HISTORIC TREES

Evening Star, Issue 21636, 3 February 1934, Page 19

HISTORIC TREES

LINKS WITH BORDER SENTIMENT THE ASHIESTIEL OAK The world is beautified by trees, sheltered by trees, secluded and enriched by trees. Who has not felt the pleasure of a beech tree in early spring? The thin sunshine gilding the huge grey-green trunks and heavy branches that soar or droop with slow tapering slenderness until there comes a last fairy tracery of supple twig and soft green mist, where bursting leaves paint in endless shades the wakening woods that smell of summer’s glory with the strengthening sun (writes W. Nielson Brown, in the ‘Weekly Scotsman’). Or, in contrast, stand by a tall pine in winter, when cruel frost has wrought a silence on all life. Tho straight bare trunk towering to a black canopy against tbe chill blue sky, grim and austere, but noble and arresting with the sense of proud indifference that comes through perfect shape and mighty strength. There is the great oak that shades the gracious park. The tall elms by the quiet graveyard, where the old kirk guards its dead. The lovely silver birch on tho bare hillside, lonely except for the sheep and moorfowl, which find a peace amidst the bracken, grass, and tangled heather. The stately ash mirrored in the ever-changing river, dressed in hard green for its short summer life. All delight with their strength or beauty, size, or grace. But in a world of trees there are some outstanding by legend, incident, or tradition. Trees famous as trysting places for lovers; trees whereon men were hanged; trees that served as bowers to welcome guests; trees that were the favourites of great men or little communities. Time has swept away many of these mighty trees, weakened by old age, limb after limb wrenched to crashing ruin by savage gales or the might of soft snow and its conquering weight. A few old trees remain, over which is cast the glamour of long dead men and their deeds of good or ill. Ever fewer they grow, for the individualising of trees by sentiment or story is a lost custom of the past. Somehow the planting of trees by Royal or important personages has no appeal to the romantic imagination, such as rises before the ripened trees of old-time lore and sentimental human association. LINK WITH SCOTT. Stand at the little cottage—the Robins’ Nest opposite Ashiestiel House, on the Peebles road, and look across the river to the line of trees on the far bank. One oak is there, one oak alone, and it is famous for all time, a memory when tho changing years have ended its virile strengtn in the last oblivion of graded dust. Sir Walter Scott wrote ‘ Mann ion ’ and other romantic works beneath this oak, his favourite tree, in the happiest time of his strenuous life—the time of fame, mental peace, and congenial work in loved surroundings; the splendid time he spent at Ashiestiel. The oak grows slowly—other trees beside it grow quickly. It might have been the only tree on the river bank in these far-off days, and so became the writer’s choice and favourite. The “ Wizard of the North ” sat beneath this tree and heard the Tweed, which he loved, murmur its immemorial song in the quietness of the rounded hills which hold its winding bed. The old wooden seat slowly rotted with the rains and river mists, and ended at last in the relentless decay that time exacts on all worldly things. The strong oak has lost its individualism in the faster growth of many a stately neighbour, which now make a mirrored girdle for the gracious river. But the sylvan walk is still there from the long white house, and the mind’s eye can see a lame man sauntering in rare content by the, sunimer Tweed to find the seat beneath his favourite tree —Sir Walter Scott’s tree below the wooded hill of Ashiestiel. DWARFED PINES OF BRIDGEHEU6H. Between Selkirk and Lindean, on the Galashiels road, there is a sudden turn ac an old farmhouse. The garden waif faces the road, and is about 14ft high on this frontage. On the top of this wall is a single tree, a Scots pine, its roots forced through the mortar of the close-built stones, where no means of sustaining life seem possible. But there it stands and lives, a perfect example of the dwarfing of trees, so much practised by' the Japanese for miniature gardening in landscape. The tree is about 3ft high, and has been exactly the same height and shape for seventyfour years to my knowledge, and it may he any age over that. My father was intensely interested in these trees—there were three in his day—and never passed without stopping and speaking of their extraordinary condition of suddenly arrested growth when the sustenance available for actual life was used to its maximum. Three trees were all once on the top of this high wall, wrenched and swung by every wind, but tenaciously holding to the stones in spite of Nature’s savagery. Some time ago, before the war, one of the trees was torn from the wall at last, perhaps through the decay of the wall itself. The February gale last year triumphed over another, leaving the last survivor to its lonely wait through the many years. There are few Selkirk folk who do not know the Bridgeheugh trees, and now there is left alone one last- little pine that lias seen 100 years at least, and may seo 100 more above the King’s highway, where mechanical noise and speed have changed the quieter travellings of long ago. Perhaps in its undying span of arrested life it may see all things change once more in man’s endless progression of unrest. CEDAR OF DRYBURGH. An alien in a far land, the huge cedar of Lebanon contrasts with the native trees ns a man of black skin in a land of white people. Standing before Dryburgh House, once tho rest house of the Abbey, this noble tree is the largest in the country, towering its black limbs as a great general pall to solemnise the lovely scene around the dead that lie beneath the green turf, where moulders the ruined pile of man’s high dedication to his God. Lovely beyond compare is the setting of the ruined Abbey, held in quiet privacy by a swing of Tweed’s fair stream. About it is all the sacred mystecism of these abandoned places where God once esme nigh to his people. In this atmosphere of lost religions ceremonial with its one-time faith and emotion, the black cedar of the Holy Land is a stern and solemnising factor in the atmosphere of Dryburgh’s lovely scene, where lie Scott and Haig, with many another quiet or turbulent Borderer. Many people know this famous tree in its ancient environment of old world beauty. CAPON TREE IN JEDWATER. The most probable explanation of this name is “ n large tree in front of an old Scottish mansion, where the laird met visitors ” —though Fernieherst Castle is three-quarters of a mile away. There were oilier capon trees at Brampton and Alnwick.

The Jed water capon tree is a sur- ; vivor of the Jed Forest, an oak that has 1 seen out a thousand years in the Prior’s 1 Hough, near Jedburgh. Dreaming, it I stands on a warm summer’s day, and wo 1 can dream with it and see again the scenes of past centuries. The Druid priest with golden sickle holding the mystic rites of sacrifice in the deep woods. Queen Mary dashing past with , anxious haste to face the wild land be- ( fore the Hermitage. The red blood gushing over the battlements and stone steps of Ferniehorst, when triumphant Scots revenged the English wrongs with , fierce death. The red glow when the lovely Abbey was sacked with the , senseless bloodshed of abbot and monks. What all the savagery of the winds could not accomplish in , the destruction of the _ tree the soft snow did by its weight. Two huge limbs crashed, and the symmetry i of the tree was spoilt for ever. But the ancient landmark still stands, perhaps the best known tree on the Borders. BEMEBSYDE COVIN TREE. Beside Bemefsydo House, the old house of the Haigs, stands a splendid , Spanish chestnut, “ the old sweet chestnut ” of Haig records, called the Covin tree. It is also described as “ the_ company or trysting tree, beneath which in bygone times it was the habit of the lairds to welcome their guests.” Tradition makes it the same age as the house, but it looks centuries older. From its shade the Borderland lies like a great map, guarded by Eildon’s treble peaks which dominate and dwarf to fairy loveliness the far-flung sylvan scene of river, field, and hill. Capon may be a variation of 11 covin ” or “ coven,” which might suggest a gathering of w>td les - No evidence of this in tradition or legend is known, so the “ trysting tree ” is a more reasonable and pleasant explanation. HANGING! TREE AT BRANXHOLM. Hanging was always popular in the Borders as a means of ending dangerous or annoying enemies. Most men of consequence kept a hanging tree, or dale tree, and with the constant fends and brawls such an accessory was highly necessary. There are hanging-

shaws for general use in Yarrow and Gala waters, but the most important private hanging trees were at Tushielaw in Ettrick, Branxholm, on the outskirts of Hawick, and Holydene, near Bowden Village. * The trees at Tushielaw and Branxholm have vanished. The ash at Tushielaw, with the rope “ nicks ” made by swinging victims, stood by the Tower until fifty years ago, when hoys destroyed it while smoking out wild bees. The “ dule tree ” at Branxholm passed to a memory about ten years ago. This grim old tree stood by Branxholm Tower, built and rebuilt after the visits of the Earls of Northumberland and Surrey on destruction bent, when the “ red cock ” crowed over the Teviot and reddened its clear water with mirrowed flame. Tlie tree had its secrets, grim burdens that swung in the wind, better forgotten in the greater memories of brave days. HOLYDENE’S HANGING TREE. This fine old oak, with a most suitable outstretching branch, was much used for hanging by the brutal Hahy, or Robert Ker, who held the Castle of Holydene. It stands in the big deer park, once the outskirts of the Ettrick Forest. About two miles away is a triangular patch known as Haby.s graveyard, and it is interesting to think what a spade might reveal m the way of old armour or swords. On the castle was inscribed: — Feir God, Fie from sin, Mak’ for the life everlesting to the end. It is strange that a hanging tree was necessary for a house with such a fine code. DOUGLAS TREE AT CAVERS. This great chestnut must be of extreme age. It is known as the ‘ Traditional Tree,” as the Douglas family are supposed to suffer a disaster if a limb falls. By chains and props this is prevented if possible, as snow is the worst enemy of old trees. It stands in front of tlie fine House of Cavers, near Hawick, founded as a tainily seat ol the Black Douglas clan by a son of the dead Dougins that won the fight at

Otterburn. The Douglas banner and gauntlets of Percy are still in the keeping of the house. This old tree must have seen some stirring scenes of Border war and oldtime romance, as knight, lady, squire, or reiver passed to hunt, fight, or ride through the pleasant land of Teviotdale. The warfare of its house is accomplished, the broad Border line has ceased to trouble two great races of fighting men, and the old tree but awaits the oblivion of time and change with its memories of Jong ago. There are other vanished trees. The Tooting Tree at Galashiels, where Royal hunting parties once assembled. The aged thorn under which “ True Thomas” sat on Eildon slopes and met the Fairy Queen. And other living trees—every man has Iris favourite amidst the far-flung woods, but that is his affair.