A Wellingtonia aka giant sequoia dominates the skyline at St Mary's church in Hardmead, Bucks. It's one of the oldest of its kind in the country. But how did it come to be there?
Put your feet up and enjoy a tall (but true) tale for #NationalTreeWeek ...
In the 1850s, California was in the grip of the Gold Rush. While thousands panned for gold, others made their fortune on plant discoveries. Cornishman William Lobb had brought Chile's monkey-puzzle tree to the UK (like this one here) and was looking for the next BIG thing …
The first European to document the giant sequoia was hunter Augustus Dowd, who stumbled into a grove of 96 huge trees at Calaveras Grove while pursuing a grizzly bear. Lobb heard his story in San Francisco and headed straight to the grove to collect seeds, cones and small trees.
In 1854 Lobb shipped the first specimens back to the UK and marketed them as the ‘Monarch of the Californian Forest’. It sparked a craze for this gigantic redwood tree, which brought the excitement and epic proportions of the ‘Wild West’ to British parks and gardens.
In Britain it was named 'Wellingtonia gigantea' after the recently deceased Duke of Wellington. However, 'Wellingtonia' had already been used for another plant. Plus, the Americans preferred to call it Washingtonia, after their first President (and it was their tree, after all!)
After decades of debate, it finally received the botanical name 'Sequoiadendron giganteum' in 1939. However, 'Wellingtonia' stuck as the common name here in Britain.
18 giant sequoias can be seen in Oxford's University Parks & Arboretum (pictured) and there's an Oxford connection to Hardmead’s tree too: it was planted on Boxing Day, 1860 by Samuel Wilberforce, Lord Bishop of Oxford, to commemorate the church's reopening after its restoration.
The morning of 26 Dec was wet and stormy, but every seat was filled at the special prayer service, by clergy, gentry, yeomen and labourers — who had been given the day off work. The bishop (seen here) was attended by 2 rural deans and upwards of 20 clergy.
📷 Wellcome Collection
The Bucks Herald reported that 'After the service the Bishop planted a tree, "Wellingtonian Gigantia," in the south-west part of the churchyard, commemorative of the event.'
The reason for the choice of tree is unknown, but could have simply been a matter of fashion.
The tree planting was followed by luncheon, and all of the labourers of Hardmead and their families were treated to 'a substantial repast of beef, mutton, and plum pudding.'
Bishop of Oxford Samuel Wilberforce was one of the greatest public speakers of his day. He was the son of William Wilberforce — an MP who led the movement to abolish the slave trade — and was himself a passionate abolitionist, as well as a campaigner against animal cruelty.
But he's best remembered for opposing Darwin's theory of evolution in a public debate at Oxford Uni Museum of Nat. History in 1860, when he asked Huxley, a supporter of Darwin's theory, whether it was through his grandmother or grandfather that he was descended from a monkey!
This cartoon of Wilberforce at the debate appeared in Vanity Fair in 1869. He’s making his characteristic 'hand washing' gesture, which may explain why he was nicknamed “Soapy Sam”!
Back to Hardmead, where the giant sequoia planted by Wilberforce has grown steadily for almost 161 years. It's currently 26 metres tall with a trunk that spans a metre in diameter.
But given that the giant sequoia 'General Sherman' — the largest known single stem tree living on earth — is as much as 2700 years old, stands 84m high and measures 15m in diameter, our little tree still has a very long way to go!
A recent tree survey of the churchyard at St Mary's, Hardmead reveals how this small, moated plot just northeast of Milton Keynes reflects the changing landscape of wild and cultivated Britain.
After the last ice age, the warming climate made this land a welcoming home for yew, elder, holly, elm, and hawthorn. An Irish yew has joined its close cousin at Hardmead in more recent times, along with a Scottish pine.
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📸: Kristina D.C. Hoeppner
An ‘avenue’ of Sycamore grow along the path to the church — perhaps grown from saplings or seeds of much older sycamore trees at the rectory. We may think of the sycamore as a native species, but it only arrived on our island from central/eastern Europe in the Tudor period.
Some churches were deserted hundreds of years ago. Villages lost for generations. In others, people left less than 30 years ago. In these ancient places, over centuries, people come and go, use ebbs and flows. Sometimes they flourish, sometimes they’re fallow.
There are about 3,000 deserted medieval villages in England alone. One example is the diminutive St Mary Magdalene in Caldecote, Hertfordshire. The most common reason for desertion of medieval villages is death, depopulation and harvest failure as a result of the Black Death.
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The population of Caldecote declined heavily during the 14th century - by the end there were less than ten householders. The village limped on until the end of the 16th century when it was all but abandoned... Luckily, it now has a small group of steadfast friends.
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In churches all across this island are traces of rood-screens. Sometimes just the rood-beam remains, sometimes high in a wall a door that leads to nowhere...
In Wales, we have eight rood-screens in our care, today’s #thread celebrates their craftsmanship and survival.
The majestic 15th-century roodscreen is the glory of Llananno church, Powys. The rood-beam trails with vines, pomegranates and wyverns. There are thirty-four carved coving panels. The rood-loft above carries twenty-five canopied niches framing Biblical figures.
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St Brothen’s, Gwynedd is a 13th-century church with awe-inspiring woodwork from the 15th century. The screen runs to nine bays with simple chamfered edges. Like many others it lost its rood loft and the rood itself, after the destruction of roods by government order in 1548.
Edmund was an Anglo-Saxon Christian king who ruled East Anglia in the 9th century. He was killed in battle by Danish invaders. Legend has it Edmund was captured alive; whipped and lashed while tied to a tree, then shot with arrows and decapitated.
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His head was cast away in the forest. A grey wolf guarded it. Some of Edmund's supporters found the head of the king, which miraculously reunited with his body, and was then buried in a small chapel...
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A couple of years before we took the church at Hardmead into our care, two masons, Stedman and Hollowell were on the roof repairing the medieval crenellations. They used a small tin to make a time capsule, and buried it within the walls.
Last week, we unearthed it.
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It’s just over 40yrs old, but finding a time capsule is such a thrill. It’s meeting a person who worked on this church before you. It’s a reminder that we “are only trustees for those that come after us”. That we’re just fleeting moments in the long lives of these places.
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Elsewhere, we found a scrunched-up newspaper – the front page of the Daily Worker from Tuesday 1st April 1947. Perhaps one of Hardmead’s earlier workers had been reading about Clement Attlee, MI5, and the price of tangerines on their lunch-break.
The restoration of Papworth St Agnes is one of our greatest success stories. But in 1979 it looked like this. The stained glass had been cut out, the roof tiles lay in piles ready to be sold, the font was thrown into the churchyard. A demolition order had been published. #thread
The Domesday Book of 1086 records a church in this Cambridgeshire village, but today, the earliest surviving fabric dates to the 15th century. Interestingly, at this time, the hamlet was the family seat of Sir Thomas Malory, author of Le Morte d’Arthur in 1469. 2/
In the mid-19th century, the distinguished Ecclesiologist, J.H. Sperling arrived as the new rector. Sperling had a habit of rebuilding churches and Papworth St Agnes would be no different. He's responsible for the distinctive chequerboard patterning of flint and clunch. 3/