Holly was once the green symbol of hope during our Midwinter celebrations, long before Albert’s Christmas tree crashed upon the scene. So, it's inevitably steeped in ancient superstition, with its spiky branches preventing evil fairies skipping along the hearth.

But there’s much more to holly, Ilex aquifolium, than that. Even its name shows how ‘deep-rooted’ it is in our culture. Our Scots word for holly is the Anglo-Saxon ‘hollen’, and the fishing village Cullen along with its inimitable dish, Cullen skink, is derived from the Gaelic for holly, ‘cuileann’

With over 400 species in the genus, many varieties have been developed, including the 30 currently listed by RHS. Breeders have splashed or edged leaves with yellow or white. I. aquifolium ‘Ferox’ has extra spiny leaves, with those on I. aquifolium ‘Pyramidalis’ more appealingly smooth.

Many hollies are dioecious, but others, including I. aquifolium ‘J.C. van Tol have both male and female flowers, so berries are guaranteed. And, if you’re going for 2 hollies make sure they’re not both male, like ‘Golden Queen’, or female ‘Handsworth New Silver’.

Red and yellow are the usual berry colours. But writing a little over a century ago, the prolific Dumfriesshire writer, Herbert Maxwell, reported that John Evelyn had mentioned a white-berried variety. And the 18th Century Scots botanist, John Loudon, claimed a black one. Nonetheless, Maxwell reckoned both writers had been ‘misled by hearsay’.

It’s hard to believe how widespread holly once was all over Scotland. Near Gordon castle in Moray, Maxwell identified a grove with 500 trees described as ‘large’ 150 years earlier. And equally astonishing is how large they often became. At the start of last century, Maxwell had seen large hollies at Fullarton House by Troon, claiming one specimen had a circumference of 189ft.

Holly grows well in all but the wettest soils. It regenerates in shade, so was prevalent in forested areas, though not as a timber crop. But it is good for hedging. Evergreen holly made the perfect boundary marker and its near impenetrable tangle of prickles kept your stock on the right land.

In the late 17th Century, Evelyn had holly hedging at Sayes Court, near Deptford. Until, that is, he leased his estate to the Russian Czar, Peter the Great. During his brief visit, his court trashed the property. Maxwell noted that the Emperor ‘amused himself by causing his courtiers to trundle each other in wheelbarrows down a steep descent into the [holly] hedge’ At least Evelyn wrote in his diary that he had received £55 [£10,000 now] compensation for damage to the garden, and three times that for the house.

And holly was not just a wheelbarrow target. The straight and pliable stems were used in carving and made excellent tool handles. They were in great demand as driving whips for horse-drawn carriages till what Maxwell described as the ‘spread of automobilism.’

Holly was also a fodder crop for cattle and sheep and they were encouraged to shelter in wooded areas like the Argyll oak forests. Other herbivores, such as rabbits and deer killed off any regeneration.

But how could they cope with such prickly leaves, even if they are highly nutritious? I guessed the answer but checked it out before writing. Sure enough, the leaves of the freshly emerging shoots are perfectly soft and tender. These animals ain't daft.

And on a festive note, our indefatigable Maxwell blames Christmas for the decline in holly trees. ‘The ravages wrought on holly trees for Christmas decorations are deplorable, raiders finding a ready sale for their plunder in all the big towns.’ So, if you want a holly wreath, take your secateurs to the garden.

Plant of the Week

Ilex aquifolium 'Silver Milkmaid' has dark green leaves prettily splashed with white and plenty of red berries.