Most gardens carry a little folklore whether the gardener meant it or not. A rosemary bush by the path, a holly hedge along the boundary, an elder left standing in the corner because it somehow felt wrong to cut it — these are habits older than garden centres, and they still make a certain kind of sense. What follows is a working checklist of twelve plants worth growing for the stories attached to them, with the customs recorded across Britain and Ireland and enough practical detail to get each one into the ground.
Trees that guard the house
Plant these where they can do their work: at the gate, along the boundary, or within sight of the kitchen window.
Elder
The elder is the plant almost everyone is warned about. In much of Britain it was known as the Elder Mother, and the custom was to ask permission before taking so much as a branch. Versions of the rhyme were spoken aloud, promising to give the tree back its own wood when it grew again — a courtesy, not a spell. Cutting elder for furniture or a fire indoors was thought to bring bad luck into the house, and some traditions linked the tree to Judas, though the aspen claims that story just as firmly. Grow it for structure and for the kitchen: elderflower cordial in late May, elderberries in September for wine and jelly. Cook the berries and leave the leaves, stems and roots alone; if you are unsure what is safe to eat, ask a qualified forager or horticulturist first.
Hawthorn
A lone hawthorn standing in a field is a fairy tree, and no sensible farmer would take an axe to it. Bringing the may blossom indoors was said to invite illness or death — a superstition with an obvious practical root, since the flowers have a heavy, faintly rotting scent and a habit of filling a room with insects. Tie a ribbon to a thorn in your own garden and make a wish, but leave public trees and rag wells alone; ribbons left on other people's trees damage the bark. As hedging, hawthorn is close to unbeatable: dense, prickly, good for nesting birds, and generous with haws in autumn.
Rowan
Rowan, or mountain ash, was the witchwood of the Highlands and islands. Two twigs were bound into a cross with red thread and hung above the door, over the byre, or on a cradle, and the tree itself was planted near the gate to keep ill luck out. It likes free-draining, slightly acid soil and will tolerate a windy, exposed spot where little else settles. The berries feed thrushes well into winter.
Oak
The oak is the king of the wood, the tree of thunder gods, and the species that ended up on the back of a coin. Acorns were carried in the pocket for luck, and an oak apple — the marbled gall — was kept in the window to turn away harm. There is also a piece of weather lore worth remembering when you choose where to stand in a storm: beware of the oak, it draws the stroke; avoid the ash, it courts the flash; creep under the thorn, it'll keep you from harm.
Herbs by the door and under the pillow
Rosemary is the herb of remembrance. Sprigs went into bridal bouquets and were dropped into graves; Shakespeare's line in Hamlet — "There's rosemary, that's for remembrance" — fixed the association for good. In some households it was said to grow best under the care of the woman of the house, and to thrive where the household was happy. Practically, it wants full sun and sharp drainage; in heavy clay, grow it in a pot with plenty of grit and move it under cover in a hard frost.
Lavender was strewn on floors, tucked between linen, and sewn into mattress seams to keep bad luck at bay, while a sprig hidden in a sweetheart's pocket was said to encourage affection. Cut the stems just as the flowers open, then hang them in a dark, airy place; English lavender is hardier through a wet winter than the French varieties.
Thyme stood for courage, and a bed of it was said to be a favourite of fairies. It was strewn alongside lavender and tucked under pillows to bring clear dreams. Give it full sun, poor soil and a gravel mulch, and water it far less than you think it needs.
Luck, love and wisdom from the hedgerow
Hazel is the tree of knowledge: the nine hazels of wisdom overhung a sacred well, and the salmon that ate their nuts carried all the world's learning. Dowsing rods and wands were cut from hazel, and at Halloween two nuts named for sweethearts were set in the fire — the one that burned quietly meant constancy, the one that jumped and spat meant otherwise. Coppice a hazel every few years and you will never buy a bean pole again.
Apple brings wassailing. On Old Twelfth Night, 17 January in many orchards, the oldest tree is toasted with cider poured on its roots, with noise and singing to wake it for the season ahead. Peel an apple in one strip, throw it over your left shoulder, and the letter it forms is supposedly the initial of a future partner
Photo: manfredrichter / Pixabay
