For anyone who needs a translation of ‘cast ne’er a clout ere May is out’, I’m offering, ‘don’t stop wearing warm layers of clothing before the hawthorn has bloomed’.
Hawthorn (Crataegus monogyna, a UK native) is one of the first deciduous trees to leaf in spring. Its small, leathery leaves are lobed, rather like tiny oak leaves.
Following the leaves, masses of tightly rounded buds (technically held in fascicles) appear and seem to wait an age before opening. When they do, we’re in for a treat. The hawthorn pictured above is two or three times as tall as I am.
Hawthorn most commonly has five petals and purple-pink anthers when the flowers are fresh. The flowers are fragrant with an edge that is softened when combined with the scent of wild chervil that often grows under them locally. Add the song from wild birds nesting inside, protected by thorny branches, and you have a combination that is lovely to the senses.
Later in the year, copious amounts of bright red berries are produced, known as cuckoo’s beads.
For now, the flowers are frothy and delicate-looking, usually white or creamy, sometimes ageing to blush pink before the petals drop.
Various shades of pink flowers are less common; rarer still are fully double flowers like miniature roses, hawthorns being members of the rose family (Rosaceae).
Mature trees support many interdependent species of wildlife, not just birds but bees and other insects, small mammals and epiphytic plants.
Hawthorn roots readily – one of its folk names is quickset – so it has often been used as an impenetrable hedging plant. The brown-grey bark fissures and becomes lichen-coated with age.
In winter when the bare structure of the tree can be seen, hawthorn often has a twisted, contorted habit, raising branches expressively to the sky. I’m fascinated by the ones that have fluted, muscular trunks and the way some plants have melded together as they’ve grown, but all that is hidden for now.
Hawthorn has attracted more than its fair share of legends and stories, both Christian and pagan. Some areas of the UK still celebrate the bawming of the hawthorn at midsummer. The tree is dressed with ribbons while people sing and dance round it, which may have been the origin of dancing round the maypole. The dew drops that form on flowers were once prized as a beauty treatment and hawthorn is even reputed to mend a broken heart.
Not all the lore is sunny. Merlin was said to have been trapped in one. Some people believe it is unlucky to bring hawthorn flowers indoors. The Celts believed that the hawthorn was a gateway tree marking the edge between the human and the faerie worlds. Dire warnings against cutting or uprooting hawthorns, especially solitary ones, have led to roads being diverted and may explain a lone hawthorn in the middle of a field or by a gatepost.
Several of these pictures were taken on Bailey’s Field in Darwen, a marshy, mossy, nature-filled, minefield-dotted ‘brownfield’ site where local people can watch the owl, the heron and the kestrel hunt, but which was recently re-confirmed for a housing development. Future buyers have to trust that these veteran, wildlife-supporting hawthorns do not have any special powers.
“Such locations are dismissed as wasteland, or, in that deliberately derogatory phrase of politicians and developers, as ‘brownfield sites’ – an absurd misnomer which ignores the fact that these are the most jazzily colourful and biologically rich zones of the cities.”
- – Richard Mabey
38 Replies to “Hawthorn Flowers: Cast Ne’er a Clout Ere May is Out”
I had never realized there were so many kinds of hawthorn! The frilly, dark red one in your photo is stunning.
I was happy to find that one. I’m wondering whether the doubles will make berries. I’ll try to remember to check that out later in the year.
A tree of delights. An acquaintance has one in her yard, and it produces beautiful red flowers.Your post did end on a sad note. I know people have to live somewhere, but too bad about the housing development.
There are many empty houses in Darwen and some true brownfield sites. Our moorland is protected as part of a wider area which is something to be grateful for. Perhaps the council were unable to veto that.
I wish I had a Hawthorne – the flowers are so beautiful. However, we have many an eastern red cedar, really a kind of juniper, on our street. We are warned not to plant these two species close together because of juniper-hawthorn rust.
I hadn’t heard of that, but if it is an issue, it’s wise to be prudent. The trees, unlike us, cannot wear masks or get vaccinations if trouble heads their way.
Wonderful series Susan! Outside our kitchen door we have a hawthorn, in Swedish it is “hagtorn”. The one we call “havtorn” is the sea buckthorn. I love our hawthorn; the smell, the flowers, the berries.
They are valuable plants in so many ways. Your words made me think our languages are not very far apart.
Indian Hawthorn (Raphiolepis indica) is a ubiquitous landscape shrub in the Houston area. It has many of the same qualities as the trees you’ve shown here, and it’s certainly a sturdy thing; it can put up with salt, heat, cold, and drought and still bloom in its next season. The flowers usually are pink or white, and they are among the first flowers to bloom in spring. I’ve seen them emerging as early as late January.
A gorgeous post with all that May! 😃
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