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Then there was the one down the road from me in the area we flitted to halfway through 1972, which I passed on a daily basis to and from school for the next two-and-a-half years, as well as sundry other times. It stood on the edge of a burn (narrow watercourse), which had two metal barred 'fences' at different angles to one another where two separate channels of the burn met, to prevent 'flotsam and jetsam' being carried into the tunnel that the water led in to (and out of) whenever it was in full and furious flow.
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As a shortcut, I used to regularly walk over the three or four foot long, two or three-inch wide top of one of those fences to reach the other side, without pause or uncertainty, and I did so with such aplomb that I impressed even myself. (I know what you're thinking - "He's easily impressed!") I couldn't do it today because my sense of balance is completely shot, but when I returned to the area (and house) in 1987 after four years elsewhere and resumed using that same route to and from my home, I found that, after an initial hesitation, I could again routinely walk over that strip of metal with the same ease and assurance as previously. So my balance was pretty much the same at 28 as it had been at 13. No mean feat if I say so myself. (And I do.)
There have been other trees that meant something to me as 'markers' in my life and maybe one day I'll write about them, but for this post, the one at the bottom of the street is the focus of my attention because, after nearly 52 years, it was blown down by the fierce gales that much of the country has been subjected to over the last several weeks. It survived the second-last one from around three weeks or so ago, but, alas, it fell victim to the most recent one a week back. I was in a friend's car and was dismayed to see it no longer standing tall and proud as we passed its fallen form, but I made a mental note to try and get some photos before council workmen come to dismember it and cart away the branches and trunk.
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As you can see from the photos, I managed to capture its image before it disappears forever. I do actually have quite a number of photographs I took of the tree in its heyday (I guess I must've known, deep-down, that it wouldn't be there forever), but they aren't to hand at the moment for me to show them here - when I find them, I'll add them to the post. I wasn't really too surprised to see it had finally succumbed to the elements, because it actually stood in quite a tenuous spot with not a lot of earth and soil around two sides of it. I think I was more surprised that it had survived as long as it did, as I always feared that council workmen would fell it as a potential hazard even if it managed to withstand the gale-force winds that assailed it every so often.
For quite a number of years now, whenever I passed it on my perambulations, I would reach up and touch the ends of its overhanging branches (which hung over the pavement on the street-side of the burn) in greeting and appreciation of its continued presence (in fact, I did so only a few weeks back), as it was like an old friend from my past as well as my present - though, sadly, no longer my future. I was always relieved and gladdened to see it still stretching towards the heavens after a storm, but now I'll never be able to pass the spot again without a sense of loss and sadness at its absence. Daft as it sounds, if trees can be aware of their surroundings, I wonder whether it will miss me (or anyone) as much as I'll miss it when it's finally removed.
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So here's to another soon-to-be-vanished aspect of my past. They become more frequent the older I get, but such is life, I guess. Do any of you ever feel the same about once-familiar local 'landmarks' from your day-to-day life that are no longer around? If you can relate to this post in any way, feel free to leave a comment - otherwise I'll suspect you're ignoring me because you think I'm as barmy as a big box of biting, battling badgers.
No trees were felled locally in the recent storm (Jan 21st) but my neighbour's back gate was torn from its' hinges. He's a bedridden old man so obviously he couldn't do much about it but after a few days the gate was back in place thanks to one of his relatives I assume.
ReplyDeleteI've recently seen quite a few fences torn down by the gales, CJ, some of them quite long or high fences too. I can't fully understand those who remove hedging and replace it with fencing, 'cos I don't think I've ever seen a hedge uprooted by a storm.
ReplyDeleteLoads of trees were blown down in my area but mostly smaller trees and branches from larger trees so nothing major. Saying that, we went for a coffee in Lanark with the dog ( lovely park there) and at least 4 massive old trees had fallen, sad as they had been growing for years and were stunning. I had to get 4 big trees cut from my garden ( one was well over 25foot tall) as they were in danger of falling , I miss them but not the worry off them killing us lol. I tend to miss shops that no longer exist, even although the physical building is still there . The area I lived in in Glasgow as a child /teenager ,was constantly being rebuilt ( mostly for the better) so I got used to things changing as they should in many cases. I get annoyed though when good old buildings are demolished and replaced by bland modern houses or awful looking shops
ReplyDeleteYeah, I miss certain shops as well. McS, and the building that was once the largest cinema in Scotland (and is now a bingo hall) is due for demolition in a few years if development plans for the Town Centre come to fruition. There's a church just around the corner from me that was built in 1954 that was suddenly fenced off last week, with no notice to the parishioners. It has a real '50s atmosphere about it and I used to play chess there in the '80s with people who were between badminton matches. I'd been planning to take photos inside of the place, but it looks like no one is going to be allowed access to it until its fate is decided - maybe not even then. Another aspect of my youth destined to disappear, alas.
ReplyDeleteOne of my two earliest memories is of my father cutting down a very tall tree in our garden (my other earliest memory's a castle fete, with a karate demonstration). In reality, the tree probably wasn't that tall - but I was only about 4 at the time! I also feel a sense of loss over several power stations being demolished in my general locality. My father worked at a couple of them, up until 1975, so the power stations were nostalgic to me. As regards local shops disappearing, as well as Woolies et al, in my area, sadly, it's usually shops identified by a family name - they just can't compete with the 'big boys' ! Only one family store was left - most closed in the 70s & 80s - but that, too, closed, just before New Year.
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Just wish I had the power to reverse all the changes that have occurred over the decades, P. I'd restore my Town Centre to how it was in the very early '70s, as well as doing away with replacement buildings (shops, schools, churches, etc.,) and restoring the originals. I sometimes feel like I'm not living in the town I knew, but one that resembles it in some ways. Bring back the past is what I say.
ReplyDeleteI was touched by your words about trees and the particular one that was felled by the storm. I've only today discovered your blog and found your writing very interesting and moving.
ReplyDeleteAnyway, I felt I had to comment about the tree I miss. I moved with my family into a new-build house at age 7; for the first time we had a garden – including an actual tree in the front. I entered the house with my older brother and excitedly 'bagsied' the bedroom with the tree outside the window. It was a maple sapling with a 1” trunk and a metal cage around it to protect it. My family and I watched it grow as me and my brother grew, and we all loved it. One night, October 15 – what was to become known as the Great Storm of ’87 - as I was sat on my bed watching TV with the wind howling and the rain lashing the window pane, I heard a crack from the tree, now 12 years old with a 5” trunk. I rushed outside in my pyjamas and dressing gown to discover that the trunk had split lengthwise at the first point where it branched out, and was leaning over, dangerously close to falling. At once, I set to work to save it as if it was the most natural thing in the world. I went to my dad's tool shed and found a length of washing line and I lashed this around the trunk and then I pulled the tree back against the wind until it was upright and tied it around a stake that I’d hammered into the ground. Then, knowing that it needed all the support it could get, I went and got some duct tape and wound it repeatedly round the trunk at the point of the split. Thinking back with the knowledge of how strong that storm was, I'm amazed this worked!
The next day I remember looking out of my bedroom window and seeing my dad and my brother digging around the base of the tree to re-set it as it listed badly despite my efforts.
Well, the tree survived and thrived, growing to 8m and with a trunk about 15” across. Moreover, from that night onwards, its leaves grew in two distinctly different shades of green, presumably one for each side of the split its trunk had suffered.
Now, however, comes the tragedy. I had moved out but I always expected to succeed my parents' tenancy when they died, so that I would get to live out my days with 'my' beloved tree. Alas, our next-door neighbour, who, for some reason, hated trees, put in a complaint about ours. As my parents' house was a former council house taken over by what is now Metropolitan Thames Valley Housing, MTVH received, and acted on, this complaint. With a total lack of concern for our feelings, they sent a team of men to fell our tree without even having the decency to knock on the door and inform my parents of their intentions! The very neighbour who had complained about the tree informed me that it was destroyed and put through a chipper inside an hour. She pretended to me be shocked and claimed she’d asked what they were doing, apparently telling the workmen that the tree had only recently been pruned and getting the reply, "Well we're pruning it some more!”. I was too dumbfounded to know how to respond.
I made a complaint but nothing could change the reality that our beautiful maple, 'my' tree, was forever gone. We never had a swing hanging on it or a tree house in it. It was just an ordinary tree to everyone else; but every single time I visited my parents I'd look in anger and sadness at the stump. Even this has since been removed so that now there's only some slabs over the spot where it stood but in my memories I can see it still.
A very touching and moving comment, DJ, and thanks for taking the time to make it. I can totally relate to it, as there are now quite a few trees that were once in my life that have gone to the great 'forest in the sky'. I feel diminished somehow whenever I notice another one from my past has been felled, either by the weather or council workmen. I've written a few posts about trees, which should be accessible to you if you type 'trees' into the blog's search box, though you might have to scroll down through a few unrelated posts between them. Also 'degeneration' will take you to an interesting post about a certain tree. There's a tree in part of my front garden that I've known since I was 13 years of age and which I worry about. When I first moved here, because of the positions of my house and one of my neighbours, the front garden was what was known as a 'mutual' garden, in that it served the two houses. Many years later, when the neighbour bought their property, they laid a path down part of it and the tree was slightly more in their side than ours, though it had originally been planted for the benefit of both houses when the garden was one single piece of lawn, and before it had ever been imagined that council properties would ever be sold. In fact, it's more a feature of the view from my front window than it is of theirs, but I worry that they might consider it as exclusively belonging to them and one day decide to fell it. I still regard it as half mine and would protest, but should they ever cut it down, I might be out when it happens and it would be too late to do anything about it. I'm thinking of taking a cutting and cultivating it, just in case the worst ever happens. Thanks again for your comment - I hope other Crivvies will read it and respond to it.
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