Byways in British Archaeology

by Walter Johnson

Fig. 74. Yew, Mells churchyard, Somerset. Girth, at a height of 3 feet from the ground, 11 ft 8 in. A slightly smaller tree stands a little towards the East, both specimens being situated on the South side.

the middle path is safest. We next ask how the yew came to be planted in churchyards. One section of antiquaries teaches that the object was to ensure a supply of evergreens for great festivals, and to furnish, in particular, “palms” for the procession on Palm Sunday (the second Sunday in Lent). That the “yew, or palm,” served this purpose is abundantly proved by entries in churchwardens’ accounts, and by the actual evidence of living eye-witnesses. Nor is it entirely a valid objection that box, laurel, broom and willow, have been or are still used for a like purpose[993]. It is on record, too, that twigs of yew were employed by the priests for sprinkling the Holy Water, in the Asperges, before Mass[994]. This class of evidence can be extended. The Liber Festivalis, or “Directory for keeping the Festivals,” an old

Fig. 75. Yew, Hambledon churchyard, Surrey. Circumference, at 3 feet from the ground, 29 feet; at 4 feet from the ground, 30 feet.

black-letter volume dated 1483, states that yew is carried about on Palm Sunday, “for encheson (= cause)[995] that we have none olyve that berith greene leef algate (= always)[996].” Irish peasants were wont to carry sprays of yew in their caps during Passion Week, and to place small portions beside the crucifix at the head of the bed[997]. On St Martin’s Hill, near Marlborough, as previously noted ([p. 194] supra), there is an ancient earthwork, to which, so recently as 1858, a band of villagers went in procession on Palm Sunday, carrying boughs of hazel, not of yew[998]. Although the yew was absent, the ceremony supplies an interesting link, and the connection of a Christian festival with prehistoric remains seems to indicate an early origin of the custom. Again, a well-known ecclesiastical ceremony consisted in the solemn blessing by the priest, on Palm Sunday, of branches of yew and box, which were then burnt to ashes, and these were preserved for use on the Ash Wednesday of the following year[999]. When visiting Wookey, in Somerset, during the summer of 1906, I was told that the old churchyard cross, recently restored, was known as “Yew Cross,” because it was formerly decorated with yew on Palm Sunday. It is an astonishing fact, moreover, that in the North-West Himalayas the yew is not only an object of veneration, but its twigs are carried in processions and incense is made of its timber[1000]. The enthusiastic antiquary might rashly adduce this as a proof of the Asiatic origin of the “Aryans,” let us rather suppose, without prejudicing that vexed question, that it is another instance of similarity of custom developing independently among diverse races.

Plainly, then, we have obtained at least a partial answer to our question. Further usages, of a somewhat kindred nature, suggest reasons for the presence of the tree in the churchyard. Yew branches were carried by mourners at funerals; sprigs of yew were scattered on the coffin; corpses were even rubbed with an infusion of the leaves, with a view to preservation[1001]. Dryden speaks of the “mourner yew”; in Twelfth Night the clown sings of “My shroud of white, stuck all with yew[1002]”; allusions are also found in the works of Dekker (1603), Thomas Stanley (1651), and other seventeenth century writers. The association of the yew with funerals survived until our day[1003]. Sir Thomas Browne, discussing, with sonorous eloquence, the burials of the ancient Greeks and Romans, tells us that “the funeral pyre consisted of sweet fuel, cypress, fir, larix, yew, and trees perpetually verdant,” and continues, later, “whether the planting of yew in churchyards hold not its original from ancient funeral rites, or as an emblem of resurrection, from its perpetual verdure, may also admit conjecture[1004].”

Turning to a more prosaic theory, we find it urged that yew-trees were planted in churchyards to protect the fabric from high storms and to shelter the assembling congregation before the doors were opened. The chief basis for this opinion is discoverable in the notable statute of which the date is believed to be 35 Edward I. (A.D. 1307): Ne rector prosternat arbores in cemiterio, that is, the rector must not cut down trees in the churchyard, save, as the act proceeds to specify, for the repair of the chancel[1005]. The statute was a repetition of a decree of the Synod of Exeter (A.D. 1287), which forbade the felling of churchyard trees, and expressly stated that they are often planted to prevent injury to the building during storms[1006]. A like prohibition, it is asserted, though mistakenly, had been earlier embodied in Magna Charta[1007]. It is more pertinent to the present inquiry to remark that the law is still binding. A foreign writer, whose name I cannot ascertain, is quoted as stating that the yew was planted for shade and conciones (= assemblies)[1008]. With reference to the above-mentioned decrees, it is argued that the yew would be the principal, if not the only, kind of tree which needed preservation. If, then, with Gilbert White[1009], we adopt the shelter theory as one explanation of the presence of the yew, we tacitly admit that the tree, to have been of any service, must have been planted long anterior to the date of the statutes. Was the yew, it will reasonably be asked, well adapted for a screen or shelter? On the one hand, Dr Lowe urges, as objections, the tree’s slow growth and the horizontal habit of its branches. Against this opinion we may set the more plausible view of Daines Barrington, that the thick foliage of the yew renders it better for the purpose than other trees[1010]. While not admitting that the shelter theory accounts for the original intention of the earliest planters, it seems obvious that even one yew would be effective in breaking the force of the wind from a particular quarter. Moreover, two or three trees were often grown in the churchyard. Slowness in reaching maturity would not be an absolute bar, if, indeed, the tree were not already well advanced in growth ere the church fabric was actually reared. As a matter of history, a case cited by Barrington shows that the felling of yews caused the roof of the church to suffer.

Other trees besides the yew would, without doubt, be also employed; whether this was the case in primitive times may, however, be questioned. The “rugged elm” of the Elegy would come into favour in due course. Examples of magnificent elms are to be seen at North Mimms (Herts), Iford (Sussex), East Bedfont (Middlesex), and in many Essex villages. Alfriston, in Sussex, has an immense elm, hollow with age. Somewhat later, the sycamore, as at Plumpton (Sussex), and the horse chestnut, as at Thursley (Surrey), were also utilized. This brings us probably to the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, though the precise dates are usually not ascertainable. Cedars occasionally replace the yew[1011], for example, in the churchyard of Lullingstone (Kent), or they supplement it, as at Ashtead (Surrey). Rodmell, in Sussex has a magnificent holm oak, besides a large horse-chestnut and numerous elms. Walnuts are not uncommon; Mitcham and Great Bookham (Surrey), Clee and Great Coates (Lincs.), furnish good examples. Boldre churchyard (Hants) contains a maple which was considered by Gilpin and Strutt to be the largest in England. A huge ash borders the Eastern yard at Westmeston (Sussex), but the ash, especially the “weeping” variety, is a feature of churchyards in the Northern counties. “They, too, had once their office, they handed on the fire.” Of these miscellaneous trees I have compiled, from observation, a goodly list, but always one meets the yew, either sporadically, or in each successive churchyard. Whatever may have been the case with our indigenous trees, such as the oak, and beech, or the common elm—a tree now acknowledged to be endemic—at the date referred to in the ordinances for protection, we do know that the yew then existed as a churchyard tree. Its most common position—on the South side of the building—is also that which is exposed to the prevailing winds and rainstorms.

A very popular theory, and one which merits close examination, is that yews were grown in the churchyard so as to ensure a ready supply of material for the manufacture of bows. Even should anyone audaciously deny that the yew is poisonous, he cannot dispute the existence of an old-standing belief to that effect. A tree dangerous to cattle, it was therefore argued, must be grown in an enclosed area. In Mediaeval times, though perhaps not so commonly in the early Saxon period, such a space was already furnished by the conveniently fenced churchyard. While we cannot allow the claim that the fact of the tree’s being poisonous will account for the felling of yew groves, while, rather, we must believe that the needs of archery would demand the actual plantation of thickets and woodlands, there is no reason for doubting that, where an additional tree was preserved for the village bowyers, the husbandman would desire to have it railed in. The yew groves, at least those artificially planted, would usually have their own fences, and would be inaccessible to cattle. Partly, the bow theory goes against the shelter theory, since constant lopping would impair the tree’s usefulness as a curtain. The bow theory, however, is not quite inconsistent with the employment of sprays of the tree on festal occasions.