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The Guardian - UK
The Guardian - UK
Environment
Jennifer Jones

Country diary: Down in the valley we go, journeying back in time

Tree roots along the wall in Roslin Glen.
Roslin Glen. ‘Bordering the glen were dark and imposing walls, their original patina long gone, embossed instead by primitive species.’ Photograph: Jen Jones

The chapel at the top of the valley was packed – perhaps unusual in these modern, secular times, but people had congregated for a historical talk, not a religious service. We were at Rosslyn Chapel, seven miles south of Edinburgh, to learn about its history and mystery. Dating from 1446, it is jewelled with stories of pinnacles and pedestals; fallen angels and lovers; camels and peacocks. It also played a role in the Da Vinci Code mystery.

The presentation was fascinating, but the eye was drawn outside to Roslin Glen below, with its canopies of woodland and the meandering River North Esk. JMW Turner and William Wordsworth had been similarly inspired by the landscape, so we were in good company.

Afterwards, taking the steep (not to mention precarious) path down to the glen felt like journeying even further back in time. The woodland in this vale is ancient, full of oak, birch and hawthorn. Around it, and bordering the glen, were dark and imposing walls, their original patina long gone, embossed instead by primitive species – algae, mosses and liverworts, and the fractal fronds of male ferns, hart’s-tongues and ivy leaves. In places, parallel tracks of tree roots tumbled down the wall in search of soil.

The solid sandstone blocks were worthy of close inspection. Just as the toolwork of the medieval master masons in the chapel had inspired me, so too did the marks evident in the stones, triggering thoughts of all those anonymous hands that built this wall. The indentations they left are now also populated by moss, early colonisers in search of water holes and footholds.

One particular large area of the wall was dominated by liverworts, whose name is derived from medieval times, as their lobed structures resembled liver. The main species was Conocephalum conicum, great scented liverwort. Spreading along the stone joints, cracks and crevices, the lobed thalli overlaid the sandstone with a shiny, verdant carapace. These were descendants of the earliest land plants, thriving in the dark, damp conditions of an ancient wood. The modern world had never felt further away.

• Under the Changing Skies: The Best of the Guardian’s Country Diary, 2018-2024 is published by Guardian Faber; order at guardianbookshop.com and get a 15% discount

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