Granda's Tree House

I'm sitting in the garden
With my small son on my knee
He looks up at me with big brown eyes
And says “Tell me about Granda's tree”

My father planted a tree
In nineteen forty two
He nurtured it and hadn’t bargained
On just how big it grew

When I was just seven years old
I had a love of climbing trees
Many times mum put plasters
On my bloodied and skinned knees

I can remember one day
Wearing my new party dress
Peering in through the window
A grubby bedraggled mess

I’d climbed as high as I could go
Then heard a quite loud crack
The branch it snapped in two
And I landed on my back

I’d excelled myself on this occasion
You could say I’d gone the whole hog
I’d landed on a little offering
Left by next doors dog

I remember as a little girl
My father built me a house in the tree
A sturdy wooden house with windows
Especially for me

When I was in my tree house
I could be almost anywhere
In a tropical jungle
Or in a cave hiding from a grizzly bear


Hanging onto my rope ladder
With a plastic cutlass on my hip
I could be looking for buried treasure
My tree house a pirate ship

Underneath the carpet
In the middle of the floor
My father had lovingly made me
A little brass-hinged trap door

Whenever I got fed up
Of being stuck inside
I’d open up that trap door
And go straight down the slide

Sometimes I would stand
For maybe half an hour
And pretend I was a princess
Imprisoned in an ivory tower

Some days I’d be a cowgirl
On a wild west ranch
And sometimes I’d pretend to be
A monkey swinging from a branch

One day I picked some flowers
And mum asked what they were for
I said “they are for my cottage
With roses around the door”

My son is looking wistful
Then he smiles at me
He says “mummy I would love
To see my Granda’s tree”

Tears come into my eyes
My son’s smile turns into a frown
I say “The tree's no longer there
The new owners chopped it down”

My son says it is sad
That the tree's no longer there
But no-one can destroy the memories
That my son and I share