The Book of Trees #dulwich #trees #villagelife #poetry

I live in a part of South London that is full of trees. The other day I got hold of this.

It is hand drawn and shows the position of many unique and rare species of tree in my neighbourhood.

Since it was a pleasantly warm day, little wind and no sign of rain, Dog and I headed for the top of the woods alongside which a number of these trees sat.

It turned out some had gone – or maybe the map was inaccurate.

But a lot still remained.

Most of them were mature, massive constructions that had taken decades to reach the scale and size they are today.

Some were still compact, almost ground hogging.

But each held a beauty that only a tree can.

And each is its own tower block of life, a fecund febrile family of flora and fauna.

As I stood to take a picture, watched by work-people in white vans, carers in SUV tractors and schoolchildren released from their sweaty classrooms I wondered how many saw the trees rather than a silly man and his straining dog trying and often failing to find the best angle to capture even a  scintilla of the specialness these giants invoke.

So I thought, to accompany these lovely pictures I’d offer one of dad’s poems. This one was written, commissioned if you like, for one of Mum’s WI plays, a pageant on Village life in past years and, well, if you’ve seen Dad’s Army it will resonate.

Broomsticks and Battledress

It was during 1940, that memorable year,

That on more than one occasion the pub ran out of beer,

And for lunch on Sundays, we frequently got by

With processed egg or whalemeat or a slice of Woolton Pie*.


But we kept smiling through, though times were rather hard,

And we were glad to do our bit when they mustered the Home Guard.

Chorus: There was Charlie, Fred and Harry, and George and Peter White,

And me and Albert Smith, all ready for the fight,

And though we drilled with broomsticks and only had one gun,

We knew that if Old Jerry came we’d have him on the run!


Every man among us had once been an ‘old sweat’

But during years of peace we had all learned to forget

The routines of the Army game that we had known before

When we’d been young footsloggers in Kaiser Willhem’s war.

But we were willing pupils – our keenness knew no bounds,

And soon the Village Hall was filled with military sounds.

Chorus: Made by Charlie, Fred and Harry, George and Peter White,

And me and Albert Smith, with our boots all shining bright,

Drilling with our broomsticks so hard we nearly burst,

Which exercise, of course, helped build up a mighty thirst!


It was extremely handy that the pub was quite close by,

For marching back and forth makes a man amazing dry,

And if the notice said ” No Beer’ we didn’t make a fuss

‘Cos the landlord, bless his heart, always found a drop for us!

Just medicinal, of course, to combat the dehydration,

And we hoped our loving wives would accept this explanation.

Chorus: Made by Charlie, Fred and Harry, and George and Peter White,

And me and Albert Smith when we stayed out late at night,

And so they did, God bless ’em, though they gave us looks old-fashioned,

And some were heard to voice the wish that beer was strictly rationed!


So the months went by and we got uniforms and guns

And reckoned we were ready to do battle with the Huns,

But nothing really happened to disturb our peace and calm

Till a German plane crash-landed in a  field, near Manor Farm.

The pilot was unharmed – and for once we knew our duty


To capture and disarm him – for England, home and Beauty.

ChorusThat’s why Charlie, Fred, and Harry, and George, and Peter White,

And me and Albert Smith went to war that summer night,

But when we found the enemy, sitting near a tree,

He looked so lost and lonely that we took him home for tea.


Then in 1942 the Yanks came on the scene

And instead of English cricket they played baseball on the green,

A game just like our rounders, but with a lot more noise,

And it proved very popular with all the girls and boys.

But the landlord of the local at first thought it was queer

When voices like the ‘pictures’ demanded ice-cold beers!

Chorus: As for Charlie, Fred and Harry, and George, and Peter White,

And me, and Albert Smith – we knew they’d be alright,

And so indeed they were, for in 1944

They fought alongside our lads and helped us to win the war.


Now more than 50 years have passed and memories are fading

Of those gallant old Home Guard days, the marching and parading,

Of rationing and gas-masks, and tanks all down the street,

When ‘blackout’ meant pitch blackness and toffee was a treat,

When although the wireless news at six was often quite a shock

Still we laughed at ITMA** that same night at Eight o’clock.

Chorus: And Charlie, Fred and Harry? And George and Peter White?

They’ve been gone these many years but still their names stay bright

For me and Albert Smith who smile when folks make gentle fun

Of when we drilled with broomsticks and only had one gun.

*Woolton Pie: involved dicing and cooking potatoes (or parsnips), cauliflower, swede, carrots and, possibly, turnip. Rolled oats and chopped spring onions were added to the thickened vegetable water which was poured over the vegetables themselves. The dish was topped with potato pastry and grated cheese and served with vegetable gravy. The recipe could be adapted to reflect the availability and seasonality of ingredients.

**ITMA: A comedy radio show with the title an acronym of ‘It’s That Man Again’ a popular wartime catch phrase used after Hitler made some exaggerated claim, it ran from 1939 to 1948.

About TanGental

My name is Geoff Le Pard. Once I was a lawyer; now I am a writer. I've published several books: a four book series following Harry Spittle as he grows from hapless student to hapless partner in a London law firm; four others in different genres; a book of poetry; four anthologies of short fiction; and a memoir of my mother. I have several more in the pipeline. I have been blogging regularly since 2014, on topic as diverse as: poetry based on famous poems; memories from my life; my garden; my dog; a whole variety of short fiction; my attempts at baking and food; travel and the consequent disasters; theatre, film and book reviews; and the occasional thought piece. Mostly it is whatever takes my fancy. I avoid politics, mostly, and religion, always. I don't mean to upset anyone but if I do, well, sorry and I suggest you go elsewhere. These are my thoughts and no one else is to blame. If you want to nab anything I post, please acknowledge where it came from.
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32 Responses to The Book of Trees #dulwich #trees #villagelife #poetry

  1. Ritu says:

    Very well done His Geoffleship!!! The greenery is gorgeous! 🌲🌳

    Liked by 1 person

  2. noelleg44 says:

    Woolton Pie sounds delicious since I love all those veggies! The trees are magnificet – did you identify them? And as for the poetry, what a wonderful window into home life during WW II.
    Nice to finally meet you, Geoff. Is your beard still pink?

    Liked by 2 people

  3. Orion Bright Star says:

    Lovely post about a lovely part of south London, great work and share, thank you regards, Barry

    Liked by 1 person

  4. Erika Kind says:

    An awesome collection. All beautiful and precious but I love the willow. Don’t know what it is about willows, I simply love them.

    Liked by 2 people

  5. Well done, Geoff. The trees are wonderful but the poem is outstanding. I really enjoyed it particularly as I am busy writing my Mom’s war time memories.

    Liked by 1 person

  6. Your Dad had such a gift, Geoff. I love the gentle humour in his story-telling, and it made me smile throughout 🙂

    Liked by 1 person

  7. I suppose many of those trees were already quite mature when the times your dad writes of in this poem took place. It’s a great poem. I love seeing those different hues of green and the different shapes and forms too – your struggles produced some nice captures of our giant friends!

    Liked by 1 person

  8. John Fioravanti says:

    You blew me away with the quality of your photography! Wow!

    Liked by 1 person

  9. JT Twissel says:

    It looks like a lovely area certainly worthy of a better name than Dullwitch😋

    Liked by 1 person

  10. Lovely photos and a poem that made me smile this Monday morning. Thanks Geoff

    Liked by 1 person

  11. Wonderful poem. The trees are part of the beauty of Dulwich

    Liked by 1 person

  12. restlessjo says:

    A tree symphony, Geoff! 🙂 🙂 Can I just point out that the link you left on mine goes only to the photo of the poster? I came to your Home page to find this.

    Liked by 1 person

  13. tidalscribe says:

    The best time of year to look at trees when they are so fresh green and bright.

    Liked by 1 person

  14. Pingback: Jo’s Monday walk : Illuminating Lagoa | restlessjo

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