Historical Gardens

Sometimes one gets bored of all the threats that parks and designed landscapes undergo in the struggle with project developers and/or local governmental bodies. “Why do they not see the value of these places, especially in a densely populated country like The Netherlands, and why do they not comply to the rules?“, you would like to shout.

And then a story in which ironically the creation of a park is involved, makes you realize that things could be much, much worse. The city of Moscow is evicting people from their homes in the Rechnik area, claiming the homes have been built there illegally. Their homes were initially destroyed immediately, but a few days later the residents were given time to move out.

Mr. Luzhkov, the Moscow mayor, is determined to have the homes cleared, insisting that the land will be turned into a park and nothing else. Opponents claim that the area will be used by property developers. The park, they say, is just an excuse to clear the current dwellers from the area.

Rechnik started out in the 1950s, when gardening plots were given to workers on a nearby canal. Whether they were given the land temporarily or not seems to be unclear, but many workers built small homes there and consequently stayed. The problem now, according to the city, is that these workers sold these plots of land since. The new owners sometimes joined several plots and built grand houses there.  Some of the owners seem to have contracts proving they own the land.

The disturbing thing is that events like this could swing any way ‘government’ wants. Governing bodies can condone property developments until they decide not to do that anymore. Or decide to lift protecting measurements when ‘better’ opportunities arise. Sometimes the result is a park and many homeless people; sometimes the result is that a park is destroyed and some lucky people own a home in a beautiful environment (like the Ostafievo estate, where the garden is apparently used to build heavily guarded villas; and to focus on other regions: Marinehospitaalterrein, Overveen).

Brrr…

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The Copenhagen conference on climate change of the upcoming week shall be dealing with serious challenges for our planet, economies and lifestyle. It is conceivable that climate change, if it is not stopped or stopping of its own accord, will also have an impact on our gardens. Planting (im)possibilities and shifting flowering times immediately come to mind.
Smaller changes in weather or climate are of course quite common, and have always been. The winter of 1822 has apparently been a warm one in The Netherlands, judging to the fact that a newspaper article used the example of one shrub that had been in bloom during the whole winter, to illustrate that point.¹

It grew in the garden of Beeckestijn, which is not far from the coast -and thus already in a milder climate because the relatively higher temperature of the sea water dampens the effects of winter in this part of the country. In the article the plant was called a “Pyrus Japonica” and it is possible that here the Pyrus japonica (Thunb) is meant; we now know this plant as Chaenomeles japonica, a prickly plant bearing fruit that ripens very late in the year.
But it could also be the fine plant with small white flowers called Pieris japonica.² Both plants were discovered or first described by the same botanist, Thunberg.
Carl Peter Thunberg was a Swedish student of Linnaeus who lived from 1743-1828. He studied in Uppsala, Paris, Amsterdam and Leiden. In The Netherlands he joined the Dutch East India Company (V.O.C.) and traveled to Japan in December 1771. He returned in 1778 after visiting Japan and China and a short stop in South Africa on the way back. In 1784, back in Sweden, Thunberg published his Flora Japonica sistens plantas insularum japonicarum… (etc.), in which the Pyrus japonica is mentioned.

The news article goes on to say that the plant had 150 flowers in bloom in February 1822 and an equal amount of buds ready to go. A rather remarkable claim is that the plant was 8 feet (voet) high, which- if we take the (then) normal Rijnlandse Voet as a reference, would amount to a height of 2,54 meters. This means the plant must have stood there for quite a while, or had been planted there at a fairly old age.
The contemporary owner of Beeckestijn, Willem François Boreel (1775-1851), was a keen gardener, but at this stage he had owned the estate for only nine years -not enough to have a plant like this grow this large.³ The original creator of the landscape garden at Beeckestijn had died in April 1778, six months before Thunberg returned from his voyage to the east. So the Pyrus japonica mentioned in the news article, probably a Chaenomeles japonica, has almost certainly been planted in the garden by Willem Boreel (1744-1796) or his wife and widow Maria Trip (1750-1813).

1. “Haarlem, den 18 Februarij. Als een zeldzaam bewijs van de zachte luchtsgesteldheid, kan men aanmerken, het gedurende den geheelen winter in de opene lucht bloeijen, van eene Pyrus Japonica, op de hofstede Bekestein, onder Velzen. De gemelde plant heeft thans de hoogte van 8 voeten bereikt en bloeit ter hoogte van zes voeten. Men telt aan dezelve 150 bloemen en ruim zoo veel knoppen.” ’s Gravenhaagsche Courant, 18 February 1822, page 1. [back]
2. There is one obvious and popular mistake in the writing of the name, so we can’t exclude other possible mistakes made by the journalist or during the printing stage. [back]
3. In 1821 he had won a silver medal on a countrywide exhibition for an especially large and heavily blooming Metrosideros citrina (now Callistemon citrinus).
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The story of the introduction of the landscape style in The Netherlands has proved to be difficult to uncover, despite many attempts. Information about the layout of those ‘new’ gardens in the form of maps or plans does not pre-date the late 1760s. Which plants were used to embellish the new type of garden with is even more unknown, but they had to be imported from America -either directly or through England.

There’s a hint of earlier developments taking place in the 1750s, based on 18th century remarks that are vague¹, or made decades after the ‘fact’.² My recent addition to that short list is published as one of the many different articles in this new book.³ It might not be regarded better than the other examples, because I am writing about a garden that has been demolished in 1804 and of which we do not have any visual record.
My findings with respect to the garden of Sandenhoeff in Overveen do show that it was quite difficult for garden owners in Holland to acquire knowledge about the new gardens in the 1750s and early 1760s. Despite the abundance of knowledge that by then had been built up at the other side of the North Sea, in England.

But the account book entry of a payment for 60 American trees and seeds, made by Sandenhoeff’s owner Cornelis Backer (1692-1766) in April 1756, can not mean anything other than this: he was trying to create his own landscape garden. And as this payment was also for the delivery of the plants, he may have even started in 1755.
Too bad no visual record of the garden seems to exist.

(Edited to add the correct title of the book and the names of its main editors)

1. The Swede Bengt Ferrner mentioning a ‘natural’ layout at Watervliet, 1759. [back]
2. Harmannus Numan writing in 1797 on developments at Over-Holland that had supposedly taken place from 1756 onwards -a claim that to my knowledge has yet to be confirmed. [back]
3. Henk van der Eijk, ‘Sandenhoeff: een vroeg landschappelijke tuin?’, in: Cacsade 18 (2), 2009, p104-110. Available in stores as: Arinda van der Does, Jan Holwerda (editors), Tuingeschiedenis in Nederland. Veelzijdig erfgoed in ‘t groen (Utrecht 2009). [back]

Interesting information has come to my attention in the last few months, and of course it has some bearing on the garden of Beeckestijn: avenues lined with two types of trees. On the Beeckestijn map (1772) we see such an avenue in the continuation of the central axis at the end of the garden, right in front of the colonnade.

Avenues are among the most formal and architectural features in any garden, and although their use may vary (lead the eye to a focal point, connect and pull together different parts of the garden, act as a screen or divider between garden parts), it is almost always characterised by the uniform appearance of similar trees placed in a linear pattern. This uniformity can become dull, and while dullness is not something any garden owner or architect strives for, many variations to the theme have been tried. Thus we find gardens in which the avenues are lined by a combination of different sorts of deciduous trees, like oak and lime. Around 1800 the Champs Elysées in Paris was lined with old chestnut trees, which, according to a visitor, formed a beautiful backdrop for the locust trees (Acacia) also planted there.¹

What we see less often is an avenue lined with a variety of deciduous and coniferous or evergreen trees. This practise probably began just before the rise of the landscape style on the European continent. The attraction of such a combination is obvious: the avenue always retains some of its green and its capacity to form a screen. The general difference in growth form between the two types of trees is also attractive.
At Beeckestijn this may have been the case: the alternate depiction of ‘normal’ and pyramidal trees at least suggests this mix. We do not know what types of trees were planted here.

There are only a few other examples known in The Netherlands. I mention them here, because I hope to gather more information on this type of planting in avenues. Two of these examples date from the second half of the eighteenth century and the other was designed and planted during the 1890’s.
Starting with the latter, the Boombergpark in Hilversum, there was a special purpose to the alternate planting of beech and larch. According to the authors of a recent book on the park, the larches were used as sun blocks, to protect the sensitive bark of the freshly planted beech trees.² This view is supported by the fact that the larches were cut out 25 years later because they had “lost their purpose”. In his design for the Boombergpark in Hilversum, landscape architect Dirk Wattez used this kind of planting for two avenues. One was a single lined, slightly winding avenue on the western side of the park where different kinds of trees are planted alternately along the side of the paths. The other -straight- avenue was on the eastern side of the park, with two rows of trees on one side and three on the other (see right hand image). Where there are three rows of trees, they are planted in a quincunx formation, with again alternating sorts along the roadside. Wattez used a smart pattern here, because his plantation was set up in such a way, that from whichever way one looked, there were never three trees of the same species planted in one line. So although the larches may only have had a practical use in the end, Wattez made sure they made an aesthetic impression while they lasted.

The two 18th century examples are Beeckestijn and Twickel. The original planting of both avenues is long gone, leaving us with no information about the species planted there. Two contemporary German examples, of which we do know which species were used, show some possibilities.
The first is not far from The Netherlands, in fact just over the border with Germany in the garden of Kleef (Kleve). In 1781 an avenue of beech and fir was mentioned by Pieter van Winter.³ Van Winter admired the contrast between the colours and texture of both sorts (bright green and soft for the beech; paler green and needle-like for the fir tree). He also says the trees had grown considerably since he saw them earlier, which indicates the trees must have been planted somewhere in the 1760’s or 1770’s.
The second German example is near Aschaffenburg: Schönbusch. Like Beeckestijn, this garden was a mix of baroque elements and landscape garden design, although the execution of the landscape garden at Schönbusch was much bolder than the Dutch garden. For a more formal part of the garden, head gardener Müller was told by the Prince-Elector (Kurfüst) to transform a chestnut avenue into a mixed avenue. He was ordered to plant large larches between the chestnuts: “(…) [zwischen] 2 Kastanien-Baümen jedesmalen ein wohlgewachsener Lerchenbaum hineingepflanzet werden solle (…)“. The reaction of the Prince-elector’s advisor Sickingen is telling: he thinks this is not a good idea, because in his view planting larches between chestnuts in a straight avenue alongside water is of and old fashioned artificiality that was not suitable for a modern garden like Schönbusch.⁴

Going back to Beeckestijn, current belief is that this mixed avenue was planted between 1755 and 1760.⁵ This fits in with what both German examples show: planting mixed avenues was en vogue in the third quarter of the 18th century. It appears to have been swept away by the landscape style coming in from England during that same period. Some of the early landscape gardens kept these mixed avenues intact, possibly because they were still deemed to be modern enough to last for a while.
During the reconstruction ten years ago, in a long and difficult discussion about what to plant here, a compromise was reached: a combination of lime and thuja was planted in this avenue. I was present at that discussion and I believe it is safe to say that none of the participants was happy with this choice. But politically it was the only combination possible at the time.
Back then, the information cited above was not available to the restoration team. Now Beeckestijn is on the threshold of a new start, and the thuja’s are suffering and lagging behind the lime trees (or just plain dead), it is not too late to use this information and do the right thing: dig out the thuja’s and plant firs or larches instead.

Please. It can be done in the next months.

1. Pieter van Winter, writing to his daughter in 1802: “(…) ook doet de importante hoogte en zwaare belommering van oude kastanjeboomen en Acacia’s die tegen elkander een goed effect doen veel tot het schoone gelyk mede de stoffagie van duizende Wandelaaressen zeer voïant gekleed.” Letter from June 24, 1802, found in the Six collection (Amsterdam) inv.nr. 73683. I thank Ruud Priem for this information. [back]
2. Piet Bakker (et.al.), Het Boombergpark in Hilversum: verleden, heden en toekomst van een monumentaal wandelgebied (Hilversum 2005). [back]
3. Pieter van Winter, writing to his parents in 1781: “(…) by ons men heeft thans veele laanen met beuken en sparren om den anderen die sedert ik die gezien heb, vry wat gegroeit zyn en een admirabel adspect opleveren in ‘t groote daar ‘t levendig groen en zagt blad der eerste door het vaalder en penachtig blad der laatste; aardig word gecontrasteert (…).” I am not exactly sure what he means with the ‘by ons’ (here). He was traveling, so he could be referring both to home, or to his location at that moment. Letter from July 16, 1781, found in the Six collection (Amsterdam) inv.nr. 73661. I thank Ruud Priem for this information. [back]
4. J. Albert, W. Helmberger: Der Landschaftgarten Schönbusch bei Aschaffenburg (Worms 1999), p49, ill. 79 and note 197. [back]
5. This part of the garden was only added to Beeckestijn in 1755, and in 1760 the owner decided to start laying out his new garden in the landscape style he saw in England. The mixed avenue must be designed during those years. [back]

Which -if we recall- really was a story of three lions: two at De Paauw and the one at Drottningholm.

It turns out we are talking about at least four lions. Some closer inspection of other photos of the Swedish lion revealed that there are also two lions at Drottningholm.¹ It is not the same set as at De Paauw, though, because the ones in Sweden both have their tail on the right side of their body, while one of the statues in The Netherlands has his tail draped on the left side of his body.²
The lack of symmetry suggests that two different lion types were made, possibly in series, which could be combined at will. It is therefore quite possible that more of these lion statues are hidden in some collection or garden.

Be that as it may, the more interesting question is whether all lions share the same provenance. This is suggested by their similar appearance.
According to current literature, the lions at De Paauw were placed there somewhere in the early 1850s. It is claimed to be a gift from the Russian tzar Alexander II to Frederik, prince of The Netherlands. The earliest reference to that story I have found is from as late as 1924, when a large part of De Paauw was transferred to the council of Wassenaar. Its soon-to-be-former owner, Mr. Chabot, presented the set of lions and a trough as a gift, and in an accompanying letter stated how Frederik had originally received the statues.³

In most literature since then this story is repeated, with some inevitable minor alterations (e.g. ‘in 1850′, ‘around 1850′ or ‘in the early 1850s’). “Tzar Alexander II” is always named as the giver, even though he wasn’t tzar until 1855. The most logical conclusion would be that the actual donation was made by Alexander in the later 1850s. But that may be taking the easy route, and it does not explain how the Drottningholm lions fit into this story?

That last part is probably the easiest to answer. Knowing that prince Frederik’s daughter Louise married the Swedish crown prince Carl in 1850, certainly ties both families, gardens and lion groups firmly together. The fact that in 1850/51 architect Hermann Wentzel (1820-1889) worked in Stockholm on the Nationalmuseum, right before he was commissioned by prince Frederik at De Paauw in 1853, only strenghtens these ties.
This means we can already identify one possible explanation for the occurence of these statues in exactly those two gardens: two of the lions, given to Frederik by tzar elect Alexander, may in turn have been a gift from Frederik to his daughter.

But there is a catch here: in a recent article on the work that Wentzel did at De Paauw, an almost casual remark states that the lions were a gift by Alexander to a relative of Frederik. This relative then passed the lions on to him, for his newly remodelled garden.⁴
This puts things in a totally different perspective, and forces us to turn our attention to Drottningholm, where the lions are situated in front of the garden façade of the famous court theatre. Could it be the statues were originally a gift to the Swedish royal family, who then passed two lions, a trough and an architect on to the future queen’s father?

More on that in part 3.

1. For photos see: Ove Hidemark, The Drottningholm Court Theatre: its advent, fate and preservation (Stockholm 1993), pp 4+5, 64, 122+123 and 137. [back]
2. Both couples are placed facing opposite directions. The resulting difference is that -when seen from the side- in Sweden one always sees only one tail at a time, whereas at De Paauw either none at all, or two tails are visible. [back]
3. On September 27, 1924. See: Frans Micklinghoff, Kastelen, buytenplaetsen en landgoederen in Wassenaar (Wassenaar 1998), p150. It is likely that a dating of around 1850 or the early years of the following decade is inspired by the fact that in those years an extensive remodelling of both house and garden took place, under supervision of the prince. The German architect H.H.A. Wentzel was called in to give the estate a pompeian atmosphere. These slick, white marble lion statues must have fitted into the picture quite well, hence the dating in the early 1850s. [back]
4. Wim Meulenkamp and Carla Oldenburger, ‘A miniature Klein-Glienicke – Dutch stibadia modelled on Prussian examples’ in: Prussian Gardens in Europe. 300 years of garden history (Leipzig 2007), p99. But it never becomes clear where this information comes from. [back]

After last night’s surprising victory over England by the Dutch cricket team, which has caused both a shock and words of praise in Britain, one has to wonder where it all began. Certainly, cricket in Holland has never grown into a large and important sport, but as it turns out it was introduced at least as early as 1765.
The earliest reference to cricket in Holland I know of (mind you, I am not an expert in cricket), comes from the Boreel family, the owners of Beeckestijn. In reply to a request dated 23 August 1765 by Willem Boreel, Jean Palairet (agent in London of Willem’s father Jacob) confirms he had bought 4 balls (12 shilling) and 12 bats (12 shilling).¹ A week later he writes extensively about the name of the ship carrying the “masses de jeu de crickett et des douze boules”, but somehow forgets to mention the ship’s name itself.²

In his first letter Palairet states that he is still on the lookout for a rule book. Although these ‘Laws of Cricket‘ existed since 1744, a printed rule book based on revisions agreed upon in 1774, was not published until 1775. So it is safe to say that the Laws of Cricket probably never made it across the North Sea earlier than that.
That would not have stood in the way of a good match at Beeckestijn, though, because back then the game knew many different rules and forms. A major standardisation of the game only came about in 1809. The fact that none of the open areas in Beeckestijn’s garden is big enough to house a cricket field by modern standards, would not have posed a problem: the first laws of cricket only dictates the size of the pitch, the distance between the wickets and where the bowling and popping creases should be. The size of the surrounding field where the field players are, seems to have been open to interpretation and circumstances.
Finding opponents would not have been difficult as well. Willem attended college in Leiden (Leyden), at the time a university which drew students from many countries in Europe, including many from England.³

If we were to play a match on Beeckestijn by modern standards, we would be forced to play on a field just next to the garden proper, now in use as a meadow for horses (see my poor rendering of that situation on the left).⁴ Instead, wouldn’t it be nice to commemorate the 1765 introduction of the game at Beeckestijn with an annual historical cricket game, taking place at either the small or the big field in the landscape garden the family created in exactly the same period? Attention in the media and any proceeds of the game could then be used to support the future exploitation of Beeckestijn, after all one of te most important gardens in The Netherlands.

How on earth did Willem Boreel learn about cricket so soon? Continue Reading »

1. These amounts are confirmed by a receipt in the Boreel family archive. [back]
2. Both letters from Palairet are kept in the Boreel family archive at the Nationaal Archief in The Hague. Willem Boreel’s request has not yet been found. [back]
3. Willem Boreel became close friends with James Harris, later the first Earl of Malmesbury, who attended classes in Leiden from September 1765 till the spring of 1766. [back]
4. This field is now an important archaeological site, making it highly unlikely a game would ever be played there. [back]

And then I recognised a lion. During a relaxed browse on the internet through photos of Drottningholm, the Swedish royal palace near Stockholm. Which is strange, because I’ve never been to Sweden (let alone to Africa). My last visit to any zoo must have been 4 years ago, and even then I saw no lions. How could this be?

Well, first of all: the lion I recognised was on a picture of a statue. And secondly his lookalike is situated in the west of The Netherlands, at De Paauw in Wassenaar. Close to home and I had taken pictures of that one shortly before I was browsing and found the one in Sweden.

The lions at Drottningholm (above, photo Pippi Netgirl)
and at De Paauw (below, photo HvdE).

They are similar, although the finish of both statues is completely different: the details of the lion at De Paauw are much smoother, less outspoken than the Swedish specimen. The biggest difference is the watering hole forming the mouth of the Dutch lion (which is one of a set of two lions placed on either side of a water trough, or bath tub).
Apart from these superficial differences, they share a lot of features.

• The hair on top of the head parts in a V-shape on both lions and the ears are similar (the ear of the Drottningholm lion is damaged, but one can see it is the same).
• The facial features (eyebrows, cheekbones, nose) are the same and the spots where the whiskers would be are more outspoken in the Swedish lion, but the De Paauw specimen also has them.
• The manes are similar.
• The tendons (visible on the left forelegs and on their sides near the hindlegs) of both lions are shaped exactly the same.

And to top it off: there are horizontal lines that look like cracks or seams at both sides of the head on both lions, and they are at the same height.

The conclusion must be that these lions have been created after the same model. There must have been two models, though, because at De Paauw the lions have their tail on different sides of their body (both tails are visible from the house).
It looks like prefab workshop material, possibly delivered with smooth features, which could easily be adapted to the buyer’s taste when he wanted them to appear stronger, or at least more distinct. Which -as always- leaves me with more questions than answers, but the main ones are: where are they produced and who made them?

What I also do not know is whether the Drottningholm lion has company, nor do I know whether that lion was made for the palace gardens itself, or brought in afterwards.¹ The picture above is the only evidence I have of it.
The lions at De Paauw are reportedly a gift from tzar Alexander II to prince Frederik of The Netherlands (king Willem II’s younger brother), a donation that supposedly took place somewhere in the 1850s. That story, however, is riddled with uncertainty and opportunities to present an alternative view.

As is the case in all royal families in Europe, close ties are not hard to find between the two men. But how does Sweden tie in, and is that even important? More about that in part 2. For now, I leave you with two challenges: prove me wrong and spot the deciding differences I have missed; and educate me (us) on the provenance of the Drottningholm lion.

1. Due to the fact that most literature about Drottningholm seems to be in Swedish and/or is concerned with the theatre of the palace. Combine that with the fact that the only publically available (in The Netherlands) copy of Nils G. Wollin’s book ‘The marbles in the Royal Park of Drottningholm and their origins‘ (Stockholm, 1965) is missing from its library in Amsterdam, and you can imagine why. [back]

Schaep en Burgh, the most northern of the estates in ’s-Graveland, is currently being restored by its owner Natuurmonumenten. The estate, which originated in the 17th century, had been remodeled in 1818 into a landscape garden by architect J. D. Zocher Jr. Natuurmonumenten are now using a map from around 1820 as a guideline for their restoration.¹ The work is the first step of an extensive revitalisation plan by Natuurmonumenten. Apart from Schaep en Burgh, they will also start work on the other 9 estates they own in ’s-Graveland.

The work that has taken place in November and December 2008 focusses on the hook-shaped pond that Zocher designed just behind the house, the so-called ‘Lindenkom’. A photo taken in September 2008 shows how overgrown the area around the pond had become. Views over the pond, originally intended by Zocher, were blocked by undergrowth which was sometimes intentionally planted in the 190 years since the original design was made. A path running along the banks of the pond was barely visible and consequently barely used, I noticed during my visit in September 2008.

This photo made earlier this month shows the current situation. The trees on the island (in the shade on the right side of the picture) are all cleared and replaced by new planting. The banks along large portions of the pond are also cleared. New shrubs are planted and several species of trees replace the cut down trees.² The view at the house, and other important vistas, are open again.
As far as I can tell from my winterly visit, they have overdone the planting of shrubs around the pond a bit. The plan boasts the planting of 1600 plants, but they are planted frightingly close together. In my view, Natuurmonumenten has been a bit too eager to create a ‘voluptuous’ shrubbery in too short a time.

This eagerness may have been insprired by criticism on the work they are doing. In November 2008 objections were raised against the extensive clearing of trees and shrubs in the garden. Apart from the architectural and historical arguments -which in my view speak in favour of this restoration- the critics must not have realised that the abundance of mature beech trees in the garden would have posed a problem of increasing proportions in the near future, as they seem to have reached the point that they fall down without warning already. The work started with the clearing of two beech trees right next to the house, which were suffering major fungus infections. Beech trees have been falling apart in the whole area the past years, like a 260 year old specimen at Gooilust in April 2008 and one just behind the Lindenkom at Schaep en Burgh in the past months (photo), which only appears to have damaged a neighbouring tree in its fall.³

The stump of a recently broken beech tree at Schaep en Burgh, caused by a fungus infection. The ‘Lindenkom’ is visible in the background. Photos by HvdE.

Beech trees (in The Netherlands) have a lifespan of 200-300 years, when they are happy with their designated location. Trees in gardens are not always planted on favourable spots as far as life span is concerned. I believe people who care about parks and gardens -in their neighbourhood or in general- must prepare for a clearing of beech trees on a large scale in the upcoming decades, because they have been used abundantly in early 19th century landscape gardens throughout the country. I just hope they will be replaced with a good idea in mind, either by a modern layout, or a as the result of a restoration or revitalisation plan as is the case here.

1. I have not yet been able to trace that map down, I will post that when I have found it. The map is found in the Wijdemeren archive. Research was done by SB4. [back]
2. Among usual suspects as beech, oak and Populus nigra ‘Italica’, they also planted specimens of the Paper Birch (Betula papyrifera), which seems a bit out of tune. But I’m happy to be surprised by the result. [back]
3. Regional paper Gooi en Eemlander reported on the Gooilust beech tree on 22 April 2008, but the report is not available on their website anymore. [back]