Trees: A Woodland Notebook Containing Observations on Certain British and Exotic Trees — Story, Setting & Ideas

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Maxwell, Herbert, Sir, 1845-1937 Project Gutenberg 2012 Not confirmed
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Words 61,428
Reading time 268 min
Text sections 9

This digital edition of Trees: A Woodland Notebook Containing Observations on Certain British and Exotic Trees — Story, Setting & Ideas is described by source-level measurements including 61,428 words, 4 hr 28 min estimated reading time, and 9 detected text sections.

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Sir Herbert Maxwell's 1915 woodland notebook contrasts silviculture and arboriculture, blending practical observations on British and exotic trees with literary and historical references, drawn from his Scotsman columns.
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wn in Shillelagh Forest, Co. Wicklow. These trees, no doubt, were of the sessile-flowered race, but the forest has entirely disappeared; and the great oak-wood at Abbeyleix, in Queen's County, is composed of pedunculate oaks.

Besides our British oak, there are between two and three hundred distinct species of _Quercus_ in the Old and New Worlds, many of which are very beautiful trees, but not one whereof the timber approaches that of _Quercus robur_ in quality. The foreign oak most commonly seen in these islands is the Turkey Oak (_Q. cerris_, Linn.), a native of southern Europe and Asia Minor, which grows to an immense size; it is invaluable as a shelter for more valuable growths, especially in maritime exposure, but for little else, as its timber, though very heavy, is said to be perishable, and certainly produces an excess of sap wood. "We shall say little," wrote John Evelyn, "of the _Cerris_ or _Ægilops_, goodly to look on, but for little else."[4]

The ilex, or holm oak (_Quercus ilex_) is another tree which nobody need think of planting for profit, seeing that it produces timber of little value except for firing; nevertheless, it is one of the most ornamental trees that can be grown. Planted in the open, and given some attention in its youth to keep it to a single leader, it develops into a stately-domed mass of evergreen foliage, quite distinct in character from any other tree that flourishes in the British Isles. It would be sombre, did the leaves not glitter delightfully in sunlight; and in cloudy weather the wind sweeps up their white undersides and sets them all a-twinkle.

Although a native of the Mediterranean region, it adapts itself thoroughly to our climate, being perfectly hardy in all but the coldest parts of our country, and ripening its acorns plentifully in districts near the coast. Indeed, it is doubtful whether in its native region many loftier specimens can be found than one at Rossanagh, in County Wicklow, which, when I saw it in 1905, was 80 feet high. The tallest recorded by Mr. Elwes stands in the garden of the Hotel Hassler at Naples, measuring, in 1910, 90 feet high and 12½ feet in girth.

We commonly follow Roman usage in calling this tree "ilex," nor is it easy to understand why Linnæus appropriated this name for the holly, because Pliny plainly distinguishes between them, writing of the holly as "aquifolium." In English vernacular this oak was known as the holm oak, which is a corruption of hollen oak--_i.e._ the holly-like oak, because it is evergreen and the leaves of young plants are spined, though not so strongly as those of the holly.

Pliny has a great deal to say about this tree. He tells us that in the Vatican of Rome there was in his day an ilex older than the city, bearing a brazen plate inscribed with Etruscan characters, showing that it had been sacred of old. He also states that at Tivoli there were three holm oaks flourishing which were growing when Tivoli (Tibur) was founded centuries before Rome. Now, considering that Rome was founded about B.C. 750, and Pliny died about A.D. 115, it appears that the traditional age attributed to certain trees in his day was as liberal as it remains in ours. It would not be rash, however, to venerate the splendid ilexes in the grounds of the Villa Pamfili and the Villa Borghese at Rome as lineal descendants of the trees that Pliny loved.

In suitable districts near the sea the ilex is invaluable as shelter. Once established, it stands the roughest buffeting of storms without disfigurement. I am writing these notes within a hundred yards of an ilex at Ardgowan, on the Clyde. It is about 50 feet high, and stands isolated on a bare lawn, exposed to all the fury of tempests that come roaring up the firth, twisting its boughs in the most violent manner. Yet these are so tough as never to be broken, and the tree remains a model of symmetry and grace.

At Holkham, in Norfolk, there is a large grove of ilex, called the Obelisk Wood, the like of which for extent is not to be seen, I think, elsewhere. At Tregothnan, in Cornwall, also an immense number of ilexes have been planted in a long avenue beside the sea. It is remarkable--unique, probably--but it is not an arrangement to be recommended for displaying the peculiar beauty of the trees, which consists in their massive foliage. The branches meet overhead, and as you drive along under them the effect is gloomy.

Sir Herbert Maxwell opens his woodland notebook by drawing a sharp distinction between two branches of wood-craft: silviculture, the science of managing woodland for timber, and arboriculture, the art of rearing trees for ornament. He argues that British planters have historically excelled at the latter while neglecting the former, a confusion reflected in the names of societies devoted to trees. The book itself, originating in papers contributed to the Scotsman, aims to describe leading characteristics of native forest growths and indicate exotic species suited to the British climate, whether for economic or decorative purposes.

Silviculture versus Arboriculture

Maxwell identifies a persistent confusion between silviculture and arboriculture among British planters. He notes that reliance on foreign timber led Britons to view woodland as a luxury—providing shelter, game cover, and landscape ornament—rather than a commercial resource. The titles of relevant associations, he observes, are not Forestry or Silvicultural Societies but Royal Arboricultural Societies, underscoring the historical emphasis on decorative planting. This distinction frames the entire notebook, as Maxwell evaluates trees both for their timber value and their aesthetic contribution.

The Service Tree and Its Kin

Maxwell’s treatment of the service tree (Sorbus domestica) exemplifies his method: he cites its ornamental value at Vevay, records a notable specimen at Melbury Court (82 feet high in 1830), and quotes Evelyn on a medicinal conditum made from its fruit. He advises ordering from French nurserymen under the name Cormier. The wild service (P. torminalis) he praises for its deeply lobed leaves that turn orange, but notes its fruit is brown and unremarkable. The whitebeam (P. aria) he prefers for its snowy young shoots and bright red fruit, though birds quickly devour it.

Grafting Pitfalls and the Himalayan Pyrus vestita

Maxwell devotes particular attention to the Himalayan Pyrus vestita (also Sorbus nepalensis), calling it the noblest of the Sorbus group. He describes its large, white-woolly leaves and red fruits, but warns that nurserymen often graft it high on rowan stock, causing the scion to outgrow its support. The result is a pathetic failure: leaves try to unfold but cannot. His remedy is to procure seedlings or plants grafted low, so the scion can root independently. This practical advice reflects his broader concern with sound arboricultural practice.

Maxwell’s notebook rewards readers who appreciate close observation of tree form, growth habits, and historical uses. His voice is that of a knowledgeable amateur—a baronet and Fellow of the Royal Society—who draws on personal experience, literary quotations, and a network of correspondents. The book is best read as a series of essays, each focused on a species or group, rather than a systematic manual. Readers interested in the interplay of utility and beauty in woodland management will find much to ponder.

That rainy afternoon, Maxwell’s notebook made me linger on a single rowan’s bark, its grey sheen holding the drizzle. I kept thinking how his careful silviculture softened into something more tender, more personal. Later, my hand drifted to Woodland Gleanings: Being an Account of British Forest-Trees — Themes and Context, and found the same quiet intimacy waiting there, like a familiar path remembered.

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