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Ghost Trees
Nominated for two major literary awards, this is an urban nature book telling the story of an historic part of London through its trees, past and present. Even in the brick and concrete heart of our cities, nature finds a way. Birds and mammals, insects, plants and trees—they all manage to thrive in the urban jungle, and Bob Gilbert is their champion and their chronicler. He explores the hidden wildlife of the inner city and its edgelands, finding unexpected beauty in the cracks and crannies, and uncovering the deep and essential relationship that exists between people and nature when they are bound together in such close proximity. Beginning from Poplar, the East End area in which he lives, Bob explores, in particular, our relationship with the trees that have helped shape London; from the original wildwood through to the street trees of today. He draws from history and natural history, poetry and painting, myth and magic, and a great deal of walking, observing and listening. Beautifully written, passionate and defiant, Ghost Trees tells the secrets and stories of the urban wildscape, of glorious nature resilient and resurgent on our very doorsteps.
358 pages, Hardcover
Published July 19, 2022
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170 people want to read
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Displaying 1 - 15 of 15 reviews
July 1, 2019
When you think of wild landscapes the images of great African Plains, or rainforest canopies spring to mind. These are often seen on the fantastic television programmes that the BBC and others produce for us. But the wild landscape is all around us if you know where and when to look. Even in the centre of London, which has lots of trees and parkland, there is wildlife all around. However, the parish of Poplar is not necessarily the first one that springs to mind when you do think of wilderness, it is one of the most deprived in the capital, has rundown areas and also hosts some of the vast sums of money travelling constantly around the world in the financial system.
The area was named after the Black Poplar tree, that used to be common here, but now has vanished. Thankfully there are lots of other trees and wildlife around if you know where to look or have a good guide. Bob Gilbert is that guide. His wife is a vicar in the East End parish and in this book he walks the streets seeking out the native trees and the immigrant plants that came over here when the area was part of London docks and even recent arrivals that are an aspect of that society. Each of these plants has a story behind why it is there, and he teases these out as you go through the book teaching us about the social context and the local history.
I loved the chapters on tracing the Black Ditch, a subterranean river that is under the parish. He is assisted by the artist Amy Sharrocks and they try and locate it by dowsing. There is a chapter where he follows the progress of the plane tree he can see from his home, documenting the changes through the seasons. It proves that natural history writing can be equally rich when it is centred on where you live as it is about the great spectacles of our planet. He takes part in the beating the bounds of the parish too and explains the gossamer-thin threads that link this back to the pagan ceremonies. I have only been to the area once, but my great grandmother was born in Poplar and lived in Stebondale Street, but this lyrical account makes me want to go and see it for myself.
The area was named after the Black Poplar tree, that used to be common here, but now has vanished. Thankfully there are lots of other trees and wildlife around if you know where to look or have a good guide. Bob Gilbert is that guide. His wife is a vicar in the East End parish and in this book he walks the streets seeking out the native trees and the immigrant plants that came over here when the area was part of London docks and even recent arrivals that are an aspect of that society. Each of these plants has a story behind why it is there, and he teases these out as you go through the book teaching us about the social context and the local history.
I loved the chapters on tracing the Black Ditch, a subterranean river that is under the parish. He is assisted by the artist Amy Sharrocks and they try and locate it by dowsing. There is a chapter where he follows the progress of the plane tree he can see from his home, documenting the changes through the seasons. It proves that natural history writing can be equally rich when it is centred on where you live as it is about the great spectacles of our planet. He takes part in the beating the bounds of the parish too and explains the gossamer-thin threads that link this back to the pagan ceremonies. I have only been to the area once, but my great grandmother was born in Poplar and lived in Stebondale Street, but this lyrical account makes me want to go and see it for myself.
May 21, 2019
Bob Gilbert’’s wife is a vicar in Poplar in the East End and he himself has worked with parks and gardens. Poplar is not the sort of area you associate with natural beauty: part of it is very rundown and some has been developed as part of Docklands. As Bob points out within parish there is both the second most deprived area in London, and also one of the wealthiest areas in the world. It is all the more surprising that he writes about the wealth of natural history there, particularly trees, but flowers, birds, fungi and insects. Ghost trees is his name for those trees that survive in an urban area from before it became built up, and he explores the background of different species.
As well as those trees that have grown without human planning, there is a whole variety of other trees that have been deliberately planted. Bob comments that after 1945 “A flood of new species was appearing and, with the obvious exception of Antarctica, they represented every continent in the world
This is not a tree spotting book – there are no pictures. Instead Bob takes different trees which he knows in the parish and talks about them in the light of history, folklore, poetry and science. For example, he begins with the Poplar. I knew the area was named after the poplar tree but I always imagined this was the tall narrow Lombardy poplar. In fact, it was the black poplar which used to be common in marshy areas such as Poplar was originally. These are the trees in Constable’s famous painting The Hay Wain. Bob talks about his visit to the National Gallery to see the picture and gently explains its social background. I will always look at that picture differently in future. Poplar wood was the most suitable wood to make matches and there was a Bryant and May match factory in the parish, whose building still exists. The women working there suffered from a poisonous illness as a result of the phosphorus used in making matches. As a result of their protest, the first trade union for women was founded and some of the earliest welfare institutions for workers put in place.
The resin from poplar trees was also used in making ointment to relieve wounds and would have been used for those injured in boxing. Boxing was one of the few ways in which a local young man could become nationally famous and Bob tells the story of one in particular. He explains how poplar trees can have a distinctive sound and in one case – the balsam poplar – a distinctive and attractive smell. He also quotes poetry about poplars by Chaucer, William Cowper and Gerard Manley Hopkins.
In fact there are no longer any black poplar trees in Poplar and Bob has to go as far as the Vale of Aylesbury to see any. The book ends with a chapter describing beating the bounds of the parish which concluded with a service in the churchyard of All Saints’ Poplar when a black poplar was planted during the recitation of Psalm 104.
Bob gives a similar wide-ranging background to many other tree species. You can find out the connection between the horse chestnut tree, Poplar and the foundation of the state of Israel. Also the association between the mulberry tree, the silk industry and the Normandy landings. I could go on quoting fascinating connections like that. It is all told with an exceptional eye for vivid detail, a personal imagination and a dry wit.
Bob begins his book by saying how he is concerned to show that nature is not something confined to the country without any place in towns, or that it is independent of human culture and history. On the contrary he shows over and over again how trees in particular are part of human life in many ways. He does not make much mention of the current environmental crisis, although the book is highly relevant to that concern. What is clear is the way that human life and what we think of as nature - plants, animals and insects – are all part of one universe.
As well as those trees that have grown without human planning, there is a whole variety of other trees that have been deliberately planted. Bob comments that after 1945 “A flood of new species was appearing and, with the obvious exception of Antarctica, they represented every continent in the world
This is not a tree spotting book – there are no pictures. Instead Bob takes different trees which he knows in the parish and talks about them in the light of history, folklore, poetry and science. For example, he begins with the Poplar. I knew the area was named after the poplar tree but I always imagined this was the tall narrow Lombardy poplar. In fact, it was the black poplar which used to be common in marshy areas such as Poplar was originally. These are the trees in Constable’s famous painting The Hay Wain. Bob talks about his visit to the National Gallery to see the picture and gently explains its social background. I will always look at that picture differently in future. Poplar wood was the most suitable wood to make matches and there was a Bryant and May match factory in the parish, whose building still exists. The women working there suffered from a poisonous illness as a result of the phosphorus used in making matches. As a result of their protest, the first trade union for women was founded and some of the earliest welfare institutions for workers put in place.
The resin from poplar trees was also used in making ointment to relieve wounds and would have been used for those injured in boxing. Boxing was one of the few ways in which a local young man could become nationally famous and Bob tells the story of one in particular. He explains how poplar trees can have a distinctive sound and in one case – the balsam poplar – a distinctive and attractive smell. He also quotes poetry about poplars by Chaucer, William Cowper and Gerard Manley Hopkins.
In fact there are no longer any black poplar trees in Poplar and Bob has to go as far as the Vale of Aylesbury to see any. The book ends with a chapter describing beating the bounds of the parish which concluded with a service in the churchyard of All Saints’ Poplar when a black poplar was planted during the recitation of Psalm 104.
Bob gives a similar wide-ranging background to many other tree species. You can find out the connection between the horse chestnut tree, Poplar and the foundation of the state of Israel. Also the association between the mulberry tree, the silk industry and the Normandy landings. I could go on quoting fascinating connections like that. It is all told with an exceptional eye for vivid detail, a personal imagination and a dry wit.
Bob begins his book by saying how he is concerned to show that nature is not something confined to the country without any place in towns, or that it is independent of human culture and history. On the contrary he shows over and over again how trees in particular are part of human life in many ways. He does not make much mention of the current environmental crisis, although the book is highly relevant to that concern. What is clear is the way that human life and what we think of as nature - plants, animals and insects – are all part of one universe.
April 30, 2022
It begins with a fruitless street-by-street search for the lost black poplars of marshy Poplar.
It makes all kinds of other excuses to meander through the parish street by street. This includes two different days out retracing the route of the Black Ditch stream – one through dousing and one through scientific method. Their dousing in the street attracted some curiosity from the workers at a tea stand. ‘Groping for an answer I suggested that we were employees of Thames Water and this was our latest technology, an assertion they seemed to have no problem accepting.’
This is the kind of meander that takes us past Holywell Priory and the site of Burbage’s first theatre, before the company and a small team of carpenters, in dispute with their landlord, dismantled the theatre overnight on December 28th 1598 and carried it away rebuilding it on the south bank as The Globe the following spring.
There is a particularly imaginative, if fashionable, think through what Poplar would be like if it became a ghost town in a great human extinction, rather like the K-T Cretaceous-Tertiary extinction 66 million years ago which eliminated the dinosaurs and allowed the mammals to evolve. What would take over? The gender-adaptable ash with so many strategies for reproduction? The Tree of Heaven, planted in Southwark a century ago to withstand pollution, that poisons the ground around it, that puts out suckers and which now with a warming climate can seed too? The buddleia with its like of decaying buildings and its 40,000 seeds per flower or three million in one shrub?
Bob Gilbert has his own lung problems and is aware of the impact of the plane tree above him in the garden that he watches month by month. He describes Richard Jefferies, dying of TB, creating a novel of post-apocalyptic London and its suburbs, starting with the plants. He describes a Victorian ‘obsession with catastrophe’. The fields became green everywhere, and trees begin to grow protected from grazing animals by briars and thorns. Stagnant polluted water bubbles up through the ground of what was the city.
Gilbert has not converted me to foraging shaggy ink cap mushrooms from London’s polluted streets or goji berries from the Duke of Argyll’s tea plant. But he entertains us with accounts of earlier plant gathering often linked to religious festivals – since he is married to a vicar – and excuses for excursions, mayhem and sex. And I will be looking out for goat willow, for hornbeam and for ash.
It makes all kinds of other excuses to meander through the parish street by street. This includes two different days out retracing the route of the Black Ditch stream – one through dousing and one through scientific method. Their dousing in the street attracted some curiosity from the workers at a tea stand. ‘Groping for an answer I suggested that we were employees of Thames Water and this was our latest technology, an assertion they seemed to have no problem accepting.’
This is the kind of meander that takes us past Holywell Priory and the site of Burbage’s first theatre, before the company and a small team of carpenters, in dispute with their landlord, dismantled the theatre overnight on December 28th 1598 and carried it away rebuilding it on the south bank as The Globe the following spring.
There is a particularly imaginative, if fashionable, think through what Poplar would be like if it became a ghost town in a great human extinction, rather like the K-T Cretaceous-Tertiary extinction 66 million years ago which eliminated the dinosaurs and allowed the mammals to evolve. What would take over? The gender-adaptable ash with so many strategies for reproduction? The Tree of Heaven, planted in Southwark a century ago to withstand pollution, that poisons the ground around it, that puts out suckers and which now with a warming climate can seed too? The buddleia with its like of decaying buildings and its 40,000 seeds per flower or three million in one shrub?
Bob Gilbert has his own lung problems and is aware of the impact of the plane tree above him in the garden that he watches month by month. He describes Richard Jefferies, dying of TB, creating a novel of post-apocalyptic London and its suburbs, starting with the plants. He describes a Victorian ‘obsession with catastrophe’. The fields became green everywhere, and trees begin to grow protected from grazing animals by briars and thorns. Stagnant polluted water bubbles up through the ground of what was the city.
Gilbert has not converted me to foraging shaggy ink cap mushrooms from London’s polluted streets or goji berries from the Duke of Argyll’s tea plant. But he entertains us with accounts of earlier plant gathering often linked to religious festivals – since he is married to a vicar – and excuses for excursions, mayhem and sex. And I will be looking out for goat willow, for hornbeam and for ash.
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March 3, 2024I'm going to leave this one unrated.
I don't know if it was me or my mood or what, but I just couldn't get into this book. The subject matter was interesting enough but the writing style jumped about a bit and it felt terribly scatty which is perhaps what my tired brain was picking up on.
I tried skim reading a few pages and then trying again, but my mind kept wandering and my interest couldn't hold.
I'm going to keep hold of the book and try again at some point in the future.
For now, no rating.
I don't know if it was me or my mood or what, but I just couldn't get into this book. The subject matter was interesting enough but the writing style jumped about a bit and it felt terribly scatty which is perhaps what my tired brain was picking up on.
I tried skim reading a few pages and then trying again, but my mind kept wandering and my interest couldn't hold.
I'm going to keep hold of the book and try again at some point in the future.
For now, no rating.
August 24, 2020
Gilbert's descriptions enticed me to hunt up images and information on the various trees that were not familiar to me. The connections he made between plants and people were often fascinating, especially the plants that arrived with different groups of immigrants.
May 15, 2021
Very good, I know a lot more about plane trees!
February 18, 2020
(2018) (My rating: 3.5)
The idea that intrigued me most is encapsulated in an epigraph excerpted from Gary Snyder's The Practice of the Wild inserted before the book's introduction: "Yet even a 'place' has a kind of fluidity: it passes through space and time...The whole earth is a great tablet holding multiple overlaid new and ancient traces of the swirl of forces." Gilbert himself explain a part of it in his introduction both to the book and the ghosts that inform it, "I became increasingly invovled in a form of ghost hunting, seeking out the resonances of what once had been; the surviving impacts, sometimes shaded or insubstantial, of features of landscapes which had now been lost." (p. 17)
The book's structure is informed by Gilbert's central premise, "It seemed to me, eventually, that I could follow the whole history of the area and its people through its trees...It increasingly feels as if we are adrift in three directions: cut off from history and a sense of our own story; cut off from nature and a relationship with the species with wich we share our space; and cut off from each other and a sense of local community. But in the process of piecing together the story of an area through its trees, I was, I discovered, beginning to reconnect with people, with the past, and with my surroundings. (p. 18 - 19)
I very rarely think about the features of an area depicted on traditional maps - roads, in particular - when I describe a place, and I struggle with navigation, especially when I am using a map to plan my journey. I remember places only through the features that I connect with personally - a restaurant where I ate or wished I had eaten, a store where I bought something memorable, a greenspace I enjoyed. For this reason, I can relate to Gilbert in this passage,"I was walking and examining and enjoying, and the parish had formed its own map in my mind. It was made up not so much of road names or the location of shops or swimming baths, but of the bush where the chiffchaff fed, the corner where the ragwort bloomed, the street that was lined with Turkish hazel. I was beginning to see both differently and more deeply, and to develop a shared ownership of the place, along with the blackcaps and the beetles, the hoverflies and the hornbeams, and everything else that lived there." (p. 152)
I am excited (and a little unsettled) by the parodox that place is fixed and inconstant, "I would undertake another, parallel journey, and one that would take me through time as much as space...I would...spend a year observing a single tree: its life and the lives it sheltered; its constancies and inconstancies; its furlings and unfurlings; its aspect in every weather; its moods at different times of day." (p. 153)
I am also impressed by Gilberts chronicle of the area's social history and am persuaded by some of the (political) conclusions he makes for our time.
* "The most recent wave [of immigrants to the East End] has been the Bengalis...In the parish itself they consistute nearly 40% of the population...There are, of course, tensions between the communities, particularly with a white working class that feels it has been 'swamped' by the newer arrivals. There are differences of tradition, language, culture and religion, but it would be as wrong to exxagerate these as it would be to ignore them. The greatest divisions in the community, it seems to me, are as much to do with roads as with race. Arterial roads dissect Poplar like some savage form of surgery, and with no respect for the impact on community." (p. 13 - 14)
*"It provides incontrovertible evidence that a global economy is leading to a global ecology, and that both will be to the eventual detriment of diversity" (p. 196)
* "More than anything else, the post-war tree was smaller. The pre-war trees had been architectural in scale: the broadly spreading chestnuts, the monumental planes and the abundent limes were giving way to the smaller cherries, crab apples, ornamental birches, rowans, whitebeams and cockspur thorns. It was not that there was anything wrong with these new species individually, and there were many beautiful trees among them, but collectively they represented a signficant change. Big trees make a big statement. The provide avenues with attitude. They had added significance to streets and grandeur to public buildings. In their size and solidity, they bestowed a sense of permance and place... To an extent, there were practicalities attached to this change. Smaller trees require less maintenance, an important consideration for local authorities whose budgets have been decreasing year on year. They require less pruning, cause less shading and produce less obstruction. They have smaller root runs and are therefore less likely to be held responsible for undermining nearby buildings... Beyond this, however, it is possible to see in these changes reflections of broader social currents... A certain self-confidence disappeared from the public realm, the market replaced the municipal and the role of local authorities gradually transmutted from that of a local leadership to that of facility management. (p. 210 - 211)
I am still skeptical of the restorative value of urban naturalism; I, at least, have never found solace from it. Gilbert quotes an Office of National Statistics figure estimating that 80% of the UK's population live in urban areas. He goes on to argue therefore that, "For most of us, the city is our starting point. If we are to restore any connection with nature at all, it is in the cities that we need to begin." (p. 3) This may be true, but I still value my home in the countryside more than my flat in London and am exceptionally grateful to have this choice.
Notes on characteristics of trees:
London Plane
* Its bark is a smooth, silvery grey, with a hint of orange as it ages. It is further enlivened by the peeling patches that reveal fresh, clean areas of pale yellow bark.
* The seeds are contained in dangling balls that continue to hang on the tree over winter.
* Its long-term popularity is attributable to its reputation for withstanding pollution.
Notes for further exploration / travel:
* The Vale of Aylesbury (https://getoutside.ordnancesurvey.co....) - visit to see the Black Poplar; the Aylesbury area has the largest concentration of Black Poplar in the country.
* Berkeley Square - visit to see Planes that are over 225 years old.
*Canal du Midi (https://www.worldheritagesite.org/lis...) - visit to see the most famous avenue of Plane Tress in France.
The idea that intrigued me most is encapsulated in an epigraph excerpted from Gary Snyder's The Practice of the Wild inserted before the book's introduction: "Yet even a 'place' has a kind of fluidity: it passes through space and time...The whole earth is a great tablet holding multiple overlaid new and ancient traces of the swirl of forces." Gilbert himself explain a part of it in his introduction both to the book and the ghosts that inform it, "I became increasingly invovled in a form of ghost hunting, seeking out the resonances of what once had been; the surviving impacts, sometimes shaded or insubstantial, of features of landscapes which had now been lost." (p. 17)
The book's structure is informed by Gilbert's central premise, "It seemed to me, eventually, that I could follow the whole history of the area and its people through its trees...It increasingly feels as if we are adrift in three directions: cut off from history and a sense of our own story; cut off from nature and a relationship with the species with wich we share our space; and cut off from each other and a sense of local community. But in the process of piecing together the story of an area through its trees, I was, I discovered, beginning to reconnect with people, with the past, and with my surroundings. (p. 18 - 19)
I very rarely think about the features of an area depicted on traditional maps - roads, in particular - when I describe a place, and I struggle with navigation, especially when I am using a map to plan my journey. I remember places only through the features that I connect with personally - a restaurant where I ate or wished I had eaten, a store where I bought something memorable, a greenspace I enjoyed. For this reason, I can relate to Gilbert in this passage,"I was walking and examining and enjoying, and the parish had formed its own map in my mind. It was made up not so much of road names or the location of shops or swimming baths, but of the bush where the chiffchaff fed, the corner where the ragwort bloomed, the street that was lined with Turkish hazel. I was beginning to see both differently and more deeply, and to develop a shared ownership of the place, along with the blackcaps and the beetles, the hoverflies and the hornbeams, and everything else that lived there." (p. 152)
I am excited (and a little unsettled) by the parodox that place is fixed and inconstant, "I would undertake another, parallel journey, and one that would take me through time as much as space...I would...spend a year observing a single tree: its life and the lives it sheltered; its constancies and inconstancies; its furlings and unfurlings; its aspect in every weather; its moods at different times of day." (p. 153)
I am also impressed by Gilberts chronicle of the area's social history and am persuaded by some of the (political) conclusions he makes for our time.
* "The most recent wave [of immigrants to the East End] has been the Bengalis...In the parish itself they consistute nearly 40% of the population...There are, of course, tensions between the communities, particularly with a white working class that feels it has been 'swamped' by the newer arrivals. There are differences of tradition, language, culture and religion, but it would be as wrong to exxagerate these as it would be to ignore them. The greatest divisions in the community, it seems to me, are as much to do with roads as with race. Arterial roads dissect Poplar like some savage form of surgery, and with no respect for the impact on community." (p. 13 - 14)
*"It provides incontrovertible evidence that a global economy is leading to a global ecology, and that both will be to the eventual detriment of diversity" (p. 196)
* "More than anything else, the post-war tree was smaller. The pre-war trees had been architectural in scale: the broadly spreading chestnuts, the monumental planes and the abundent limes were giving way to the smaller cherries, crab apples, ornamental birches, rowans, whitebeams and cockspur thorns. It was not that there was anything wrong with these new species individually, and there were many beautiful trees among them, but collectively they represented a signficant change. Big trees make a big statement. The provide avenues with attitude. They had added significance to streets and grandeur to public buildings. In their size and solidity, they bestowed a sense of permance and place... To an extent, there were practicalities attached to this change. Smaller trees require less maintenance, an important consideration for local authorities whose budgets have been decreasing year on year. They require less pruning, cause less shading and produce less obstruction. They have smaller root runs and are therefore less likely to be held responsible for undermining nearby buildings... Beyond this, however, it is possible to see in these changes reflections of broader social currents... A certain self-confidence disappeared from the public realm, the market replaced the municipal and the role of local authorities gradually transmutted from that of a local leadership to that of facility management. (p. 210 - 211)
I am still skeptical of the restorative value of urban naturalism; I, at least, have never found solace from it. Gilbert quotes an Office of National Statistics figure estimating that 80% of the UK's population live in urban areas. He goes on to argue therefore that, "For most of us, the city is our starting point. If we are to restore any connection with nature at all, it is in the cities that we need to begin." (p. 3) This may be true, but I still value my home in the countryside more than my flat in London and am exceptionally grateful to have this choice.
Notes on characteristics of trees:
London Plane
* Its bark is a smooth, silvery grey, with a hint of orange as it ages. It is further enlivened by the peeling patches that reveal fresh, clean areas of pale yellow bark.
* The seeds are contained in dangling balls that continue to hang on the tree over winter.
* Its long-term popularity is attributable to its reputation for withstanding pollution.
Notes for further exploration / travel:
* The Vale of Aylesbury (https://getoutside.ordnancesurvey.co....) - visit to see the Black Poplar; the Aylesbury area has the largest concentration of Black Poplar in the country.
* Berkeley Square - visit to see Planes that are over 225 years old.
*Canal du Midi (https://www.worldheritagesite.org/lis...) - visit to see the most famous avenue of Plane Tress in France.
November 17, 2018
Really enjoyed the journey around Poplar. I was an enthusiastic companion for the natural history and observations. I dragged my feet a little when the social history aspects were being shared. Nonetheless, it was a lovely journey and one that I am glad to have made.
August 18, 2019
It's fair to say that I've never coped well with nature. As a child of a New Town, my forays into nature weren't manifold. A tentative attempt to help my grandad in his steeply sloped Worcestershire garden usually ended up with him frustrated and me distraught, and school trips to local beauty spots were fraught with hazards both real and imagined. Wasp stings, insect bites, nettle rash - I dreaded them all and avoided them at all costs. It has been a real surprise then to find myself, in recent times at least, getting a little braver when faced with wild patches of woodland or sudden bursts of edgeland greenery. I used to avoid it, the shudder of range anxiety stopping me at the stile. Now, I'm far more likely to plunge into waist-high grasses and ankle-bothering nettle beds. I've grown up a little and realised that the countryside is no more conspiring to maim me than the often provisional and ungoverned urban zones which I quite happily wander around. During this shift, I've also become curious about what I'm walking through, or even sometimes upon. Thrashing sounds in the undergrowth still startle me, but I'm more alert now - eyes quickly darting over to see what made them. I can name some of the invasive species I inevitably walk among, and I'm no longer terrified that every tall plant is some new hybrid of Giant Hogweed which will stoop to burn and blister my fragile, town-boy skin.
In the midst of this shift in my appreciation of things natural, a few fortuitous books have landed to assist - and chief among them is Bob Gilbert's account of his growing knowledge and appreciation of the flora in the East London parish of Poplar. Taking a single parish, indeed one which is not primarily known for its green spaces - just 26.6% of Tower Hamlets is 'open space' compared to Havering's mighty 59% - provides a hyperlocal focus which could potentially be restrictive and cloying - but Gilbert's melding of local history, botany and autobiography is equal parts illuminating and life-affirming. In short, it is everything good local history writing could be, but very often isn't. Gilbert's account begins with his removal to the Vicarage of All Saints, his wife's first posting as a freshly ordained Anglican minister. The undercurrent suggests that the move isn't wholly what Gilbert would have wanted - but he weathers the change and begins to explore the area, determined to become a good "vicar's wife". As he begins to unravel the sometimes turbulent history of this tiny but significant patch of London, he also documents the relationship of people, trees and place on the basis that there is a shared history. After walking every street in the parish, he sets out to find a Poplar in Poplar - uncovering a history of migration and transplantation in the natural world which echoes the human experience of the East End. A quest for Mulberries is equally enlightening: unravelling stories of class and folklore which take Gilbert on a surprising journey from the beginnings of his quest to know Poplar.
While Gilbert refers to the long English tradition of parson-naturalists throughout the book, he is decidedly not given to bouts of proselytism. During the course of the book he examines the pagan beliefs about trees and other plants which still oddly govern our attitudes to nature today, and even has a stab at dousing the course of the long since disappeared Black Ditch from the trendy city fringes to the forlorn inlet at Limehouse where it now sputters fitfully from a diversionary sewer at times of high water flow. His writing is engaging and human throughout - and even when he tosses a few of those impenetrable Linnaean binomials into the text, it's usually both necessary and enlightening. Bob knows his trees - and he knows his adopted parish too. What's harder to discern for me is how the book reads to someone less well-versed in Poplar geography. Is it necessary to be able to picture the canal ramp up to the A12 or a particular scrap of land beside Bromley Tesco from my own tramping of the borough? I suspect not - but it is engaging to follow along with a map, understanding that all of this surprising diversity, fecundity and remarkable social history is crammed into such a tiny patch or urbanity.
The book ends with Gilbert resurrecting the Rogation - the beating of the Parish bounds in order to bestow a blessing on the people and their endeavours. He examines the pre-Christian origins of this ancient custom, the significance of the type of wood used for beating and the unhappy fate of those who were inverted and beaten along the way. He also persuades a good number of the flock to restage the walk with him, along the way opening a debate about public and private space within a parish which endures despite truly dramatic levels of inequality. Gilbert's gentle prose, his patient and humourous approach to complexity and his love for the topic at hand elevate what could be just another local treatise into something rather special and engaging. As I conquer my own prejudices about the greenery about me in the city or its edgelands, it's just this kind of thing I find myself wanting - and perhaps needing - to read.
In the midst of this shift in my appreciation of things natural, a few fortuitous books have landed to assist - and chief among them is Bob Gilbert's account of his growing knowledge and appreciation of the flora in the East London parish of Poplar. Taking a single parish, indeed one which is not primarily known for its green spaces - just 26.6% of Tower Hamlets is 'open space' compared to Havering's mighty 59% - provides a hyperlocal focus which could potentially be restrictive and cloying - but Gilbert's melding of local history, botany and autobiography is equal parts illuminating and life-affirming. In short, it is everything good local history writing could be, but very often isn't. Gilbert's account begins with his removal to the Vicarage of All Saints, his wife's first posting as a freshly ordained Anglican minister. The undercurrent suggests that the move isn't wholly what Gilbert would have wanted - but he weathers the change and begins to explore the area, determined to become a good "vicar's wife". As he begins to unravel the sometimes turbulent history of this tiny but significant patch of London, he also documents the relationship of people, trees and place on the basis that there is a shared history. After walking every street in the parish, he sets out to find a Poplar in Poplar - uncovering a history of migration and transplantation in the natural world which echoes the human experience of the East End. A quest for Mulberries is equally enlightening: unravelling stories of class and folklore which take Gilbert on a surprising journey from the beginnings of his quest to know Poplar.
While Gilbert refers to the long English tradition of parson-naturalists throughout the book, he is decidedly not given to bouts of proselytism. During the course of the book he examines the pagan beliefs about trees and other plants which still oddly govern our attitudes to nature today, and even has a stab at dousing the course of the long since disappeared Black Ditch from the trendy city fringes to the forlorn inlet at Limehouse where it now sputters fitfully from a diversionary sewer at times of high water flow. His writing is engaging and human throughout - and even when he tosses a few of those impenetrable Linnaean binomials into the text, it's usually both necessary and enlightening. Bob knows his trees - and he knows his adopted parish too. What's harder to discern for me is how the book reads to someone less well-versed in Poplar geography. Is it necessary to be able to picture the canal ramp up to the A12 or a particular scrap of land beside Bromley Tesco from my own tramping of the borough? I suspect not - but it is engaging to follow along with a map, understanding that all of this surprising diversity, fecundity and remarkable social history is crammed into such a tiny patch or urbanity.
The book ends with Gilbert resurrecting the Rogation - the beating of the Parish bounds in order to bestow a blessing on the people and their endeavours. He examines the pre-Christian origins of this ancient custom, the significance of the type of wood used for beating and the unhappy fate of those who were inverted and beaten along the way. He also persuades a good number of the flock to restage the walk with him, along the way opening a debate about public and private space within a parish which endures despite truly dramatic levels of inequality. Gilbert's gentle prose, his patient and humourous approach to complexity and his love for the topic at hand elevate what could be just another local treatise into something rather special and engaging. As I conquer my own prejudices about the greenery about me in the city or its edgelands, it's just this kind of thing I find myself wanting - and perhaps needing - to read.
June 5, 2020
I enjoyed this book more than I expected to. Bob Gilbert writes about the trees of Poplar, the east London parish where his wife is the priest.
But it is much richer than a tree-spotting manual. While the focus is trees, the author examines the whole of the natural world through the lens of a small patch of east London. He talks about birds, flowers, insects, etc. And he travels through time, weaving a comprehensive tapestry of historical myths and facts around the different species of tree.
It’s an area of London that I know well and the street names are familiar. But while I just saw weeds growing alongside pavement edges, Bob Gilbert sees dozens of different plants bursting with life. He even tracks a long lost river by tracking small dips in the roads. Reading this book has made me appreciate this part of London so much more.
But it is much richer than a tree-spotting manual. While the focus is trees, the author examines the whole of the natural world through the lens of a small patch of east London. He talks about birds, flowers, insects, etc. And he travels through time, weaving a comprehensive tapestry of historical myths and facts around the different species of tree.
It’s an area of London that I know well and the street names are familiar. But while I just saw weeds growing alongside pavement edges, Bob Gilbert sees dozens of different plants bursting with life. He even tracks a long lost river by tracking small dips in the roads. Reading this book has made me appreciate this part of London so much more.
January 12, 2021
Took a while to get into it but I really like how his examination of isolated charismatic trees comes together to weave a more holistic social and cultural history of this part of London. It becomes less about the trees but more about how people have changed the landscape and how nature has adapted to those changes. The author seems less concerned with the conjection that Londoners were in any way influenced by the pre-existing natural conditions of the tidal Thames. He imagines a powerful unstoppable human force in action, using trees as features to perversely exert their influences, which are themselves fluid as new groups of people and new economic forces take the fore.
August 4, 2023
A delight! A wealth of knowledge and a real inspiration to focus on the place you live, and all the nature that unfolds there. I thought this was excellent and was sad to miss a walk with the author that was recently scheduled.
September 15, 2019
Possibly unique. Tells us there is much more to unsung than areas than you might think. Explores the nature and the past of Poplar
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
August 23, 2020
Interesting delve into the ecology and history of my patch of east London. Not necessarily my usual read, but some fascinating snippets of local and wider history.
August 14, 2021
Brilliant. Informative and entertaining. Local and yet global.
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