, burrow in it in pursuit of pelf to pay for still more bricks,
mortar and furnaces--among these green things, I say, no group bears the
badge of clanship more openly than the Cypresses (_Cupressineæ_), a
branch of the great order of Conifers. It contains but a single species
indigenous to the British Isles, namely, the common juniper (_Juniperus
communis_), which cannot aspire to rank among forest trees. Agriculture
and mineral industry have extirpated it in many districts where it once
abounded; but it is still a characteristic feature in the landscape on
some of the English chalk downs, in East Anglia, the Scottish Highlands,
western Ireland, and other places where it has been allowed to survive.
Near Capenoch, in Dumfriesshire, there remains a broad hillside thickly
covered with juniper, which seems to have been the chief growth there
from immemorial time.
[Illustration: MONTEREY CYPRESS (_Cupressus macrocarpa_)
AT WAKEHURST PLACE]
Tenderly as we should regard the juniper as a legacy from a bygone age,
reminiscent of a scenery now no more, it has no qualities to recommend
it for planting where it does not naturally grow, but the cypress group
to which it belongs contains many foreign species which are capable of
being turned to great advantage by British foresters. Although this
group has been classified by botanists under a number of distinct
genera, whereof the nomenclature has been repeatedly changed in a manner
perplexing to ordinary persons, one valuable quality distinguishes all
of them, namely, the durability of the timber they produce. It is
recorded that the doors of the original basilica of St. Peter at Rome,
erected in the fourth century, were of Mediterranean cypress (_C.
sempervirens_), and that they were perfectly sound when that building
was destroyed to make way for the present church in the sixteenth
century.
It is not possible to trace to its source the association of this tree
with human mortality. That it was so associated in Pagan civilisation
may be seen from Horace's pathetic poem:
Neque harum quas colis arborum
Te præter invisas cupressus
Ulla brevem dominum sequetur.[25]
The Mediterranean cypress is only hardy in the mildest parts of the
United Kingdom, and is therefore not suitable for general planting;[26]
but it has many relatives worthy of earnest attention from our
foresters. About forty years ago the late Mr. Peter Lawson, of the
Goldenacre Nurseries, Edinburgh, told me he expected that the American
_Thuja lobbi_ (as it was then called) was destined to surpass all other
conifers for British planting. The name of this tree has been repeatedly
changed; perhaps it is most commonly known as _Thuja gigantea_; but the
Kew authorities have decreed of late that its right name is _T.
plicata_. In British Columbia, Oregon, and Washington, where it is of
more commercial importance than any other tree, except the Douglas fir,
it is known as Red Cedar; which does not help much towards
identification, as it is quite distinct from any true cedar. In its
native forests it soars to a stature of 200 feet; and, although not
brought to this country until 1853, has already reached a height of 100
feet in some places. The most striking example known to me of its
behaviour under forest treatment in this country is at Benmore, on the
Holy Loch, where about 2,000 acres were planted in successive seasons,
1871-78, and consist now chiefly of this Thuja and Douglas Fir. It is a
tree most easily raised from seed, which it produces freely in this
country, and it is most easily handled in the nursery. About twelve
years ago I raised about 70,000 from 15s. worth of seed; but the bulk
of these, having been planted on low-lying, damp ground, succumbed to
severe spring frost; while the remainder, planted on higher dry ground,
now average 20 feet high. Of the timber, Professor Sargent, the leading
authority on North American forestry, reports: "The wood is very
valuable; it is light, soft, easily worked, and so durable in contact
with the ground or when exposed to the elements, that no one has ever
known it long enough to see it decay." Mr. Elwes has given a remarkable
photograph of a western hemlock spruce (_Tsuga mertensiana_) at least
one hundred years old, growing astride of an enormous trunk of Thuja,
which is still quite hard and sound (_Trees of Great Britain_, vol. i.,
plate 59). I feel convinced that when the fine qualities of this tree
are better known, it will largely replace European larch in our
woodlands.
[Illustration: DECIDUOUS CYPRESS (_Taxodium distichum_) AT SYON]
Of the true cypresses there are four North American species likely to
prove of high value in the United Kingdom; but in regard to them, it is
of the highest importance to use only plants raised from seed.
Unluckily, they all strike readily from cuttings, and many of us have
formed a poor opinion of these trees from being supplied with plants
propagated in that manner, which never can develop their true character,
but grow into unwieldy, branchy bushes. Lawson's cypress (_Cupressus
lawsoniana_) has specially suffered in esteem from this cause; but when
reared from seed, which is an easy process, it makes fine forest stock,
provided attention is paid to removing superfluous leaders till the
young trees are 7 or 8 feet high.