As I write this piece, a much-loved local oak tree is under threat. Along with two other nearby trees it’s due to be taken down soon. The oak, estimated at between 150 and 180 years old, stands at the entrance to the town car park, overlooking the children’s playground. People are upset, although in many cases more sorrowful than angry. They’re a soft-hearted lot in Wivenhoe. Outsiders sometimes deride us as wishy-washy, beardy-weirdy. The other side of that coin, is that the town, as a whole is rather kind-hearted and community-minded. As Bob Richardson, a former Wivenhoe mayor, once told me, “There’s room for everyone here.”
What’s the beloved oak done wrong? Apparently, subsidence under nearby cottages has been diagnosed. The insurance people say that tree roots are to blame. Their solution? Cut the trees down. The town council have been reluctant. The insurance giant’s response is that they will not pay for any damages caused by future subsidence unless the trees are dispensed with.
In the event of continued subsidence, the council will become liable for repairs, a thing which could plunge them into serious debt, or even, bankruptcy. The steel fences, therefore have gone up and the trees currently await the chop. Fans of the tree are maintaining a protective round-the-clock vigil on it.
The current situation is not only Wivenhoe’s problem. Further researches revealed that similar battles are happening all over England. All too often cutting down trees whenever subsidence is detected seems to be the insurance providers’ first response. Couldn’t more of our venerable trees be saved? Many people believe so. I also discovered that there are alternatives to tree destruction. The facts are that it’s cheaper and quicker to chop them down first, rather than to save them. For an insurance mastodon, therefore, it’s a case of increasing the pressure on local councils. Because they nearly always cave.
Despite the now-standard lip-service paid to sustainability, carbon off-set and all the other ‘welcome-to-our-family’ corporate flannel, the bad old business world may have changed its pinstripes, but obviously not its spots. Wivenhoe could lose its oak tree -- and this battle. But we need to recognise the situation as part of a wider war, which, with information-sharing and new legislation we can probably win. The insurance companies need to be brought to heel sooner, rather than later.
Because, when beloved trees are cut down, it also causes hidden damage, a deeper-seated melancholy within the community affected. I, for instance, have known this particular oak tree for over half-a-century. During that time I’ve seen it in all its seasonal raiments: lime green, dark green, brassy gold and earth-brown. Generations of children have played under its boughs over the years. Teenage lovers will have dawdled here. The home-coming commuters of a century or more will have known this tree and been glad to see it. Our town, which to an extent has nurtured and retained something of its village character, will mourn the oak if it goes.
I have come to recognise, over my own lifetime, that underneath a threadbare top-sheet of Christianity, we are actually a nation of nature-worshippers. While a resentful archbishop flounces out of office, and lesser churchmen shrink from the disturbing revelations which are still emerging, a large proportion of their flock nowadays worships outdoors. They walk dogs or go angling. They wander the woods and sea-walls, watching wildlife. They cycle down narrow country lanes. Or they hack along Sunday bridleways on their horses. They find succour in the earth, its coastlands, its waterways, its ever-turning skies and most of all, those mysterious old woodland trees. For us, nature is the unspoken religion. It’s an old matriarchal faith. It doesn’t so much belong to us, as we to it. So, when you cut down a tree, particularly an old English oak, unless you have a very good reason for doing so, you’d better be aware of what you’re messing with.
In later researches, incidentally, I found headlines from other areas: “’Tree Could Have Been Saved’ claim experts.” That sort of thing. Well, of course trees can be saved. I’ve had people boring the buns off me in recent days, with the many ways in which our oak tree situation could be more adroitly handled. That’s not the point, though. If we continue to allow these bean-counting desk jockeys to casually sign the death warrants of the very trees which grace our neighbourhoods -- and our lives, then they’ll continue to do it. And the greedy shareholders will continue to count their profits, before booking holidays in places where the scenery’s rather grander than that which they’ve allotted us.
Photo by Hazel Humphreys.
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