I would ordinarily greet news of trees being felled with despair. Too often, mature tress, including many that are supposed to be protected, are cut down in the name of development or simply felled because somebody needs cheap firewood. The sooner penalties for the unauthorised removal of hedgerows and protected trees are increased and, more crucially, enforced, the better. I wouldn’t hold your breath though, as it appears that the more we come to understand the value of biodiversity, the less resources are dedicated to protecting it.
However, on rare occasions the removal of trees can be a good thing substantively, even though it may draw criticism from some quarters. One such case occurred recently in Torquay on the so-called English Riviera, where dozens of palm tress were cut down before Christmas on the orders of Torbay Council.
The palms, which are in fact Cordyline australis – commonly known as cabbage trees – had graced the Devon resort’s seafront Italian Garden for almost a century, providing a taste of exoticism for generations. In December, apparently “without warning”, 40 of the trees were felled as part of a restoration project ahead of the gardens’ centenary year.
“The move has prompted widespread anger in the town, the setting for the BBC sitcom Fawlty Towers,” reported the Times. “One social media user wrote that to say residents were ‘livid’ would be ‘putting it mildly’, adding: ‘Generations of locals and holidaymakers have enjoyed those lovely palm trees. It’s so sad.’”
I can’t say that upon hearing news of the palms’ demise that I joined those who were, putting it mildly, livid – and not merely because it all happened the best part of 300 miles away from where I live. You see, Cordyline australis is among my least favourite plants. To say it is somehow exotic is like suggesting golf is erotic.
It is easily among the cheapest, most common and objectively ugly plants available – make that widely available, though proper nurseries and garden centres tend not to stock it, a policy based on justifiable snobbery. Pick it up for a fiver, on a whim, at a carboot sale or market, take it home thinking its habit will be similar to a phormium – even though you don’t know what a phormium is. Plant it innocently in a small front garden and within five years it’s almost the size of the house.
My bias against these strappy-leaved, spiky architectural trees is not classist, however, and is much more to do with aesthetics and ecology.
To look at, Cordyline australis is drab and uninspiring. The only time it comes to life is in a Force 10 gale, when those sword-like, leathery leaves are being blown horizontal.
As for wildlife, you’d likely find it ranks somewhere alongside a creosote-soaked telegraph pole in terms of its habitat value – though I must confess my friend and neighbour has video evidence of his cordyline being visited last year by a woodpecker. He also maintains that he’s regularly seen a tree creeper on the same palm.
But I’m not buying it and would urge anybody considering planting cordyline to reconsider. Instead, opt for something more tasteful and appropriate, such as a small native tree, like as an alder or birch, or even a Japanese maple.
