IN Edinburgh at the weekend, I bumped into a friend who described her distress at recently waking to find a large tree had fallen in her garden. It had snapped at the base, leaving behind a mound of sawdust. It was as if it had been eaten by termites. Calling in a tree surgeon, she was told several more, including a soaring pine, were for the chop.

She was understandably upset, these old friends having been part of her family’s life for decades. Now they are gone, leaving the garden safer but emptier, with golden-ringed coins marking the spot where they stood.

I too have just said farewell to a tree, but this one went unmourned. A fat, mildewed stump, it was like an iceberg, more of it below ground than above. Now it has departed, I plan to replace it with a copper beech sapling, a gift from a neighbour. It’s a principle I’ve discovered most people with gardens work by: remove the dead or the dysfunctional, but quickly replant. Nature abhors a vacuum, but so do nature lovers.

It therefore comes as no surprise to learn of the stramash over the felling of 52 mature trees last week in Princes Street Gardens. Hearing of this calamity, I went to see for myself. It was a sunny morning, but it felt as if storm clouds were gathering. Stretching from the slope by the Scottish National Gallery (SNG) cafe to the grass beneath the Scott Monument, row upon row of fresh stumps greeted passers-by, a dismal reminder of their former glory.

The sight was shocking. I observed one man close to tears, another turn scarlet with rage. On social media, Edinburghers have been venting their dismay, aghast at this wholesale scything. At times like this, when apoplexy seems the only justifiable reaction, you need to remind yourself that there are far worse things going on in the world. Yet such desecration is deeply unsettling and angering. It’s another symptom of a society moving too fast, bulldozing over the populace’s feelings without giving a damn.

With weaselly emollience, a spokesperson for SNG explained that the trees had been sacrificed to create a path that would offer better disabled and pushchair access for the gallery. He or she was quick to add that almost half of the lost plants will be replaced with “large saplings and semi-mature trees” in spring next year. As an extra justification, we were told that the process of clearing “will also recreate carefully framed views through the Gardens to the Old Town”, just as the architect William Playfair had originally intended.

If only such extraordinary sensitivity to the skyline and historic sensibilities was shown in other recent city developments. Interestingly, though, while Edinburgh City Council’s landscapers have said that introducing limes and elms as replacements will be more appropriate for this setting, some councillors are obviously feeling uneasy. One pointed out that the capital has fewer trees now than five years ago, and that this trend must be reversed. You can’t help wondering if SNG is calling the shots, and browbeating the council into compliance.

Because surely it was possible to design access-friendly paths without such excessive collateral damage, impacting on land hundreds of metres from the gallery? And this being one of the city’s best-loved open spaces, why was there no public consultation? There is a hint of cloak and dagger about this high-handed decision, an attitude of devil take the hindmost. The answer to both those questions, meanwhile, is obvious. One would have imposed unwelcome design constraints, the other might well have led to an embarrassing public veto.

That this felling spree happened within days of the EU calling for urgent action on carbon emissions was an added insult. Fifty-two powerful green lungs have now been lost forever, with only 22 junior ones to take their place. As everyone knows, trees are the frontline in the fight to improve air quality which, near Waverley Railway Station, the Mound and Princes Street, is noxious.

But there’s worse. People take tree vandalism personally. They grow fond of them, seeing them as a symbol of security and sanity. Because of their size, and the wildlife they support, they feel like guardians of the wild. In the midst of concrete, crowds and noise, they are a welcome sanctuary of calm, a reminder of our rural roots.

There is a patrician tone to this tree-felling that does not reflect well on SNG. The new gallery extension, intended to showcase the long undervalued riches of Scottish art, is being constructed at the expense of living and breathing old masters. The end result might be a beautifully sculpted and sophisticated corner of parkland, and in time the lost trees will most likely be forgotten, or remembered only by those of us who nurse our grudges.

Yet it’s not just the soaring woods that have suffered. So have those who loved them. When the axe falls on healthy trees, everyone takes a hit. Like canaries in the mine, their fate acts as a warning that the atmosphere we live in is toxic, and poses a threat to us all.