Andy McGeeney - Borrowdale Cumbria

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William Wordworth’s Trees

In 1803 William Wordworth may well have sat under this tree and taken notes for a poem entitled Yew Trees, certainly the lines show a good observational understanding of the yew’s main features and they express the timelessness and indestructible qualities of these old trees. The poem also suggests, like the Yew Tree Song about the Ormiston tree by Brian McNiall, the feeling that the tree knows more than we can fully appreciate.

Wordsworth refers to the “fraternal four” in the poem but only three are left today; one was blown down in a storm in 1883. There is another old yew directly below, by the river. The biggest tree is the one in the photograph. It is hollow enough to stand inside and its roots seem to be gracefully enveloping the shattered rocks around it. A branch fell down in 1999 and this has let light in which has encouraged new green growth on the unusually smooth and light coloured bole.

It is very difficult to estimate the age of these trees; they grow in very inhospitable conditions on volcanic scree in the wettest place in England (over 140” a year). Any shelter was removed many centuries ago and the sheep make sure nothing else grows nearby. Elsewhere in the Lakes the wild yews look stunted as if they were just clinging on to life in such hostile conditions which makes the size of the Borrowdale grove all the more remarkable.

In Queen Elizabeth the 1st time German miners who were extracting copper from the mountainside petitioned her for more fuel as they had used up all the available timber in the Borrowdale valley and yet they must have left the old yews untouched.

Yeomen Farmers

If you travel around the Lake District you will find many farms that have a yew tree growing by the farmhouse and there is an historical reason for this. The settlers in this area at one time were Vikings and they and their descendants had a hard time defending themselves from the Celtic Scots who regularly came over the border to do battle. There is a tradition that the local lord of the manor expected each farmer to provide a yeoman or yew man archer for defence. In exchange the lord allowed the farmer the freehold on his land and with it certain privileges, including the right to pass on his farm to his son. The farmers signified that they were yeomen farmers by planting a yew tree outside their homestead. The tree would at the same time provide wood for bows and arrows.

Other Cumbrian Yews

Yew trees are common in the Lakes and an attractive old tree can be found at Martindale church. The big ones at Patterdale and Coniston have unfortunately been lost. Many ancient yews were cut down in the Second World War on an island on Ullswater to enable safe clearance for low flying planes. Wordsworth is known to have planted seedlings around the Lake District.

The local names of Ullswater, Uldale and Ulverston remind us of the Viking connections. One of their gods was Ulla who lived in a yew grove and was the protector of archers.


YEW TREES

William Wordsworth, composed in 1803

There is a Yew-tree, pride of Lorton Vale,
Which to this day stands single, in the midst
Of its own darkness, as it stood of yore:
Not loth to furnish weapons for the bands
Of Umfraville or Percy ere they marched
To Scotland’s heaths; or those that crossed the sea
And drew their sounding bows at Azincour,
Perhaps at earlier Crecy, or Poictiers.
Of vast circumference and gloom profound
This solitary Tree! - a living thing
Produced too slowly ever to decay;
Of form and aspect too magnificent
To be destroyed But worthier still of note
Are those fraternal Four of Borrowdale,
Joined in one solemn and capacious grove;
Huge trunks! - and each particular trunk a growth
Of intertwisted fibres serpentine
Up-coiling and inveterately convolved, -
Nor uniformed with Phantasy, and looks
That threaten the prophane; -a pillared shade,
Upon whose grassless floor of red-brown hue,
By sheddings from the pining umbrage tinged
Perennially - beneath whose sable roof
Of boughs, as if for festal purpose, decked
With unrejoicing berries, ghostly Shapes
May meet at noontide - Fear and trembling Hope,
Silence and Foresight - Death and the Skeleton
And Time the Shadow, - there to celebrate,
As in a natural temple scattered o’er
With altars undisturbed of mossy stone,
United worship; or in mute repose
To lie, and listen to the mountain flood
Murmuring from Glaramara’s inmost caves.
 

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