The Beech Tree.

Situated in an old country estate with a public bridleway running through it, this beech was not an ordinary tree, it was huge. How many hundreds of years old we never knew. It's massive lower branches ran parallel to the ground , their ends touching the grass. Beneath the tree in summer,
it was dry, cool and shady, a meeting place for children by day and I suspect, lovers by night.
It must have been climbed by generations of children to whom,in their imaginative minds, the smooth grey branches became the rigging of a sailing ship or a magic bean stalk. The tree was climbed by scrambling up the tip of the bigger lower branches and actually just walking along the broad limb to the trunk where you could begin to go higher. For some it was a test of courage and even for children who recognise little danger, it's height was formidable. Carved initials marked
the personal limits of skill and daring. A wonderful tree was this beech. It stood amongst other lesser trees. Chestnuts and hazels with an undergrowth of brambles and a carpet of dead leaves and grass.
When I was about fourteen years old, I went to the Beech tree and climbed it alone . Higher and higher I went and reached the last set of carved initials and with thumping heart and tightly gripping hands, I slowly inched upwards until it was impossible to climb higher . Cliging hard with my legs, aware suddenly of the wind swaying the branches, I felt small and vulnerable. I opened my knife and cut a shaky MG in the branch at face level. I climbed carefully down and hurried happily home. I was King of the Beech tree!
I started work at fifteen and what with girl friends and then life in the army , I forgot childish pursuits but about eight years later I went back to see the old tree and can still remember my
sense of shock and outrage when I found it had been cut down. Who could have destroyed such a magnificent tree which had been a source of joy to so many? I hope others still occasionally remember that giant tree as fondly as I do.