Coleridge to Vogelweide: The lime tree has long been an inspiration for the world's wordsmiths

READ PART ONE HERE: It’s time for lime: Why we need to follow Berlin's example

THERE is something reassuring about the leaf canopy of a lime tree, which has captured the imagination of civilisations, cultures and poets down the ages. Lime trees were the traditional focal points of German village life and for one of the most famous thoroughfares in Europe, ‘Unter den Linden’ (Under the Limes) in Berlin. English poet Samuel Taylor Coleridge was captivated when he wrote “This lime-tree bower my prison”, but of all the British bards Elizabeth Barrett Browning was most prolific on the lime or linden tree. 

Limes are inherently large trees with a natural place and position in dense climax woodland. But lime trees can only show their true beauty when grown singly or in avenues, with roots metres deep in rich fertile loam to support canopies rising 40 metres into the sky. 

The sight of the great lime tree on the lawn
which seemed to have come on purpose from the woods
From ‘Aurora Heights’
Elizabeth Barrett Browning (1806–1861)

Without other tree species to clutter its space the lime tree stands as one of the most easily recognised and endearing sights on the British winter skyline. Leaves start to appear in late April to quickly clothe trees with the most bright and lush green foliage on the spring landscape. While the universally accepted shade of the colour green (lime green) may be named after the citrus fruit, the green of Tilia in the British landscape could be described as equally familiar.

Lime trees in full flower at the very end of June were a magnet for pollinating insects and especially bees.

Lime foliates for a relatively short duration, not well established until May and one of the first to disappear after a short but glorious show of golden yellow in autumn. Like English elms, lime trees frequently bear individual branches of golden yellow senescent leaves at the height of summer, like strands of grey in head of black hair, when the rest of the canopy is green.   

Common lime is a widely-used amenity tree but some negative features limit its use along streets and roads and in premium parkland locations. Downsides include unsightly ‘bosses’ (lumps, knobs or studs) on the trunk and the profuse sprouting of shoots (epicormic growth) from burrs around the base of the trunk. Significant honey-dew drip happens in summer from heavy aphid infestation of the foliage. This can be avoided by planting Tilia petiolaris (silver-leaved lime), a weeping species of European ancestry immune to aphid infestation and ideal for roadside planting.  

Large-leaved lime shows little tendency for burring and is the most favoured choice for tree-avenue planting and other premium amenity situations where tall, elegant trees are required. 

A leafless common lime offering easy recognition against a clear, late-afternoon mid-winter sky.

One situation where burrs and side shoots can be a distinct advantage is on the relatively uncommon occasions when lime has established or been planted as a hedgerow tree, with shoots spouting from the trunk helping to form the hedge and maintaining its density. 

Grazing and browsing animals are highly selective. When mixed with ash, field maple and hazel, lime will fare badly. Deer and cattle are particularly fond of young lime shoots on the trunk and act as a natural tool for keeping the base and bole of common lime trees clean from unwanted shoots.    

According to Oliver Rackham, pollen records for the New Forest show how the woodland once supported lime late enough and in sufficient density to bequeath its name to the town of Lyndhurst. However, the lime tree disappeared from unenclosed woodland, being replaced oak, which was subsequently overtaken by beech. Pollen records show the same sequence of ‘tree events’ occurred in Epping Forest.

Unlike other deciduous forest trees of similar size, the lime tree is insect pollinated and clearly distrusts wind as an efficient agent of pollination and fertilisation. Instead of pushing out catkins in April, like beech, birch and oak, lime trees wait until early summer to become clothed in exquisitely fragrant flowers likened by many to honeysuckle. Free-flowing nectar from lime flowers attracts huge numbers of wild and hive bees,  which Elizabeth Barrett Browning clearly found a distraction to her thoughts.                
         
I had enough, there, of the lime, be sure
My morning dream was often hummed away
From ‘Aurora Heights’
Elizabeth Barrett Browning 

But there is a purpose to bee endeavours, apart from the pollination of lime flowers, for they convert nectar into lime-blossom honey, one of the most prized and sought-after commodities in the beekeeper’s collection. But bees are known to suffer from bingeing on lime-flower nectar, which is intoxicating and narcotic in excess and responsible for the death of large numbers of bees found under lime trees at the height of summer. 

However, they will not waste because passing blue tits and great tits prey on the dying insects, pecking at their stomachs to get at the sweet contents. 

Landscape common limes are traditionally tidied up of epicormic growth, like this tree pictured on a village green on Hadley Green on the edge of North London.

Lime pollen matures and is shed from each flower before the stigma is ready to receive the pollen grains. This ensures cross pollination courtesy of the bees attracted in huge numbers by fragrant juices at the base of the flower. This apparently fail-safe means of ensuring cross-pollination is fundamental for the uninhibited hybridisation occurring within the Tilia genus. 

Some older texts suggest lime trees are not really suited to our climate, although you would not think so looking at the size of mature specimens. 

Lime is not traditionally documented as offering support for the growth of ivy or sustenance to the semi-parasite mistletoe, but both are commonly seen in the heady heights of huge mature lime trees. 

Tall the linden-tree, and near it
An old hawthorne also grew;
And wood-ivy like a spirit
Hovered dimly around the two
From ‘The Lost Bower’
Elizabeth Barrett Browning 

HISTORY AND WOODCRAFT 

The Greeks called the tree Philyra and the Romans Tilia, but the Teutonic (German) roots of Tilia’s common name (Linden) are the most enduring. Tilia did more than any other tree to advance the cause of early scriptures and writings. Early civilisations realised the tough but flexible fibres of inner bark or ‘bast’ could be put to a number of uses including marking parchment for writing. 

The fibres of the flax plant (Linum) reminded early European tribes of ‘lin’ or ‘lint’, so they called the lime tree ‘linta’, ‘linde’ or ‘lind’. Linta and linde are old and modern German, respectively. ‘Lind’ is universally common to early English, Swedish and Icelandic. Lime at the end of the English literary line is a corruption of the Anglo-Saxon ‘linne’.

North Americans sensibly adopted the modern German ‘linden’ to avoid confusion with other meanings of lime, including the fruit of several evergreen citrus trees including Citrus aurantifolia (West Indian sour lime) and C. limettioides (Palestine sweet lime). North Americans also refer to Tilia as ‘basswood’ after the ‘bast’ or inner bark. 

Ironically and appropriately, the linden tree donated its name to the family of John Lindley, Britain’s most distinguished 19th-century botanist and horticulturalist, Carl von Linné. It has managed to find its way into the name of more than a few towns along the way, including Lyndhurst (Hampshire), Lindley (Yorkshire), Lindal (Lancashire), Linsheels and Lindisfarne (Northumberland), and Linfield (Northern Ireland) and at least six ‘Linwoods’ from Scotland to southern England.

Outwardly the height, straightness and substantial girth of the lime tree would indicate a valuable source of timber, but given the lightness of lime wood and the general uses to which structural timber is put, it is easy to see why the low-density white wood of the lime tree is not highly esteemed in the timber industry, primarily due to low durability. 

Lime really needs to grow as a stand-alone tree for full appreciation of the foliar canopy. Common lime is seen here in full leaf and full flower at the National Trust’s Morven Place in South Hertfordshire.

That said, lime was one of the earliest woods to be used over much of Europe and there are several clues in history why this was so. In prehistoric times, lime was readily available, yielding a low-density wood relatively easy to cut, carve and sculpt with early wood and stone tools. Separate but crucially important uses were realised for the tough inner bark or ‘bast’, like making mats and cordage. 

Despite its low durability and unsuitability for timber, the light and fine-grained wood of the lime tree found many other equally important and much more artistic applications, like making musical instruments and ornamental carvings. Grinling Gibbons (1648–1720), England’s most famous woodcarver, executed most of his work in lime wood. With commissions from a succession of monarchs,  Gibbons’ works are still to be found at many stately homes and places of worship, including Hampton Court, Windsor Castle and St Paul’s. Gibbons’ genius came from his unique ability to mould and shape wood, but his distinctive style and trademark, the cascade of fruit, leaves, flowers, fish and birds, sets his work apart from all other. 

Lime wood could never match willow for making cricket bats, but Tilia was on ‘the scoreboard’ in 2005 when the 290-year-old lime tree standing famously within the boundary rope of Kent County Cricket Club at the St Lawrence Ground, Canterbury, fell victim to high winds. Friends of Kent County Cricket Club had been concerned for the tree during earlier storms but it survived the Great Storm of 1987 and the subsequent severe gales in January 1990.  The tree was part and parcel of local cricket laws – any batsman whose shot hit the tree, however high or low, scored four runs, and batsmen could not be caught off the tree. Three batsmen are officially recorded as hitting balls that went completely over the top of the lime tree. A new lime tree was planted in March 2005 and Chris Cowdrey, the former Kent and England Captain, read a poem, ‘Farewell the St Lawrence Lime’.

UNDER THE LIME TREE

Winter buds on lime trees are easily distinguished by their red colouration. Only two bud scales are visible but there are many more beneath.

From the beginning of civilisation, men and women have always steered well clear of certain trees like Fraxinus (ash) and Sambucus (elder) associated with evil spirits and malevolence. Tilia was the exact opposite, a highly symbolic and benevolent tree that fostered love, oversaw justice, offered protection; nowhere more so than in Germany. Tilia is hallowed in German mythology and there are over 1,000 place names in Germany and countries of Teutonic influence derived from the lime tree. 

In pre-Christian Germany, Tilia was worshipped and closely associated with Freya, the guardian of life and goddess of fortune, love and truth. This was her tree. Legend claimed Tilia was protected against strikes of lightning because Freya was married to Wodan, the chief God of the Teutonic pantheon. As such, lime trees were perceived to offer protection against evil and catastrophic events. 
Close association with Freya as the goddess of love meant the lime tree was a romantic symbol, and none better than world-famous medieval love poem by Walther von der Vogelweide shows this:

Under the lime tree in the meadow,
where our bed was shared you can see
lovely broken flowers and grass.
English translation from ‘Unter der Linden’ (under the lime tree)
Walther von der Vogelweide (1170–1230)

It was English poet Samuel Taylor Coleridge with his poem ‘This lime tree bower my prison’ who put lime right at the forefront of British poetry. The poem was composed in June 1797 following a series of linked events. A long-planned visit by friends to Coleridge’s cottage coincided with an accident that stopped him from walking for the time they were there. One evening after they had gone he sat under the canopy of a lime tree in his garden and composed this ‘conversation type’ poem. The poem pondered lost opportunities to walk with friends who he may not see again. 

Summer evenings are the best time to be stimulated by the inner secrets of the lime tree canopy, as Coleridge’s perception of light effects through the foliage shows.

A delight
Comes sudden on my heart, and I am glad
As myself were there! Nor in this bower,
This little lime-tree bower, have I not mark’d
Much that has sooth’d me.
Pale beneath the blaze
Hung the transparent foliage; and I watch’d
Some broad and sunny leaf, and lov’d to see
The shadow of the leaf and stem above
Dappling in the sunshine.