'Of all the trees that grow so fair, Old England to adorn, greater are none beneath the sun, than oak, and ash, and thorn'

Rudyard Kipling, Tree Song (1906)

'Well, our peasantry will always have it that it brings the worst of luck to sleep near an ash-tree'

M.R. James, The Ash-Tree (1904)

...................

It seems that the ash tree (Fraxinus excelsior) has always divided opinion.

Personally, I think this noble staple of Britain's deciduous woodlands does not warrant the 'tree of ill omen' stigma applied to it way back when, but a bad reputation is often hard to shift.

But why this tree in particular? Why not the oak, lime or beech?

A rummage through the leaf litter of history unearths several clues, but as is often the way, this cursory investigation seems to pose more questions than it answers.

Early Christians viewed the ash tree as pagan, and it is still held sacred in many non-Christian traditions.

Here in Britain where the ever-pragmatic church has a habit of subsuming those aspects of paganism it finds useful - the Easter and Christmas festivals, for example - it would appear that the idea of a sacred ash was a tree too far.

So, it has always been an outsider, but there is one far more prosaic reason- which when added to the mix- seems to have cemented its bad reputation.

Ash timber is renowned for its strength and durability and has been cultivated for thousands of years.

The ancient skill of ash coppicing- that is the regular systematic cutting to encourage vigorous growth- produces numerous straight, strong poles that have a wide range of practical uses, and it is a timber that gets tougher as it continues to dry.

These ash poles can be used as handles for pickaxes, mattocks and hammers, but, most famously, as staves for besoms.

The besom is a traditional broom made by the tying of birch twigs to a shaft of ash with binds of willow: all of which have pagan associations. And despite a certain boy wizard using this rudimentary cleaning device as a mount for an aerial ball game, it will always be better known more simply as the 'witches' broomstick'.

So, timber from this practical, strong pagan tree finds a specific application with a very controversial new user, and the rest, as they say, is history.

And lo, the ash became a truly cursed tree.

And, here we are, many centuries later, with some people still averse to either having a house near an existing ash or even planting one in their garden, all due to the fear of bad luck.

I consider myself a rational person, but even after having planted several trees in my garden, none of them are ash, despite its beauty and eagerness to grow. Was this a conscious decision? Probably. Is there a logical reason for not doing so? No.

But I won't deliberately walk under ladders, either.

Oh, and I do have a spare ash sapling in a pot if anyone is willing to test the superstition.

Picking up on the pagan's belief in the magic of the ash, its sycamore-like 'helicopter' seeds- which hang in prominent dark clumps from the branches throughout the winter- have almost mystical powers of both distribution and germination.

If you have ash trees anywhere near you, have a careful look in your borders. I would be very surprised if there isn't an ash sapling nestling somewhere in the undergrowth

Easy to recognise from those distinctive seven to 13 'pinate' leaves sprouting from a central stalk and their smooth brown/green infant bark, these saplings are tough- as you will find out when you try to pull them up- and they do not give up easily.

If left, these saplings can grow into impressive specimen. A mature tree can reach 40 metres (130 feet) in height with mainly upward trending branches and an untidy domed crown.

It is this general impression- together with those highly distinctive leaves fluttering in the breeze in spring and summer- that make the species so recognisable. And come late autumn and well into winter, it is those 'Devil's purses' of seeds hanging darkly against a slate grey sky that give the species away, despite the lack of leaves. Easily recognisable, even at a distance.

So, we now understand the roots of this tree's negative reputation, what it looks like and how it behaves, but it would be unfair not to spend a few moments looking at the positives.

It is a most beautiful tree when in full leaf and an object of stark beauty when bare in winter and it sure is a fine contribution to the beauty of the British landscape.

The sturdy timber of the ash is useful in many practical ways, and in additions, it is also reputed to burn better than any other, wet or dry.

So prized is ash as firewood, Lady Celia Congreve praised it in her famous 1930 'Firewood Poem'. Here she diligently and rhymingly goes through every imaginable type of firewood and lists the qualities of each. Pleasingly, ash comes out on top:

'But ash new or ash old

Is fit for a queen with crown of gold

But ash wet or ash dry,

A king shall warm his slippers by'

And you don't have to wander too far from the fire to find the ash venerated for other less practical reasons.

The Celts view it as highly sacred tree and it is those notable characteristics of the species - the deep roots and the tall heaven-bound branches- that inspired Norsemen to declare it 'The Tree of Life': that powerful and enduring symbol of the connection between heaven and earth.

How ironic then, that this, the 'Tree of Life', should be facing its own existential threat.

Hymenoscyphus fraxineus is a fungus that causes 'ash dieback', a fatal and incurable disease that has spread across Europe this century, hitting the British Isles in 2012.

It is estimated that up to 70% of our ash trees may well be lost to the disease; a disaster in scale comparable to that of Dutch Elm Disease in the late 1970s.

But there is hope: some ash trees show natural resistance, and the boffins are working on this to halt the spread of the pandemic.

So, we may have more in common with the ash than we think and perhaps now is the right time for a cultural rehabilitation of this unfairly maligned and wonderful tree.

I bet you now want to see an ash close up with a refreshing drink in your hand, don't you?

Well, the garden at the Red Lion in Preston has several specimens, currently providing welcome shade from the summer sun.

Enjoy them all.