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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
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