The Memory Tree

1975 A.D

“Chrrup..Chrrup…”

“Yes, of course, I’d be delighted. You’re the very first bird ever to settle on my branches! Make yourself at home, feed on the insects in my bark…”

I beam with pride as the dappled light shines through the canopy way above my head. Now I’m growing up, I’m aware of my glamorous silver skin. I enjoy gazing down at the saplings, some birches like me, others oak, beech or rowan. The cheerful symphony of a thousand birds in song, fills me with a contented joy, mingling with the tinkling brook that topples over a tiny waterfall on its way down from the hill to the canal close by.

2000 A.D

“Brrm…brrm…brrm…brrm!”

One after another, the noisy metal tanks flash by. Their human occupants stare straight ahead, engaged in an urgent race to nowhere. No time to spare me a glance from the road above. Worse still are those lumbering trucks that kick up the grey dust that itches my yellowing leaves, darkening my trunk, robbing me of my beauty. The sweet smell of greenery is replaced by exhaust fumes, the stale residue from substances that should have remained deep underground for ever.

Gone is the birdsong, absent is the tinkle of the brook, now channelled into a culvert under the tarmac. No longer do the voles scurry amongst my roots, the chaffinches flit amongst my branches, nor the squirrels play hide-and-seek, darting up my trunk before leaping onto my neighbours’ outstretched arms.

They say this is Development. What are they developing, and who is it for? Apparently there had to be a New Road; it was required to service ‘new build’ estates and a modern industrial park. The park is needed so they can store all the stuff they’ve imported from China, ready to travel back along the road to fulfil what they say are urgent orders. So they needed to chop down and bulldoze our forest. I was ‘spared’ along with a few other small trees as my corner of the wood lay between the road and canal. But I’d rather have died. What pleasure is there to sit next to a clearing littered with abandoned logs, plastic pipes, bottles, cans and cardboard?

I hope someone, somewhere feels happier because of this Progress. Are they glad they’ve got more goods? Do bigger houses – mostly Executive Homes lived in by only one or two people – improve family life? Not if you’re a tree. The one thing that gives me pleasure is the children who climb me as they walk along the tow path. It hurts when they dig their feet into my trunk, but I don’t mind – I love their laughter, their mischief, that sense that I’ve been noticed.  

2025 A.D

My work is almost done, my day is over. The woodpeckers are now regular visitors as my ancient, knarled bark hosts beetles galore. Below me, the logs have been cleared away, save a collection neatly laid in a pile to host small animals and insects alike. Couples stop at the bench by the towpath, unpacking their morning snack. I enjoy their chatter.  

The traffic still rumbles by, but it’s much quieter nowadays and no longer belches out such a noxious cocktail. Besides, there’s more leaf cover as the woodland around me is returning to health.

Several volunteer groups came to clear away the rubbish. Then they placed up a sign that announces,

Greendale Woods Nature Reserve.

My trunk bears a yellow cross. Any day now, the chainsaw will arrive. But I’m ready. I gaze with pride at the tiny saplings in the clearing, my own legacy to a world that is, I hope, rediscovering the glory of nature.