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