Hello and welcome to Stories of Scotland, a podcast about Scottish history, culture and nature. My name is Jenny and I'm a big tree.

And I'm Annie, a small bird nesting within her branches.

This is a special episode celebrating the extraordinary life of the Buley Elm tree, which sadly fell last week.

In this episode, we're going to meet the wee community of monks who likely planted this tree

around 800 years ago, which is incredible.

And we'll hear about the history that swirls around it.

For hundreds of years in the wee village of Buley, which sits about 13 miles west of Inverness, the Buley

elm stood tall and proud.

Its deep roots streached down through the burial grounds of the Buley Priory.

Its bark, the colour of charred peat, was rough and deeply fissured. Its huge trunk was knotted and gnarled.

Strong winding branches clawed their way upwards, reaching out into the sky like ancient hands

seeking the stars. Its many toothed and tapered leaves rustled gently, summoning wee creatures to come

and shelter amongst the branches and the burrs. It stood in the heart of the village of Bule,

a distinct marker of nature's beauty at the centre of this settlement.

It was a truly majestic tree, but like all trees, it started as a tiny seed.

The parents of this newborn seed are witch elms. The witch in witch elm is not related to witches with supernatural powers, but rather it comes

from an old English word for trees with pliant branches. I know I shouldn't be, Annie, but I am

a little disappointed by this. I'm all for bendy witchy wood, but you know I love a good

bendy witchy witch. So the malleable and flexible wood of this tree isn't great for construction,

but it has many other uses. It's resistant to water, making it great for cartwheels and boat building.

In Scotland, the natural bend plus pliability of the witch elm wood

means that it's one of the favoured woods for camins, which is the stick used to play shinty.

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