'The Lay of the Old Hollow Tree'
An atmospheric poem about Queen Elizabeth’s Oak appeared in the West Kent Guardian on 2 July 1853.
Its anonymous poet imagines the ‘Old Hollow Tree’ narrating the events it has witnessed in Greenwich Park over the centuries.
The tree recalls the Anglo-Saxons in the park, with their ‘mounds on yonder plain’ – a reference to the famous barrow cemetery in the park’s south-west corner. It also speaks of the generations of monarchs who lived at Greenwich Palace and the Queen’s House and Royal Family members who loved the park. From Henry V’s brother through to Henry VIII’s first wife sitting and weeping beneath its branches, to Charles II planting the park’s tree avenues. Over 2000 years of history can be witnessed in Greenwich Park as well as in the poem.
At the time the poem was published, the tree stood in the grounds of the park keeper’s cottage – long since demolished – and served as a prison. The most memorable lines of the poem reflect on the prisoners held by the tree – ‘young urchins’ who have stolen chestnuts from the park’s trees.
The poem also references the martyrdom of St. Alphege (c.953-1012), Archbishop of Canterbury and Primate of All England being taken hostage by the Viking army in 1011. He was later murdered in Greenwich in 1012. St. Alphege was commemorated by a huge shrine at Canterbury Cathedral. He is also commemorated at St. Alfege Church, which is believed to be built on the site of his death. There are various spellings of his name.
The church, in Greenwich town centre, was rebuilt in the 13th Century and then later, when its roof collapsed, was rebuilt by Nicholas Hawksmoor in 1718. Hawksmoor was a pupil of the famous architect Sir Christopher Wren and designed the Conduit Head structure in the north-west of Greenwich Park.
They call me the Old Hollow Tree,
In truth it so appears,
For I have been a hollow tree
Above a hundred years.A terror, oft my name has been
To schoolboys and to thieves,
Who, chestnuts have been knocking down,
Or damaging the trees.For my old trunk, is made into
A prison with a door,
And many times has had confin’d
Young urchins half a score.And many are the darksome deeds
That I could tell of old,
Of robberies, and murders too,
Would make the blood run cold.While I was standing here, about
Eight hundred years ago,
A dreadful murder did take place,
Within the Town below.The Danes, from Canterbury, brought,
The Archbishop Alphage,
Whom they most cruelly did kill,
And burnt the Town with rage.And many are the battles too,
And many are the slain,
That I have seen inter’d beneath
The mounds on yonder plain.For then, the ground where I now stand,
And Blackheath, was all one,
No wall, or fence or park, was made,
And I stood near alone.
In A.D. fourteen thirty-three,
When the Sixth Henry reigned,
Humphry, Duke of Gloucester, then
A license first obtain’d;To fortify his Manor-house,
And join a Park thereto,
Two hundred acres he enclos’d
Of Heath and Orchards too.The Manor-house he did rebuild,
And “Placence” it was nam’d,
Likewise a Tower upon the hill,
Which history has fam’d.But the Seventh Henry, did enlarge
The Palace, and reside
Himself and Royal Family,
And kept his Court beside.‘Twas there in fourteen ninety-one,
Henry the Eighth was born,
And many things that I could tell,
Not to his honour done.(His first wife, Katherine of Spain,
Hath oft sat down and cried,
Beneath my shade, when she has pass’d
Alone at even-tine.His fourth wife, Ann of Cleves, poor soul,
What fuss he made about her,
The pass’d by me in solemn pomp,
And in a month did scout her.)
And there, in fifteen thirty-three,
Elizabeth was born,
And often have I witnessed
Her gambols on the lawn.When James the First came to the Park,
And saw the fence was poor,
He built a stone brick wall all round,
To make it all secure.But t’was in Charles the Second’s reign,
In sixteen eighty-three,
The Park was formed and planted out
With trees as now you see.He built the Observatory,
Where stood Duke Humphrey’s Tower,
And Doctor Flamsteed, then was made
Royal Astronomer.But I daresay that you are tir’d
Of hearing me go on,
About the Park and other things
That long ago were done.I’ll leave off now, but come again,
You know my residence,
Near where the Keeper’s House now stands,
Within the garden fence.For though my head is nearly bare,
As you can plainly see,
Yet I may last, for aught I know,
Another century.
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