I witnessed the aftermath of a murder a few days ago. The body was cordoned off behind yellow tape and bits of the corpse lay about on the surrounding grass. The victim? A tree I'd known from when I was 7 years old, situated in a far corner of the grounds of my old primary school. I'd seen it only the week before, I'm sure, and had been glad to note it still guarding its space, but just a short time later it was dead and dismembered, and yet another old friend from childhood had bitten the dust.
I presume it must've been diseased, hence the tape around it warning people to keep their distance in case branches fell onto them, or the old tree collapsed on top of someone. Still, it was yet alive when the chainsaw made its first cut into its trunk and it must've felt each burning blow. It's at peace now, though I miss it standing like a sentinel in the grounds of my old school, which is actually now a new school as the old one was demolished (and replaced) a few years back, yet another victim of time.
The base of the tree and its roots remain in the ground however, and maybe new shoots will sprout from it, as I've seen happen with other trees. I once saw one that had been shattered by lightning and wasn't much more than a husk, but after several years, it grew back to almost its former glory. (I published the 'before and after' photos in the previous post.)
Some of you may wonder why I mark the passing of this tree, but it's like seeing yet another piece of my childhood being consigned to the dustbin of history, and with that comes the chilling reminder that my time to join them isn't so far away as it once was.
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Incidentally, I was standing at the foot of this tree (perhaps even clambering over its lower trunk) when my primary school dinner-bell rang on the day that this incident occurred back in the 1960s.
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