enclosed the old commons and common woodland. Tommy Donnelly, the ancient tree specialist for the south-west area of Scottish Natural Heritage said to me that whenever I saw old beech trees in Galloway, I should ‘look for the mansion’. They would prove to be someone’s idea of poshing up their landscape, and they speak to me not only of southern dominance, but of Landlordism, of Enclosure and Clearance. (This political reading of the beech’s social standing is probably reinforced by an often-repeated little slogan of my father’s: ‘Tyranny is like a beech tree; it looks very fine but nothing grows under it.’ He certainly did not mean this to be taken as a comment on the tree rather than on his own strong democratic beliefs, but it has stuck in my mind.)
The coupling of oak and beech as king and queen of the forest, male and female, is another cause of irritation; it is an unusually silly anthropomorphism. At the same time, I also resent the fact that the beech has usurped the throne of the birch tree, which, in earlier times, was seen as the ‘queen’ of the forest – ‘the majestic sceptre of the wood’, according to the fourteenth-century Welsh poet Gruffydd ap Dafydd. 9 And as late as the early nineteenth century, the poet Coleridge described the birch tree as ‘The Lady of the Woods’. 10
Birch trees have as delicate and graceful, as ‘feminine’, an appearance as beech, and are far less grandiose. They were the first trees to return to Britain after the last glaciers retreated, and they flourish higher up and further north than other trees dare; their natural range covers the whole of Britain. ‘Birch’, often in the form of ‘Birk’ or similar, is the commonest place-name prefix in the country. They are still pioneers, the first trees to move into clear-felled forestry land or to push their way into heathland or neglected fields. Beech is shade bearing, but birches love the sunshine and open spaces. Birch pollen is produced in abundance and carries widely on the wind, so birch can appear anywhere – and does. Despite their fragile appearance and relatively short life span (seldom more than 80 years), individual birch trees are immensely tough – Rackham reports specimens that have fallen over collapsing cliff edges, tumbled to the bottom and then simply re-rooted and carried on growing. They are highly resistant to frost, capable of flourishing on the poorest soils and serve to consolidate loose earth on bare slopes, preparing it for other species. Recently, birch has been earning the respect of commercial foresters for this reason: it will plant itself, saving time and energy; is just as profitable for pulp as the more laborious conifers; and improves the ground rather than acidifying it as spruce and even larch do. While the spread of beech may well be, at least in part, responsible for the reduction of other species, particularly the lovely lost limes which were once the most common tree of our ancient woodlands, birch creates new territories for trees. Birches begin their season with long catkins, and their looser crowns and more waving fingers mean that the sun-dappling effect, ‘more golden than under any other native tree’, 11 lasts much deeper into the summer. In autumn their leaves turn a bright yellow. Their trunks, too, are smooth and peel into thin sheets, and are a radiant white colour (the adjective ‘silver’ in relation to birch seems to have been coined by Tennyson in the late nineteenth century). Though less imposing than beech trees, birches have their own particular charms.
There are two further cultural reasons for restoring the birch to her ancient throne. Birch, unlike beech, good only for ‘shade and fuel’, is a remarkably useful tree. It has been utilised throughout the United Kingdom, and especially in the Highlands of Scotland. John Loudon (1783 – 1843), the botanist and landscape architect, extolled the usefulness of birch wood:
[Highlanders] build their
The coupling of oak and beech as king and queen of the forest, male and female, is another cause of irritation; it is an unusually silly anthropomorphism. At the same time, I also resent the fact that the beech has usurped the throne of the birch tree, which, in earlier times, was seen as the ‘queen’ of the forest – ‘the majestic sceptre of the wood’, according to the fourteenth-century Welsh poet Gruffydd ap Dafydd. 9 And as late as the early nineteenth century, the poet Coleridge described the birch tree as ‘The Lady of the Woods’. 10
Birch trees have as delicate and graceful, as ‘feminine’, an appearance as beech, and are far less grandiose. They were the first trees to return to Britain after the last glaciers retreated, and they flourish higher up and further north than other trees dare; their natural range covers the whole of Britain. ‘Birch’, often in the form of ‘Birk’ or similar, is the commonest place-name prefix in the country. They are still pioneers, the first trees to move into clear-felled forestry land or to push their way into heathland or neglected fields. Beech is shade bearing, but birches love the sunshine and open spaces. Birch pollen is produced in abundance and carries widely on the wind, so birch can appear anywhere – and does. Despite their fragile appearance and relatively short life span (seldom more than 80 years), individual birch trees are immensely tough – Rackham reports specimens that have fallen over collapsing cliff edges, tumbled to the bottom and then simply re-rooted and carried on growing. They are highly resistant to frost, capable of flourishing on the poorest soils and serve to consolidate loose earth on bare slopes, preparing it for other species. Recently, birch has been earning the respect of commercial foresters for this reason: it will plant itself, saving time and energy; is just as profitable for pulp as the more laborious conifers; and improves the ground rather than acidifying it as spruce and even larch do. While the spread of beech may well be, at least in part, responsible for the reduction of other species, particularly the lovely lost limes which were once the most common tree of our ancient woodlands, birch creates new territories for trees. Birches begin their season with long catkins, and their looser crowns and more waving fingers mean that the sun-dappling effect, ‘more golden than under any other native tree’, 11 lasts much deeper into the summer. In autumn their leaves turn a bright yellow. Their trunks, too, are smooth and peel into thin sheets, and are a radiant white colour (the adjective ‘silver’ in relation to birch seems to have been coined by Tennyson in the late nineteenth century). Though less imposing than beech trees, birches have their own particular charms.
There are two further cultural reasons for restoring the birch to her ancient throne. Birch, unlike beech, good only for ‘shade and fuel’, is a remarkably useful tree. It has been utilised throughout the United Kingdom, and especially in the Highlands of Scotland. John Loudon (1783 – 1843), the botanist and landscape architect, extolled the usefulness of birch wood:
[Highlanders] build their
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