The Old Yew Tree

It’s funny how an old tree can stir people up.

- Linda Lewis

The meeting was well attended, the church hall almost full. I listened

to the other side’s argument, but I’d heard it all before. To me, the tree had outlived its usefulness and was both a danger and an eyesore.

The yew’s reddish brown trunk had been split, by a lightning strike, in 1546 and had been propped up by a large oak beam ever since. Now, it needed more work to make it safe. The sensible thing would be to chop it down; the tree would collapse eventually. When that happened, who knew what damage it might do? It was over 40 feet high.

I moved back to the village a year ago, and remembered the tree from my childhood. The damage to the trunk made climbing easy. Even I, with no head for heights, could clamber onto its lowest branches with ease. My brothers thought nothing of climbing right to the top.

When it was my turn to speak, I could see I was gaining support by the way people’s heads were nodding. At least, I hoped that was the reason; it WAS rather stuffy in the hall.

After my five minutes, I sat down and the Chair, Rachel Stevens, took the stand. “We’ve heard both sides. Now we need to know what you think.”

I don’t know what she expected — maybe a cry of, “Save our tree”, but whatever she hoped for, she didn’t get it. A few people stood up and waffled, saying they didn’t know what was best. Either way, it would be costly.

Eventually, it was decided to leave the decision to the committee. “If everyone agrees, we can vote at the next meeting,” suggested Rachel.

I wasn’t having that. We weren’t due to meet for another six weeks. I stood up. “Madam Chair, as all the committee are here this evening, I propose we hold the vote now.”