Bermudians must have heaved a sigh of relief when the Second World War officially ended on September 2, 1945. What many did not realise, however, was that another war was already beginning. This time the aggressors were not human. Rather, they were two miniscule scale insects, the Diaspis visci (juniper scale)and the Lepidosaphes newsteadi. The second, otherwise known as the oystershell scale, had apparently arrived in conifers imported to be planted in the Castle Harbour Hotel area, sometime before 1942. By 1945,both scales were slowly but remorselessly attacking our endemic cedar trees, technically Juniperus bermudiana.
Bermuda cedars have made a crucial contribution to Bermuda’s cultural legacy since their wood, for centuries, was used for shipbuilding, building houses and crafting furniture. In the 1680s, they had nearly been decimated through the demand for their wood. But early conservation measures and legislation saved them. By the 1940s the Department of Agriculture estimated that there was an average of three-hundred cedars on every acre in Bermuda, their swathes of dusky green on our hills being a major attraction for tourists.
Once the insects were discovered, the Department of Agriculture tried to eradicate them by spraying. It didn’t work. More and more trees began to go grey and die. Then in February 1947 Dr W.R. Thompson, the director of the Commonwealth Bureau of Biological Control, arrived from Canada. He favoured importing predators—beetles which would eat the scale and wasps whose larva would destroy it. By May he had imported 19,500 insects of 16 different species, of which 14,500 had been let loose among the trees. But in the fall of that year two hurricanes striking the island exposed the damage already inflicted on the trees. The late Michael Darling remembered working for the then Agricultural Station inspecting trees for the scale. His experiences involved flying in one of Hughie Watlington’s planes to survey the devastation.
By 1952 it became clear Bermuda was losing the battle although several million natural insect predators from more than one-hundred species collected from around the world had been released. So many trees were looking diseased or skeletal, laws were passed to legalise cutting them down because they looked so unattractive to tourists. And by 1959 at least ninety percent of the trees were gone, while most of those that remained were in the process of dying. A survey found juniper scale on every living cedar; one contemporary account says on one tree 5,000 scales were observed on a twig. The decimation of our cedars also meant the loss of cicadas which had once filled the air with their calls. And while we do still have Eastern bluebirds, they are much fewer in number since they lost their cedar nesting habitat and now nest in boxes. As Michael Darling said, “Bermuda was never the same again.”
The island became so bare, by 1953 replanting was imperative. The Department of Agriculture began planting casuarinas, bay grape, scarlet cordia, palmetto, Norfolk Island pine, Australian silky oak, giant privet, Chinese hat palm, Indian laurel, olive, Natal plum, hibiscus and oleander. Unfortunately, some introduced trees became invasives, particularly the casuarina. As some compensation, two junipers similar to ours but resistant to scale were also planted: Juniperus virginiana var. virginiana and Juniperus virginiana var. silicicola, introduced by J D C Darrell and Reeve Smith.
During the 1970s planting native and endemic trees in Bermuda became an environmental priority with the Bermuda cedar being the first tree of choice. Are the cedars we now see coming back in our gardens, parks and roadsides truly Bermudian? By no means all of them. Not only have the Juniperus virginiana, mentioned above, proliferated, but they have also hybridised with our Bermudian cedars. Are there any true Bermudian trees left? Thankfully, Bermudian scientist Dr Carika Weldon is currently conducting genetic research into our cedars, which may well in the future give us the answers. In the meantime, whatever their true nationality, the trees renew our links to the past.
