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Dogwood is described as a plague on the North Downs, where it proliferates despite efforts to cut it down, according to a 1976 country diary entry from The Guardian. The shrub sends up coppice and sucker shoots from roots and stumps, making it a dominant component of scrubland that is overtaking once-open grasslands.

The plant’s deep roots allow it to thrive in thin, dry soils, unaffected by spring droughts that have reduced some orchid species and boosted cowslip abundance this year. Dogwood shades out ground flora, transforming grassland into dense jungle-like vegetation.

Despite its maligned reputation, dogwood has surprising attributes. Its name derives from “dagger” rather than the animal, and its tough, horny twigs serve as excellent skewers. The twigs have been reddening since January, giving rise to its Latin name, Cornus sanguinea.

The white flowers, blooming across the downs in May, carry a traditional legend linking dogwood to the crucifixion. A friend shared a poem describing the flower’s petals as representing the cross — two short, two long — with red flecks as nail marks and a central stamen symbolizing the crown of thorns. The plant’s twisted, stunted growth is attributed to its use as the original cross and subsequent shame, similar to legends surrounding the elder tree.

In a combe above Detling visited regularly by the diarist, saplings of beech, ash, and Scots pine are emerging above the scrub layer. Given time, the forest will reassert itself and even the dogwood will be shaded out.

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“summary”: “Dogwood spreads aggressively on the North Downs, but a legend links its flowers to the crucifixion. Forest may eventually reclaim the land.”
}