When and how does a tree become a heritage?
Heritage is culture that has withstood the test of time and of general acceptance. A tree, by
nature, cannot instantly become culture: we can water a tree, fertilise and prune it, but our
shaping of a tree is limited; it cannot be compared with the manner in which we plan and
give form to a cultural creation like a story, a song or a street of significant buildings.
The Stellenbosch oaks, and these oldest and toughest among them, have become our
heritage because we endow them as heritage. We endow them as such with a history and
with our ways of seeing (to borrow a term from John Berger).
The meaning of these trees was not pre-planned. Those who first planted oaks in
Stellenbosch planted them for shade against the sun and also for wood to make wine casks.
The Stellenbosch oaks never supplied wood for barrels – the sun was too fierce and the
wood too unlike the oaks of Europe from which good wine casks are made. But they
nevertheless became a signature of the town, signifying initially also the history and heritage
of the people who did the planting.
Our stories sometimes resemble the history of the acorns from which these trees grew.
Think of the story of some young man who embarks on a journey, and with imagination
solves a riddle, or fills a need in a far-off land, and at the same time finds love and brings
new life and energy to the place. This is a tale that surfaces in many guises.
But just about every heroic or idealistic tale also has a dark shadow. The other side of the
young man’s story is the story of those who may resent the new ideas of him who takes
away the princess – the crowning glory of the land. They would see such a history as one of
alien invasion, colonisation, and displacement. Like the story of renewal, this shadow story is
also very real and present in many shapes, even in the recent political story of this town:
think how some speak of others as colonists; others speak of newcomers from rural areas as
the new invaders who crowd out the people of the Western Cape and take over the
livelihood and housing of those who were always here; and then we also have recurring
incidents of xenophobia.
We determine what our heritage will be. We assign meaning to trees and things. It is for us
to ask: What meaning do we now assign to the foreign oaks that put down roots in this soil?
I recall a conversation with Thomas Pakenham, the British historian who is also a world
expert on trees. He suggested that we select a tree, say the baobab, and then plant those
trees to mark every momentous occasion in our new history, to remind ourselves constantly
of what we share.
At the time I said that it might prove difficult: in our wide land few trees grow across all the
varied climates and soils of the land. Those who know the thorn-tree, who grew up with it,
may not know the wild olive, and vice versa. Besides, we easily cut down trees, especially
when they are tall.
Pakenham was unperturbed: you must learn to honour your trees, he said. And when you
choose a tree to represent your best hopes, consider also a tree that grows all over the
world, like the oak.
And, he said, do not believe that your history is so very different. He told of how the most
revered and honoured trees in his own country and on his own estate in Ireland, are oaks
planted a thousand years ago by Vikings when they invaded and plundered Ireland. With
time the Irish have grown level-headed about this part of their history. The Vikings and their
trees are not eternally evil any more, or the Irish good and holy – we are all human. And the
Vikings did not only plunder; they also brought progress, with new technology for shipbuilding and for laying out new towns like Dublin and Cork, today still the foremost cities of
modern-day Ireland.
Our symbols of heritage, whether embedded in trees, streets or stories, survive only when
we continuously renew the meaning of the symbol. These oldest oaks at 6 Ryneveld Street,
where Stellenbosch originated as a town, are brittle and fragile but have survived, and have
outlived many. Yet when we take care of them, we know that even if they outlive those of
us gathered here today, our ideas and stories, and our histories and heritage may outlive
them. We care for them, as trees, and also because they are embedded in stories that have
significant meaning for us. At best they should remind us of an inclusive history and help us
to remain aware of our capacity to be tolerant and caring in our dealings with one another.
This is our heritage.
Hannes van Zyl
7 September 2012