BEAUTY IN TREES.

Auckland Star, Volume LXVII, Issue 235, 3 October 1936, Page 1 (Supplement)

BEAUTY IN TREES.

DESTRUCTION IN N.Z. CONTRAST WITH ENGLAND. (By NELLE-M. SCANLAN.) LONDON. I received this morning a strip of little "stickers" which have been issued by the Wellington Horticultural Society in preparation for Arbor Day, with a picture of six of our loveliest native trees, and the suggestion "Plant a tre°," and it brought joy to the heart of one exile. The old pioneering idea that treaj were something to be cut down, slashed, burnt and destroyed is at last dying out. To .some extent this early destruction of our magnificent forests was a necessity. The land had to be cleared for farming and cultivation. But unfortunately it was carried out ruthlessly, and often without justification. The new generation must repair the ravages If New Zealand's beauty is to be safeguarded and enhanced. This has long been recognised by the 1 few, but it is the converting of the many that alone can achieve this object. To-day a New Zealand woman arrived in London for the first time, and her first comment was, "Oh, these wonderful tree6 —trees, everywhere. I had no idea London was like this." Then she told how she and a group of friends had saved that one fine avenue in Palmerston North a few years ago, which official stupidity had ordered to be destroyed. These women stood with their arms around the trunks of the trees, and defied the men to cut them down. Their action caused the work to be stopped, useful publicity followed, and this vandalism ceased. It is tragic to realise how official foily can in 30 minutes destroy the growth of 30 years. It is for this generation to plant a tree, not to cut one down, and many of the now barren towns in the Dominion could, with small effort and expense, oe made places of beauty, reinstating trees in this now too bare but once forest land. Short Vision. A new country with a short history is inclined to short vision. What trees it has planted are those of quick growth, and blots of foreign pines begin to give an alien look to our landscape. Native trees are slow to grow, but let us hope that New Zealand has a long future, long enough to justify the wisdom of replanting the indigenous varieties. And there are also oaks, elms, chestnuts and planes where evergreens are not suitable. New Zealand has grown up, she is nearly a century old. The scramble for a living, for food and shelter and clothes goes on, but there is a dawning consciousness that there are other needs in life, and that people have minds as well as stomachs; eyes for beauty, and ears for sound.

Trees are one of England's greatest charms and, indeed, this is true of most European countries. In every part of the old world there is a reverence for trees. Our own trees may not have the four phases of these English trees, the stark branches etched against a wintry ?ky, the glorious burst of pale green leaves in spring, the full dark foliage of summer, and the russet and gold of autumn, but such places as Christchurch and parts of Auckland have shown how readily these importations can be adapted to our needs. When the traffic problem first became acute in England and the need for the modern by-pass (the wide, straight road which passes by on the of a town or village) became necessary, there was an outcry against these barren, unromantic highways which were cut across England's pleasant land. They were not in the old tradition. But these narrow, reeling, rolling roads between high hedges were not ado quate for modern motor traffic, so the first wide, straight roads were made; clean, bare cuts across the landscape, and England held up its hands in horror. New Roads Not to Be Ugly. A dozen years has taught them many things. The need was urgent, indeed so urgent and increasing that the Kingston By-pass, one of the first to be constructed, is now out of date, and after little more than a decade it is to be reconstructed and widened. The ideal highway to-day has two wide carriageways, divided with a strip of turf, so preventing head-on collisions, with cycle tracks also, and in parts footpaths for pedestrians. You may still motor down your leafy lanes and narrow winding country roads, but the modern by-pass lias its cliarm, for your view is not obstructed by hedges, which after a few miles can become very monotonous. The by-pass gives a wider view, the distant prospect of rolling hills, grassy meadows, with trees on every side.

All these new motor roads have been planted with avenues of trees, and after ten years they have attained a height and dignity that have silenced the critics. New roads need not be ugly. To meet modern needs does not require the abnegation of all that is beautiful. There is one by-pass near London which has been planted for miles with young poplar trees. Two years ago these stately young trees suffered badly in a storm. Many -were broken, and some were snapped at the root. Recently I drove that way, and found that every damaged tree had been replaced, and the young ones were rapidly filling ut> the gaps. It is quite common to read that 40 or 50 fine old oaks or elms have been blown down in the parks during a storm, but immediately they are replaced with young ones, and so the denuding effects of climate are met. Often plates are attached, and at Virginia Water, a few days ago, I found groups of trees so marked, the date of planting going back a century or more. Many of the unmarked trees are hundreds of years old. Nor is there always need to cut down trees when a new*road is made or a house built. I have often seen blocks of fiats erected on expensive sites in London, yet so designed that some fine old tree may be spared. And in many parts of the town'roads have been made to encircle a tiny island, on which a splendid tree, with perhaps a seat be-

; neath it, seemed to sit in the middle of I the road. Planted trees are always set near the kerb, a three-foot pavement ' being removed to facilitate its growth. ! Here they give shade to pedestrians and do not interfere with traffic. But growing trees are often left, even when they form an irregular line down the middle of the footpath. I can recall one in Hampstead opposite the hoilse in which George Du Maurier lived, where the trees reduce walking to a matter of single file. But no one would dare suggest that these trees should be sacrificed for the convenience of pedestrians. Galsworthy's Memory of New Zealand. And how well one remembei;s trees. When the late John Galsworthy was recalling for me his few memories of New Zealand, which he had visited 35 years before, one of the outstanding was: "A row of poplars neai Hastings." It had outlived the memory of scenic wonders. That avenue is still there, and long may it flourish, but I wonder how many motorists go out of their way to pass between these stately trees! As a child in Blenheim I had special veneration for an avenue of poplars on the way to the racecourse at Riverlands. When I was there three years ago I went in search of it, but, alas, it had disappeared. Some vandal had cut it down and a featureless landscape was impoverished by its loss. After the war there was a suggestion that trees should be planted as a memorial to the soldiers, each bereaved family planting a tree, making long avenues of remembrance. But the idea did not receive official approval,' and unfortunately thousands of pounds were frittered away, often on ugly and costly stone and sculpture. Had it been carried out New Zealand would now have been enriched by long and lovely avenues, their nearly 20 years of growth softening, the unsightly barrenness that mars so many of our towns. American Women's Gesture. Even the most bleak landscape can be made beautiful with trees and flowers. I remember travelling through Montana in America some years ago. It was a sweltering summer day, and the train raced along through unattractive country. We stewed and slept, with blinds drawn to shut out the heat and glare. We did not even trouble to lift the blind when we stopped at a station. But I shall always remember the town of Boise, Montana. The train stopped only five minutes, but suddenly every carriage door was flung open, and a dozen girls in summer frocks ran through the train, each carrying a huge basket of sweet peas, and tossed a bunch of them on to the lap of every passenger. Old men woke up, tired women stirred, crying children ceased wailing, and the stuffy carriage was full of the scent of flowers. Each of us had a posy with a card attached: "With the compliments of the Women's Club of Boise, Montana." Merely a gesture of goodwill to a lot of weary travellers who had passed that way. And when we drew the blinds we saw the station, like an oasis in the glimmering heat,, for it was set in the midst of a garden of sweet peas. I am not suggesting that such an invasion be planned, say, by the women at Marton Junction, as the main trunk halts for a gobble of soup or tea, but the incident sticks in my mind, and outlives the memory of wonders that I was lured far to see.