Take a bough: How — and why — you should plant a mature tree

Trees come in all shapes and sizes. The fashion for planting them has waxed and waned over the centuries, but has fitfully gathered pace since the 1970s, when a growing sense of Britain’s relative treelessness in comparison with most of our European neighbours led to a series of campaigns, beginning with ‘Plant a Tree in ’73’. The idea that those trees should be British natives is a fairly recent concern and one that is reflected in, for example, the Forestry Commission’s transformation in our own lifetime from commercial forester to woodland conservator.

The stage of life at which trees should be transplanted to their final position has also formed a key part of this debate. In the early 19th century, many landowners were awarded gold medals by the Society of Arts for sowing hundreds of acres of their estates with acorns. In Lanarkshire, Sir Henry Steuart of Allanton famously transplanted several hundred mature trees to improve the view from his library window and published a comprehensive account of the work in The Planter’s Guide of 1828. His methods were by no means new, as he acknowledged. Later in the century, William Barron achieved lasting fame by moving, among many others, the ancient Buckland Yew in Kent 56ft from the church on which it was encroaching, with complete success.

In modern times, the taste for instant maturity reappeared with the Garden Festivals of the 1980s and 1990s, those regeneration projects in Liverpool, Stoke-on-Trent, Glasgow, Gateshead and Ebbw Vale dreamt up by Sir Michael Heseltine. It was startling to witness those giant trees, all of which appeared to have been brought from Continental nurseries, and to see the reaction here as British nurseries developed the appropriate response to the sudden rise in demand. This sort of thing can’t be done overnight, but, now, the production of semi-mature trees is a familiar feature of our horticultural industry.

All this coincides nicely with a growing awareness of our wild flora. We could spend the rest of our lives debating which trees are native — sweet chestnut, for example, was probably brought here in Roman times, or sycamore, first recorded in the 16th century — or even what constitutes a tree, as hazel appears in every such list, but is, in reality, a shrub. Yet let us for now concentrate on the dead certs in this debate, such as the two oak species, beech, yew, birch, ash, field maple and wild cherry, and not forget some less familiar, but equally welcome, choices that might include the trembling aspen or the lumbering black poplar. Inevitably, the nursery trade will concentrate on the big names, but, in time, the choice will widen. It takes years to bring a tree from propagation to semi-maturity and there remain some things in life worth waiting for.

The lifting and planting of a big tree is quite a performance, not something to be undertaken on a whim. There is now plenty of choice among nursery suppliers, but, once the decision is made, and the tree is yours, the hard work begins. As when moving any large and heavy object, you must know exactly where it is to go, and how it will get there, before you set off. The chances are that the tree will occupy more space than you had imagined: most arboreta are full of trees planted too close to each other, because collectors cannot resist temptation even when giving the matter careful thought. You must know the soil conditions on the proposed site and the aspect, by which I mean the outlook and the conditions, including exposure to prevailing winds, which will be quite different to the relatively sheltered conditions in a well-ordered nursery. This is an expensive operation and you will not want it to fail.

It is all too easy to come up with a standard selection of native trees to suit all circumstances, but the native flora varies from place to place, soil type to soil type, region to region, so your period of observation and homework will be time well spent. Beech, for example, is a tree of free-draining soil in southern England: elsewhere, it is a worthy specimen ornamental tree that typically does well, but requires more room than the planter’s imagination usually allows it. The similar, but smaller hornbeam is generally confined to heavy soils in south-east England in the wild and looks perfectly at home there. Rowan and birch, on the other hand, are pioneers of heath and moor; we look for alder and willow on the margins of rivers and lakes; yew we expect to see on limestone. It’s not that they can’t be planted elsewhere, but a desire to plant our native trees should broadly respect their natural habitats, otherwise a collection of them is simply another kind of arboretum, a living catalogue.

Once the research is done and the suppliers chosen, the scale of the operation becomes apparent. Failure is too awful to contemplate. The tree will be lifted in the nursery with a dramatic-looking implement, a hydraulic tree spade, which, guided deftly by its experienced operator, reaches round the tree, slices down into the soil, joins its blades underneath and lifts the whole thing, soil, roots and all, out in one go. When the thrilling moment comes for the arrival on site, let the professionals do their work, but spend a little time deciding which way the tree should face, bearing in mind the position from which it will most frequently be seen. All that remains is to observe with infinite care that it goes in straight and square and that the soil level is neither higher nor lower than it was in the nursery. Once it’s in, that’s it.

With the great event of the planting ceremony over, the vital work of aftercare begins. The disadvantage with planting a large specimen is that the crown is greater than the rootball, so the potential for water loss is greater than that for water uptake. Watering is not necessarily the solution: it must certainly not be neglected in the first year, but some dieback in the crown is to be expected before the tree settles into an orderly rhythm of growth.

It may also be necessary to steady the tree in its early years, perhaps with cables. The most important service you can provide is to keep the planting circle weed free for at least the first three years. This regular service of devotion is your best hope of success. Again, heed the advice of experienced professionals. They, too, have an interest in the new tree’s success.

When it comes to the kindred project of planting a hedge of native shrubs, we need to set aside all thoughts of instant maturity and think small. There is a case for planting full-size hedges, of yew for instance, and, despite my misgivings, I have seen it done successfully. However, a hedgerow of native species is best established by the conventional method of planting a row of whips or maidens 1ft apart in well-prepared ground. I first entertained the notion of planting an ‘instant ancient hedgerow’ in 1990 and it is a pleasing idea. Again, it requires careful forethought and preparation, followed by proper maintenance on a regular basis, but the chances of success are naturally much greater given the vigour of youth.

The essential idea when planting a hedgerow is to decide on the dominant species, typically hawthorn. Into this can readily be intermingled other native shrubs that will not interfere with the desirable density of the hedge, such as blackthorn, hazel and one or two of the many wild rose species, chosen from those found in your locality. Avoid elder, as it will force gaps in the row and, for a compact native tree that will keep things neat and dense, try field maple, always attractive, not least in autumn with its unfailing butter-yellow crown. The chances of success are very considerable and the wildlife benefits enormous, especially if you let the top of the hedge flower and fruit. Keep the base of the hedge rigorously weed free for those first three years, then Nature can take its course, surely with your guidance. I can see the primroses and violets from here. This is the key to success in such matters: do your research, know what you want, set a high standard and stick at it. The rewards will outlast us all.

Guest Editor Sir David Beckham

When I bought the house, there was only one tree: a maple tree. I’ve always loved trees — I’ll never tire of looking at the 80-year-old oak tree that stands proudly in the centre of the island on the lake that we put in during lockdown. Buying mature trees is one of my favourite things to do, although there’s always a risk with planting bigger, older ones and there are a couple that I wish I had put in different places.

This feature originally appeared in the October 22, 2025 issue of Country Life. Click here for more information on how to subscribe.