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"There is something delicious about writing the first words of a story. You never quite know where they'll take you." - Beatrix Potter

"The role of a writer is not to say what we all can say, but what we are unable to say." - Anaïs Nin

"Sharing your writing, being enlarged by others' writing, is what makes you feel famous." - Gretchen Bernabei

"Writing is not an amusing occupation. It is a combination of ditch-digging, mountain-climbing, treadmill and childbirth." - Edna Ferber

"Either write something worth reading or do something worth writing." - Ben Franklin

"One must be drenched in words, literally soaked in them, to have the right ones to form themselves into the proper pattern at the right moment." - Hart Crane

"There are three rules for writing. Unfortunately, no one can agree what they are." - W. Somerset Maugham

Taking the Strain

Copyright © Raymond Scott 2023

A tree was growing too near to our house and was causing cracks in the brickwork. When we planted it, it was a mere sprig, the possibility that it could turn into a 60 foot monster never entered my head. It became a tall and whippy poplar tree which, although impressive, caused problems in other directions as the roots affected the drains and foundations. In addition, the front drive was developing so many undulations that it resembled a ploughed field.

With the damage it was causing we decided the tree had to go. Yet when we obtained a quotation from a tree felling firm, I was staggered at how much they charged for carrying out the work. It didn’t help when my wife, noted more for sarcasm than tact, asked whether their saws had golden teeth. That put the stopper on it, the tree contractor snapped his quote book shut and departed in a huff, making some comment as he departed as to whether I fed her on acid drops.

Unfortunately, our problem reached the ears of a neighbour across the road. He was one of those know alls who delight in coming over whenever anyone is doing a job to show them how they were doing incorrectly whatever they were doing, and that this was the way it should be done if it was to be done properly. Apparently, our wives had had a conversation at some committee on which they were both active members and general busybodies, my wife mentioned the problem we were having with the tree and he called on me the following Saturday. He offered to do the job without any hassles for a few beers, a vast improvement on the $2,000 plus quoted by the tree contractor. I accepted, which in the light of subsequent events turned out to be my first mistake.

I then discovered that his plan for disposing of the tree was simple, on reflection too simple, and further, although I was supplying the beer, I also had to pay a part in the tree’s demise.

“You don’t need specialised equipment like saws and axes, we’ll just pull it down!”

That was the first I’d heard of his general plan for carrying out the job, as a plan it seemed to lack finesse. I should have called a halt then. His plan was to secure a long and thick rope to the top of the tree, tie the other end to the rear bumper bar of his ten-tonne truck, slip the vehicle into gear, depress the accelerator and let the engine do the rest. I had misgivings but foolishly went along with it.

The first part of the exercise proved to be more difficult than initially envisaged. We borrowed a ladder that wasn’t too steady from another neighbour and lost control of it twice, I cracked my shins and a few tiles on my roof and displaced a length of guttering before we managed to secure the rope to the top of the tree.

He then eased the truck forward to take up the slack, but realised that from the cab he couldn’t see what was happening and what progress was being made because of excessive foliage from other bushes. Hand signals from a standing position on the drive were also unreliable since I couldn’t stand where he could see me clearly, so I clambered onto the rear of the truck. I sat on the dropped tail board with my bare legs dangling over its edge, the rope between my legs to the point where it was tied onto the bumper bar. It was his suggestion that I adopt this position, he could then see me through his rear window and driving mirror and I could make the appropriate hand signals as the situation developed. It later transpired that this was my second mistake.

The truck was eased slowly away from the tree, the rope tightened and the top of the tree began to curl over. Progress became slower and slower but we kept going until the tree was nearly bent over double. I heard some cracking noises and turned to wave triumphantly to my neighbour to indicate that things were going well and we were nearly there. That was my third mistake, on reflection that was the point where matters began to go radically wrong.

The sickening realisation struck me, too late, that the cracking noises were not coming from the tree, they were emanating from the back of the truck. I turned and screamed at him, which he misinterpreted as an indication that success was imminent and more acceleration was required. As the truck jerked forward, sheared bolts pinged out all over the drive and my garden, shot far and wide like machine gun bullets and cracked the windscreen of a neighbour’s motor vehicle parked nearby. The bumper bar came adrift with a jolt, shot up the back of my legs removing a fair amount of skin, whilst the rope came up between my legs into my crotch bringing tears to my eyes.

The tree, relieved of the strain as the bumper bar separated from the truck, straightened like an ancient Roman catapult and yanked the bumper bar into mid-air. It took off, taking me with it as my bent knees hooked behind it.

I initially straightened backwards with the violent forward motion, cuffing the back of my head on the tail board of the truck as my knees were wrenched forward; I took off over my drive, cleared the fence and passed over my neighbour’s roof. I bent his television aerial as I passed through it, which ripped off my shorts, and struck my head a passing blow on his chimney pot as I passed it. After clearing his roof, I soared over his patio where he and his friends were having a barbecue. I landed in his swimming pool with a splash that covered everyone with spray, upended a girl on a rubber mattress and sank to the bottom of the swimming pool. I met his wife under the surface, who seemed a little startled as I appeared before her, being astride a bumper bar didn’t help.

We didn’t have time to exchange pleasantries, there was strong pressure at the backs of my knees and I left the water like a speed boat as the tree whiplashed back. It tugged me out of the pool and dragged me across my neighbour’s patio, my knees still trapped on the bumper bar and the rope stretching before me. I came up behind my neighbour as he turned to run, hit him in the back and frogmarched him over the patio where I mounted him over the table edge.

Three yards from the house I became airborne again, heading upwards, upside down, cracking my knees on the underside of the guttering and catching my nose on the frame of an awning over one of the tables. The bumper bar shook itself loose, cleared the gutter and shot away out of sight over the roof taking part of the canvas awning with it. I tumbled back full length across the table, squashed two cheese cakes and various other items that I missed the first time and landed on the patio floor.

I sat up slowly and looked around me; everybody seemed to be expecting something from me, perhaps an explanation. I scrambled to my feet and saw my neighbour a few metres away where I had deposited him. He was experiencing trouble with his diction, all he managed to enunciate was “What the…!”… “How the…?” as he looked at the scene of devastation, finally uttering something I didn’t quite catch.

At this stage I realised my shorts were missing, they had been torn off by his TV aerial whilst I traversed the roof, this before I landed in his pool and careered across his patio. I seized the first object I could find to cover my embarrassment, the flattened Pavlova.

There was a clattering as something landed on the roof, smashing a number of tiles. It was the bumper bar, catapulted back by the tree as it re-straightened itself a third time. It rolled over the guttering, still dangling from the rope and punched a hole through his kitchen window as a parting gesture before the tree finally attained its original upright status, yanked it back over the guttering and dragged it back across the roof.

Our relationship with various neighbours deteriorated badly afterwards as a result of that incident, I don’t think the man next door ever recovered from the indignity of being ridden across his patio by a half-naked man and mounted over a table in front of his guests.

The insurance angle took some sorting. There was the damage to his roof and TV aerial, to various items of outdoor furniture, plus the serious puncturing of his dignity, but I don’t think the last item was an insurable entity. A neighbour across the road claimed against me for his broken windscreen caused by bolts that had sheared off the rear of the truck which caused a haggle between my insurers and the insurers of the truck.

My over helpful neighbour tried to blame me for damage to his truck, saying it was entirely my fault. My insurers refused to accept this after they heard the circumstances and whose idea it was. This caused a rift between us, frankly that was the least of my worries. If I never saw him again it would be too soon.

After months of armed neutrality with the various neighbours we sold the house and moved elsewhere.

The tree is still there.