Photo by: Kate Yay
Albino and fox save city trees
Who’d be a city tree? Shat upon by hordes of feral pigeons. Lubricated and pebble-dashed by vomiting and urinating humans. Gnawed to matchsticks by vicious squirrels and deranged bankers. Yup, it’s a tough life, this tree life. But all is not lost.
London’s Mayor Boris Johnson – a bumbling albino knight in shining bike shorts – has stepped in to save the day. He’s promised to ditch the universally derided propaganda free paper, “The Londoner” and plant 10,000 new trees instead. They’ve already planted around 1000 of them.
Buoyed by this news, I fancied popping out to celebrate by visiting one of London’s Great Trees - as nominated by the website www.treesforcities.org. Imagine my excitement when I discovered that some of the trees were endorsed by none other than London radio DJ, Neil “Doctor” Fox! Apparently not only does the self-proclaimed “Foxmeister” have impeccable medical credentials, he knows his woody plants.
Anyway, I figured it would be nice to check on a listed tree in the most soulless areas of London. So I headed to Cheapside in the heart of London’s Square Mile. On the corner of Wood Street is a 250-year-old London Plane. It stands in the grounds of a chapel destroyed by the Great Fire in 1666. The tree itself apparently survived a direct bomb hit in World War II. Genuinely exciting stuff, right? True living history. When the Cheapside Plane was planted, Hogarth was busy drawing Gin Lane and grey squirrels were about 150 years away from reaching the UK. In fact, in the tree’s lifetime 12 monarchs and 73 Prime Ministers have come and gone and an extra six billion people have been added to the planet.
Perhaps being an ancient city tree isn’t such a grim lot – maybe they get a bit of respect after all. Then the reality. The tree stands behind a rusty iron fence in a tiny square patch of grime towered over by decrepit office buildings. All a bit sad and grubby.
In the square, I saw a woman sat on a rotting bench smoking a soggy fag. Being an irritating type, I decided to ask her opinion on her surroundings.
“Do you know anything about this tree?”
She looked at me as though I’d smeared pigeon shit on her cigarette.
“No. Should I?”
“Well, it’s very old.”
“Right. Great.”
The charm didn’t work and she turned her back to me.
So, there we have it. The Cheapside Plane. One of London’s Great Trees and silent witness to countless events and milestones in the capital. Yet it’s tucked into the concrete like a huge thorn in the arse of a giant.
What would the Foxmeister say?
