A poem about the Formby Village Trees by Joan Rimmer

Our Village Trees

For a hundred years they've stood there,

Majestic and supreme,

Enhancement to our Village,

A true arboreal dream.

Through two world wars they flourished,

Growing stronger every day,

Lovingly trimmed and tended

By the powers of yesterday.

Then suddenly the bombshell

From the pressent powers that be

Who said the trees were dying,

They must cut down every tree.

"Oh, no they're not" we shouted,

"They've flowerd every year,

Borne conkers for the children,

And our love for them is clear".

Dead branches just need pruning

And they'll live for years and years,

Such haste, no consultation

Aroused the public's fears.

With just one day to save them

The people all appeared,

In pouring rain we stood there

and stopped what we had feared.

The next day men came back again

And also so did we

And tried for an injuction

And surrounded every tree.

There'd been no propper survey,

So we got a short reprieve

And a statement from the council

That all their men must leave.

And now we wait and wonder

At the folly of it all,

And hope and prey our trees will stay,

So proud and strong and tall.

We Know there is no danger

If the dead wood's cut away,

They'll thrive and grow and blossom

For untold years each May.

They'll be a splendid legacy

For a future still unborn,

Nature's lasting treasures

One every waking morn.

By Joan Rimmer (01/02/18)