Nobles of the Wood

The Sycamore Gap tree stood alone in a dip along Hadrian’s Wall. For over a century, it shaped the landscape around it. It was a solitary presence known not just for its beauty. It seemed to belong exactly where it was. In 2023, it was cut down in the middle of the night. Two men, both experienced tree surgeons, planned the felling and recorded the act on a phone. 

The loss triggered something beyond anger or disbelief. It left people bereft. Thousands of images and memories were shared. Couples remembered proposals. Children remembered walks. Artists, filmmakers and writers spoke of its strange power. A stump remained, and saplings have since been grown, but something irreplaceable was taken. What the act revealed, perhaps, was how much a single tree can mean and how easily meaning can be severed.

That feeling is not unique to Northumberland. Here in Ireland, we are losing trees too. Not all at once, not with chainsaws and bravado, but slowly, through disease and ecological pressure. Ash trees have been disappearing quietly and steadily. Since the arrival of ash dieback in 2012, a kind of thinning has taken place. Trees that once marked field boundaries, lined boreens, and shaded playgrounds are now skeletal or gone. If you notice, it stays with you.

There are good people working on this. Researchers have gathered ash from across Europe. They are looking for signs of tolerance. They seek trees that, despite everything, are still standing strong. They are building a bank of genetic resilience, slowly, with patience and long vision. That work matters.

A new threat is approaching from the east. The emerald ash borer is a beetle that has already devastated ash trees in North America. It has now reached parts of Russia and Ukraine. It has not arrived here, but it moves easily. On the wind, in the backs of trucks, in crates. It does not need permission.

The beetle lays its eggs under the bark. Its larvae feed on the inner layers of the tree, disrupting the flow of water and nutrients. In time, the tree dies. In North America, some species of ash have shown limited resistance. Europe has only one widespread native ash. If the beetle spreads, there may be little to stop it.

Efforts are underway to track its movement. Authorities are working to restrict the transport of ash wood that might carry it further. There are also trials underway using tiny wasps that prey on the beetle’s eggs and larvae. The aim is to introduce a natural check on the borer before it spreads further. But caution is warranted. Interventions like this carry real risk. There is a long history of biological control efforts that have solved one problem while creating others. The cane toad was introduced in Australia to control sugarcane beetles. It became a highly invasive species. It had devastating effects on native wildlife. In Hawaii and the Caribbean, mongooses were brought in to manage rats and instead decimated bird populations. The harlequin ladybird was introduced across Europe and North America to combat aphids. It has displaced native species. It has become a widespread pest. Even rabbits, introduced to Australia for hunting, remind us how quickly a small decision can reshape a landscape.

These stories should serve as warnings. Ecosystems are not passive systems we can tweak and repair like machines. They are complex, interwoven and often unpredictable. We must move with care and with humility.

But if we are to speak of trees only in terms of threats, losses and countermeasures, something essential gets lost. We miss the deeper register, the one where trees are more than useful or endangered. They are cultural beings, present in memory, ritual and the order of things.

In pre-Christian Ireland, trees were not just part of the landscape. They were part of the law. Under the Brehon legal system, which lasted in some form until the seventeenth century, certain trees were classed as nobles of the wood. Ash was one of them. Alongside oak, yew, holly and hazel, it held legal status and was protected by specific penalties if harmed. Felling an ash without permission led to a fine. 

These laws were not symbolic. They reflected a society in which trees were part of everyday economic and spiritual life. The health of the land and the justice of the people were not separate concerns. Trees offered shade and shelter, fuel and fodder, medicine and meaning. Their destruction carried a social cost because their presence carried weight.

Mature ash trees were seen as indicators of the wellbeing of the land itself. They marked boundaries, guarded wells, stood near homes and grazing fields. Their flexibility made them useful. Their presence made them significant. They were not just there. They were held.

It may be that part of the reason this loss of ash trees feels so hard to name is because we have already become used to not seeing. As trees have been pushed to the edges of fields and roads and lives, so too has our relationship with them become thinner, more abstract. For many, the connection that felt immediate in childhood has faded. We simply don’t recall the smell of bark anymore. The cool of shade has also slipped from our minds. The thrill of climbing that captivated our younger selves is forgotten. In forgetting how to notice, we also forget how to care.

The danger is not only in what is dying, but in how quietly we allow it to go.

To recover something of that early intimacy, not as sentiment but as understanding, may be one of the most important tasks we have. We do not tend to what we do not value. And we do not value what we no longer see. A tree standing at the edge of a field may not look like much. Until it is gone.

So what do we do?

We keep watching and learning. We try to protect what can still be protected. Maybe we can recover something of that older way of seeing. In this view, trees are not simply useful or decorative. Instead, they are companions in a shared world. In this world, they are present, known, and accounted for.

If you see a healthy ash near you, take note. These trees matter. Even now. Especially now.

You can share its location with those working to protect what remains. Teagasc’s healthy ash project welcomes reports of living trees that show signs of resilience. Simple acts like this may help shape what is still possible.