Approximately 2,000 to 3,000 years ago, and potentially even earlier, a solitary seed from a yew berry took root in what would eventually evolve into the village of Fortingall in Perthshire. This remarkable tree, contorted into enchanting shapes, still stands today, likely ranking as the oldest living entity in Britain, I have visited this amazing tree many times in the grounds of the Kirk (Church) in Glen Lyon Scotland.

Local archaeological sites suggest that this ancient yew might have been the focal point of an Iron Age cult. According to local lore, Pontius Pilate, the Roman governor overseeing Jesus’s crucifixion, was born in its shade and played beneath its branches as a child. By 1769, its girth measured an astounding 52 feet.

The age of the Fortingall Yew remains a mystery due to the absence of heartwood rings that could establish its age, replaced by separated stems. Some argue that it could be a Stone Age artifact, potentially dating back as much as nine millennia. I believe that this amazing tree is more than 5,000 years old, its amazing how it regenerates itself constantly creating new life.

Regrettably, previous generations were as negligent of our venerable trees as we are today. Villagers in Fortingall once lit fires under the mighty yew to celebrate Beltane, the Gaelic May Day festival, causing significant damage. In the 19th century, souvenir hunters further plundered its historical significance, hacking off portions for drinking cups and curiosities.

Finally, there is hope that Britain’s ancient trees will receive the legal protection they deserve. A recent study suggests that England alone may host more than two million exceptionally old trees, far surpassing the officially recorded 115,000, with many lacking any conservation methods, policies, or legal protection. Utilizing records from the Woodland Trust, researchers at the University of Nottingham created mathematical models to unveil the abundant presence of these ancient trees.

Whether a birch is considered “ancient” after 150 years or a yew not until its 800th birthday, Britain boasts a unique and widespread forest of living monuments, with over 80% of Europe’s oldest trees. This profusion is not a result of a national reverence for old trees but rather a consequence of the British passion for hunting. The need for open parkland for monarchs and aristocrats led to the growth of isolated trees, resilient to the elements.

The stories of Britain’s oldest trees intertwine with historical events. The Ankerwycke Yew witnessed King John signing Magna Carta in 1215, and the Major Oak in Sherwood Forest was alive during Robin Hood’s time. The Bowthorpe Oak in Lincolnshire, doubling as a dining room, pigeon loft, and cattle shed, accommodated 39 people within its hollow trunk.

Despite their historical significance, old trees lack proper legal defense. Many yews in British churchyards have less protection than the churches they stand beside. While the government pledges to plant millions of new trees annually, the neglect and improper counting of old trees persist.

These ancient trees are irreplaceable havens for wildlife and hold crucial biological and climatic information about the past. Yet, there is currently no legal defense for ancient or veteran woodland unless it harbours rare wildlife or is situated in a protected wildlife area. This covers only one-fifth of ancient and veteran trees.

To secure a future for these natural survivors, locating and recording Britain’s two million old trees should be the initial step in granting them the same protective legal status as other historical monuments. Our oldest trees, like Newton’s resilient apple tree and the enduring Fortingall Yew, can thrive with proper guardianship. It’s time to move beyond wishful thinking and ensure the enduring legacy of these living witnesses to history.