Old Limes
It was feared some years ago that the arrival of the elm disease would wipe out a very large number of our best trees ; but the plague was stayed, or stayed itself, as often happens in this blessedly temperate island, which abhors excesses. Yet lamentable examples continue to be recorded here and there. It is, for example, announced in some news notes prepared for the knowledge of old Salopians that a great salient elm, most characteristic of the school site, has died of the plague. What matters more is the rapid breaking up of the glorious lime avenues in "The Quarry," a lovable space in the embrace of the Severn, known to many thousands, even of distant visitors, thanks to the popularity of the unique flower and raree-show held there annually. Like the pseudo-acacia, in Cobbett's time, the lime enjoyed an access of popularity in the eighteenth century, and all over England the trees are reaching their term of life. They must go. The only question is whether to make a clean sweep and plant new trees, or to patch ; and patching is not beautiful—witness the Broad Walk in the Christ Church meadows at Oxford. An avenue, at any rate, should be uniform. As to the date of the heyday of the lime, a circular clump or two, well-known to me, are alleged to have been planted as a Jacobite emblem. Whether there is anything in the theory I do not know ; but the trees are unusually old for limes.
Previous page
