“In almost every church yard throughout the kingdom, about the most ancient castles and mansions these trees were formerly planted, not only for their ornament, but for the great use which in those early days our countrymen made of them ; since the bows of yew can be traced as far back as the time of Julius Caesar. Of it the old English yeoman made his long bow; which he boasted nobody but an Englishman could bend."
A Compendium of Modern Husbandry
A Compendium of Modern Husbandry
A fine example of a Yew can be found in Crowhurst in Sussex, a small, isolated village, which is just five miles north west of its more famous neighbour, Hastings. Within the grounds of its parish church stands what is known as the Crowhurst Yew. One look at it and you are plunged back to prehistoric times, for it is certainly old. Four thousand years its ancient roots have clung to the soil one source claims but this, of course, has to be taken with a pinch of salt. However, it can be dated to 1630, that's four hundred years and this time there is solid evidence to prove it. In 1820, the local inhabitants of Crowhurst, for reason only known to themselves, hollowed out the trunk and a door was attached, it was probably then this evidence, a canon ball, was found. It was already partially overgrown with fresh wood and can be dated from the civil war of 1643, the farm opposite the church was held by Royalists and as such may have been a target for Cromwell’s troops. The canon ball was left in situ in the hollow trunk but was stolen by a Canadian soldier during the Second World War, it has since been returned. In 1630 the Yews girth was measured and found to be 30 feet and in 1955 33 feet 9 inches. In 2000 a cut was made that reduced the girth, this was done to remove a live branch that had cracked at the base.
Almost every churchyard throughout the kingdom, as my opening line states, had a Yew tree, in its Christian context the Yew is a symbol of resurrection but further back in time it was a symbol of regeneration. Our Celtic history saw our ancestors worship such trees, making offerings to them because these trees were the home of spirits or divinities who had power over life.
The Yew it seems, can regrow long after our ancestors turned it into beams built into their houses and, like the Crowhurst Yew,
after it stood the ravages of civil war.
Almost every churchyard throughout the kingdom, as my opening line states, had a Yew tree, in its Christian context the Yew is a symbol of resurrection but further back in time it was a symbol of regeneration. Our Celtic history saw our ancestors worship such trees, making offerings to them because these trees were the home of spirits or divinities who had power over life.
The Yew it seems, can regrow long after our ancestors turned it into beams built into their houses and, like the Crowhurst Yew,
after it stood the ravages of civil war.
What of this wondrous old Yew now?
It seems that much of it is dead or in a delicate state but what remains is complex and beautiful, but what stories it could tell if only it could speak.......
It seems that much of it is dead or in a delicate state but what remains is complex and beautiful, but what stories it could tell if only it could speak.......
Hail ! venerable tree ! whose ample head
Five hundred summers o'er this turf has spread ;
This sacred turf! where turn'd to parent clay,
"The rude forefathers of the hamlet" lay ;
Thrice hail ! for to thy gen'rous trunk, we owe
The hero's lance, and the elastic bow.
Oft when Bellona blew her trump to arm,
And discord drew the peasant from his farm,
To thee tall tree! the village youths would fly,
And from thy sturdy arms the war supply ;
Trim thy tough bows they knew so well to use,
To deal high deeds for the historic muse.
If for the Barons bold, thy bows were bent,
Ere stubborn John had wisdom to relent ;
Thrice blest be thou, for we are bound to thee,
For Albion's greatest boast, her liberty !
If for the haughty peers thy arms were spread,
When civil fury dy'd the white rose red,
T’ oblivion shall thy bard the tale consign,
The fault was theirs, altho' the deed was thine.
What tho' no more we ask thy pow'rful aid,
Since dreadful sulphur fits the warrior's trade ;
Still may'st thou hallow'd be, and flourish still
The pride, the glory of this peaceful hill ;
And may the clown that wounds thy boughs or bark.
Ne'er court thy shade, to hear the soaring lark ;
May dryads haunt him in the woodland way,
When sinks the moon before the break of day ;
And wond'rous tree ! that has ten ages stood,
May light'ning never blast thy hallowed wood ;
May those who guard thee without pain decay,
And thou, in turn, shed yew-tears on their clay.
Be't thine, O Walker !* to preserve this tree,
And he shall praise, who yields this verse - thee.
*The Walker of the poem was once the Vicar of the Parish Church in which the Yew stands.
Five hundred summers o'er this turf has spread ;
This sacred turf! where turn'd to parent clay,
"The rude forefathers of the hamlet" lay ;
Thrice hail ! for to thy gen'rous trunk, we owe
The hero's lance, and the elastic bow.
Oft when Bellona blew her trump to arm,
And discord drew the peasant from his farm,
To thee tall tree! the village youths would fly,
And from thy sturdy arms the war supply ;
Trim thy tough bows they knew so well to use,
To deal high deeds for the historic muse.
If for the Barons bold, thy bows were bent,
Ere stubborn John had wisdom to relent ;
Thrice blest be thou, for we are bound to thee,
For Albion's greatest boast, her liberty !
If for the haughty peers thy arms were spread,
When civil fury dy'd the white rose red,
T’ oblivion shall thy bard the tale consign,
The fault was theirs, altho' the deed was thine.
What tho' no more we ask thy pow'rful aid,
Since dreadful sulphur fits the warrior's trade ;
Still may'st thou hallow'd be, and flourish still
The pride, the glory of this peaceful hill ;
And may the clown that wounds thy boughs or bark.
Ne'er court thy shade, to hear the soaring lark ;
May dryads haunt him in the woodland way,
When sinks the moon before the break of day ;
And wond'rous tree ! that has ten ages stood,
May light'ning never blast thy hallowed wood ;
May those who guard thee without pain decay,
And thou, in turn, shed yew-tears on their clay.
Be't thine, O Walker !* to preserve this tree,
And he shall praise, who yields this verse - thee.
*The Walker of the poem was once the Vicar of the Parish Church in which the Yew stands.
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