Last week, I found myself walking through a once dense forest in south Cumbria. The hilltop was bare but for the occasional solitary tree. A sign said the forest had been cut down to reduce the risk of infection from Phytophthora ramorum, which causes larch tree disease, and that the woods would be allowed to grow back naturally. The sense of loss, and of my own mortality, was immediate – the forest will not grow back in my lifetime.
In 1978, the tree expert Gerald Wilkinson wrote Epitaph for the Elm as Dutch elm disease ravaged the UK’s elms in the second half of the last century. Now his niece, the novelist Lisa Samson, has written Epitaph for the Ash as the ash trees of Britain are ravaged, in their turn, by Chalara fraxinea (now known as Hymenoscyphus fraxineus) – ash dieback.
In her introduction, Samson tells us that during the writing of the book she was diagnosed with a brain tumour. Given that we are told at the outset that the ash trees will die out, and that nothing can be done about it, and that Samson’s brain tumour is life-changing, the writer is battling against a headwind in terms of maintaining tension. This could have worked in Samson’s favour, as her own mortality and that of the trees that are her subject become entwined, and yet a tendency to tell rather than show – particularly about her personal story – keeps the reader at a distance.
There are exceptions – the moment when Samson realises she can’t hear the man she is interviewing, but then dismisses it, is truly chilling – and more of this detail would have transformed the reading experience. It’s as though, given the real-life nature of her subject, Samson has set aside the tools of the fiction writer and I found it hard to find hope or optimism. Perhaps there isn’t any, and that is the point: it is, after all, an epitaph. Or perhaps it was just too painful to write.
Samson’s journeys, though, are fascinating. Her pilgrimage to discover the present state of the ash in the UK, and the work that is being done to accommodate or counter ash dieback, is both a labour of love and an extraordinary achievement, especially given the heart-rending physical limitations Samson eventually endures as a result of life-saving surgery.
Samson situates the ash tree in folklore, pondering a possible link between Enid Blyton’s The Magic Faraway Tree and Yggdrasil, the huge tree and giver of life at the centre of the Norse universe, there at the beginning of creation. She has unearthed a happy collection of literature and poetry that celebrates the healthy ash. Ash branches have been used to make spears and charcoal. The leaves are used to feed livestock in winter, and Herdwick sheep in Cumbria are still fed in this traditional way. Ash bark contains quinine, which may help to keep the sheep healthy. Ash hurdles were traditionally used to fence livestock and bread ovens in Devon were once fuelled with ash, while broom handles are often made of the timber. “There are many schemes around the country, funded by the Forestry Commission, to burn wood as an alternative to fossil fuels, but they were based on the reliability of ash.”
Despite the bleakness of the book’s entwined stories, hope eventually sparkles. As Samson painstakingly seeks to recover her health – although she will never be able to wander alone in the woods and mountains again – she uncovers a glint of hope for the ash. In 2016 it was discovered that some trees have a tolerance of the disease, although landscapes will still be transformed. Ultimately, this book is, as Samson says, “a rallying cry to pick up your walking sticks, pens, paintbrushes and cameras, then record and enjoy what we have while we still have it”.
• Epitaph for the Ash by Lisa Samson is published by 4th Estate (£12.99). To order a copy for £11.04 go to guardianbookshop.com or call 0330 333 6846. Free UK p&p over £10, online orders only. Phone orders min p&p of £1.99
