The Tree

To suggest that the large Elm tree at the bottom of my parents garden at 21 Orchard Crescent, Mill Hill had a significant effect on my life would of course be a gross exaggeration. It would be true to say, however, that it’s conquest did, for me, become a youthful obsession.

My parents achieved home ownership early in the 1950’s and their move to a North London suburb followed my Father’s career move to teach Maths at the huge new secondary school in nearby Borehamwood.   All this was rather lost on my sister and I at the time as I viewed the great prospect of scaling the enormous tree that dominated the view from my rear bedroom window in Mill Hill. As a nine year old my parents preoccupation with making their new home habitable was not my particular priority, but the forthcoming assault on the great tree certainly was.

Standing in the garden beneath it for the first time I soon realised, however, that this was not going to be easy. Viewed from my rear bedroom window at first floor level had given me the advantage of height and from there I had envisaged using one of the huge lower branches to quickly move upwards through its vast foliage. Standing beneath it I realised that the first weight bearing branches were in fact at least 10 feet above me so how was I ever going to get started? Retreating back to my bedroom I was forced to replan my approach. At the time I had no idea that this was to become my personal Everest and that it would in fact take me until I was nearly fourteen to realise my dream. Every small boy at the time wanted to emulate the amazing achievements of Edmund Hillary and Tenzing Norgay’s conquest of the World’s highest peak in 1953 and I felt very fortunate to have in my back garden my very own Everest to scale and conquer.

First thoughts revolved around my sisters skipping rope,  perhaps this was the answer. I could throw one end over the lowest branch and with its help overcome the height disadvantage.  Negotiations with my sister would have to begin immediately. Now anyone that has a younger sister will know that this could be a very tricky conversation.

While her skipping rope with its ideal wooden handles was hardly ever in use,  as soon as Susan realised that I needed it, it became her most treasured possession. Why did I want it? No it couldn’t possibly be used to climb trees! Borrowing it while she was otherwise engaged seemed to be the only solution. This was eventually achieved with some difficulty. Susan had taken the precaution of hiding her most treasured possession so that before I could ‘borrow’ it I had to find it! 

Standing under the tree at last with her rope soon had me realising that it was no match for what I had in mind. To make matters worse, my endless efforts to throw the skipping rope wooden handle over the lowest suitable branch had wedged it irretrievably. Stuck, it now it dangled like a constant reminder of my failure and even worse my sister eventually spotted it. 

For several years, despite numerous attempts, the ascent of the tree eluded me. As I got older my efforts became much more sophisticated. A wooden ladder rescued from the tip with several rungs missing was lashed to the rear of the lower trunk. Even this, however, somehow fell short of giving me the necessary foothold. 

My breakthrough came while revising for my end of term exams. By now I had acquired an old car tow rope. With this around my waist and the other end looped over a suitable branch I managed to haul myself from the top of the ladder to the elusive lower limb of the tree. With no thought about how I was eventually going to get down the climb to the first major branch in the great trunk was fairly straight forward. I might have got a rubbish mark in my exams but - hey, I was half way to the top. Base Camp A had been established. I was so elated that I’ve no memory of the tricky decent - perhaps I jumped?

For some bizarre reason my Father then decided that the magnificent Elm should be felled. We all begged him to reconsider. In a rare concessionary mood the sentence was commuted to taking the top off the 80 foot giant and reducing its height to about 60 feet. 

The professional tree felling teams efforts attracted the neighbours from Orchard Crescent and they all crowded into our back garden to stand at a safe distance to see the tricky operation. Jack Conboy from next door alarming my Father with the dire consequences of the tree falling on Mr Popeck’s greenhouse our immediate neighbour’s pride and joy. We all knew that for good reason he spent a great deal more time among his plants than with Mrs Popeck. Had my Father taken out the necessary insurance? I secretly revelled in Dad’s discomfort wanting him to suffer just a bit for emasculating my glorious tree in such a fashion. 

The only casualty, however, from the felling was my Father’s much admired rose garden. The upper section of the great tree fell neatly as planned on to his roses and we all gazed in awe at the huge truncated Elm. A circular platform had now been created at the very top. Clearly I had to plant my flag of conquest on this distant peak still towering 60 feet above the garden and still dwarfing our semi-detached London home. 

By now I had perfected my ascent to base camp A and lost no time trying to reach the new platform recently created. This was finally achieved on a Saturday only about a week after the felling. 

The sense of achievement was beyond belief. I had conquered it at last. I sat cross legged on the top of the tree, my bottom surrounded by the annual rings of the trunk and I literally glowed with the excitement of my own success. The rain that began to fall almost immediately did not dampen my spirits as I remembered all the fruitless attempts I had made over the years to climb this tree.

Nothing else really mattered and I imagined just what Edmund Hillary and Tenzing Norgay must have felt as they gazed out from the roof of the World at the summit of Everest in 1953 I believed that on this occasion, seven years later, I had just joined them.