In my early days I only remember Christmas trees as being a tree that had presents under. It could have been an oak or maple for all I cared provided it came presents.
I finally took notice when I went into the sitting room one Christmas to find my mother starting to decorate a tree. She was on hands and knees under the tree plugging the lights in. It seemed to be taking a lot of time and muttering to do this simple job so I stuck my head under. I found her trying to stick a bare wire into the outlet. There was already one in there, held in with a wooden matchstick. I quickly pulled the wire away from her with a “What are you doing? You’ll electrocute yourself trying to do that.” She told me that the plug had come of a few years ago and she hadn’t bothered to ask for a new plug to be put on.
I told her to leave the lights and get on with the decoration while I went to the shop to get a plug and put it on. I returned an hour later to find mum with a decorated tree, just putting candle holders on some of the branches. I asked if she was going to put candles in them and light them. “Oh no,” she replied. “I don’t need to light them now as we have plug in lights.” I crawled under the tree wondering how I had avoided being in a house fire from the candles setting the tree on fire and how I still had a living mum.
The next time I had dealings with a Christmas tree was when I was living on Smiths Island in Bermuda. It was Christmas time, my younger brother had come out to visit, and my wife decided we needed a tree. I suggested using a banana tree, we had plenty on the island, but was told that was not going to happen. She’d already bought the decorations and couldn’t hang them on banana leaves.
I got my brother, rowed over to the mainland in our 10-foot punt, and climbed the hill to our scooters. I suggested we both go on one bike but no. He had to drive himself. So, we set off to the Piggly Wiggly. We found a nice 8-foot tree, paid for it and proudly carried it out to the bikes, and then spent ten minutes trying to figure out how to carry the tree home. Eventually we settled on a great idea. I would hold the but end on my bike and he would follow holding the top on his bike. This actually worked well. We only had to go 15 miles and we actually made it ok.
We carried it down to the boat. There was a hole in a piece of wood at the front of the boat. The mooring rope passed through it. It was also just wide enough to stick the but end of the tree in. We set out rowing back to the island with the tree standing proudly at the front of the boat. We reached the dock on the island to find my wife standing there. “Where have you been?”
“Went to get the tree” I replied pulling it out of the hole and passing it up to my brother. “Why?”
“Bring it up to the house,” she said and looking up, gave a wave and a smile.
Walking into the house, I put the tree down and was told to go look at the tv.
My brother said. “Hey look. That’s us with the tree.”
And there we were. A traffic helicopter had spotted us and had broadcasted us with the tree to the whole island and was now running a repeat to Here Comes Santa Claus. It was a week before people stopped asking how the tree was.
The last time I had to get a tree was on the Isle of Mull. An old friend, at least 60, wanted a Scotch Pine for a tree. She talked me into driving her out to the tree plantation owned by the Woodland Commission. We took a small saw, wandered about till we found a couple of nice trees, looked around and couldn’t see anybody so we cut the trees down. In the car they went and away home. Two days later I was in the local pub when the tree warden came in. He was a good friend so I called him over for a drink.
“Were they nice trees you got?” he asked. “I was watching you from the hill.”
“The hill? That’s miles away.”
“Yep. But a good view, especially with binoculars. You are ok now though. They are in your house so they are now legally yours.”
“That’s good. Come by on Christmas and have a wee drink. You can see it in all its glory then.”
“Well next year. If you want a tree then take one from under the power lines. Save me a job as we can’t let them get big enough to hi t the lines.”
The next year I went out, cut 30 trees down from under the power lines and sold them on the mainland, went back home and bought him a bottle.