
Cherry blossom at Market Place in East Finchley
A series following the 72 British mini-seasons of Nature’s Calendar by Kiera Chapman, Lulah Ellender, Rowan Jaines and Rebecca Warren.
Dear Readers, the idea of Hanami – cherry blossom viewing – seems to have taken off over the past few years. In Japan, where the idea originated, it’s very much a social thing, a chance to view the blossoms, meet friends, maybe picnic under the pink and white canopy. In Toronto (much on my mind as my trip approaches) they have Cherry Blossom season in High Park, with weekly updates on how the blossom is progressing (you can read all about it here). In the UK, the National Trust are currently publicising ‘the best places to see blossom‘ (and this isn’t just cherry blossom, but also some of their magnificent magnolias which should be reaching peak condition round about now). And in fact, here in the County Roads in East Finchley we have some very fine cherry trees of our own.
Here’s a lovely pink one at the junction of Durham Road and Creighton Avenue….

I love the way that the fallen petals look like confetti…

And then there’s my favourite tree on Leicester Road…

And then there are some on Huntingdon Road. Apparently the pink rings at the base of the stamen indicates that the flower has been pollinated. Who knew?

And this one has blossom growing out of its trunk in a most intriguing way…

As Rebecca Warren points out in ‘Nature’s Calendar’, cherry trees became popular as street trees because they are small in stature (with a correspondingly small root run), and because they not only produce blossom but often have stunning autumn foliage. They really punch above their weight, both in a small garden and alongside a suburban road. But (whisper it) my favourite cherry tree species is not one of these cultivars, but the tree after which I suspect Cherry Tree Wood here in East Finchley was named – the bird cherry (Prunus padus) with its firework-tail flowers. It doesn’t flower until May, when all the other cherries are pretty much over, and so it is a late-spring pleasure.

Bird cherry (Prunus padus)
The delight of cherry blossom is that it is ephemeral – some years it feels as if you could blink and miss it. And the weather doesn’t help. On a blustery, wet day (of which we’ve had way too many just lately) you can watch the flower petals being torn from the tree and sticking to the damp pavement. But what a pleasure it is to see it, after the long dark days. It feels important to stop and drink it in, however busy we are. And who said it better than A.E. Housman? He seems to capture the transience of both the blossom and the lives of humans so well here, in all its poignancy and resilience.
A Shropshire Lad 2: Loveliest of trees, the cherry now
BY A. E. HOUSMAN
Loveliest of trees, the cherry now
Is hung with bloom along the bough,
And stands about the woodland ride
Wearing white for Eastertide.
Now, of my threescore years and ten,
Twenty will not come again,
And take from seventy springs a score,
It only leaves me fifty more.
And since to look at things in bloom
Fifty springs are little room,
About the woodlands I will go
To see the cherry hung with snow.
Interestingly, what Housman is talking about is our native wild cherry (Prunus avium), which, as it grows to nearly sixty feet tall, is not a popular street tree. As Paul Wood says in his book ‘London’s Street Trees‘, a wild cherry can ‘give most of the Japanese cultivars a run for their money’ when in bloom. What a beautiful sight it is, and it shows how accurate Housman’s line about ‘the cherry hung with snow’ is.

Wild cherry (Prunus avium) Photo By Jean-Pol GRANDMONT – Self-photographed, CC BY 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=25272609
Thank you for sharing the Houseman poem. “A Shropshire Lad” was a great favourite of my father. Both my mother and father had March birthdays so it is a month of many memories for me. They died over 20 years ago and I used to find it quite a difficult month, now it is still different from the rest of the year. I enjoy thinking back and remembering Mum enjoying the first daffodils and Dad wondering if his forced rhubarb would be advanced enough to provide a pudding
before his birthday.
Oh I love this, Ann – and yes, the memories. My Dad grew rhubarb wherever he lived. One of my last memories of his Dorset bungalow, after he’d moved into the nursing home, was that the rhubarb had gone to seed with a massive white flower stalk. I’d never seen anything quite like it before. I wonder if the people who own the house now still get the rhubarb, or if that was the end of it.
I love cherry blossom season – ours hasn’t arrived yet.
Fingers crossed it arrives soon!