THE MONKEY TREES

When I was a boy...


Newtownards lies in a basin surrounded by hills. To the south a top Scrabo hill stands proudly a tower of the same name. To the west, gently rolling hills, on the other side of which lies Dundonald and then Belfast (yep - that belfast); the last side of the horseshoe comprises an old lead mine, still with it's smelting towers littered over the hill.

At the open end of the "horseshoe" Strangford lough sits.

On the eastern side of the lead mine there is a smaller parochial quarry which manufactured cement. The thoughtful owners, more likely spurred on, nay ordered by the local council, have provided a line of trees separating the dusty quarry from the homes mere metres away. This copse had a variety of hardy kinds of tree from pine to oak to sycamore.

It is the sycamore which boasts the name in the title.

As kids, we did what kids then did; we climbed trees (did lots of other stuff too in fact, including stone fights, this, game? where we'd split into a group of two, separate by about 100 feet, build a barriacade out of what ever there was, and start hurling stones at one another - it was thoroughly enjoyable!).
We climbed all the trees in this little copse; one big mutha afforded a great view of the town as it thrust its way above its other protagonists for best sunseeking position.
At first we payed little attention to the sycamores, instead choosing to climb the big heavy limbed monsters (hey, we were wee lads!)
But inevitably we climbed and got bored with, everything else so as a matter of consistency even, we stared up at the tops of the flimsy trees as they sprouted into the sky.
Not very exciting we thought; wee small skinny things - whats the point? They only extended about 75% of the rest of the trees, ending in a virtual dark canopy. Nothing to see. Regardless we began to climb.
The trunks, about a foot wide at their base, became narrower, quickly, as we climbed and soon the slender trees began to sway under the weight of its respective wee lad.
Now the copse ran in a north south direction beside a road and in the dead centre lay a line of these flexible trees, each spaced about 2 or so metres apart (anyone see where I'm goin with this yet?)

And it wasn't long after we discover such flex that we wondered if we could swing enough to reach its nearest neighbour. This involved a 'splits' type position that was most uncomfortable as we stretched between one tree and another.

So we started to swing the treetop; leaning into it and pulling back hard, the tree would sway closer and closer. Physics would never allow them to touch but if we could just reach out...at the right time...just swing it hard and...GRAB!!!
Damn! Missed it. Okay...swing this way and that, more effort in and...GRAB! Yes. Now pull the tree towards me and stretch out my other leg aiming for the branch just above/below (it varied). My stretched to the point foot just touched the intended branch and now came the tricky bit, that if went wrong, would see this wee lad fall about 40 feet to the ground. (Y'know the way they say forests are carpeted with thick layers of vegetation and dropped foliage, with the intimation of "soft" and comfort? "They" obviously haven't fallen out of a tree before - at least not from 40 feet).

Balancing here, feeling like the subject of some medieval torture as my limbs are stretched by the opposing pulling trees, I prepare for 'take off' as it were. This involved letting go of one of the trees whilst pulling and kind of hopping at the same time. Almost aerial aerobatics unless my hands got confused in which case I'd float safely down to the floor LIKE A BRICK!!.
The released one would spring away quickly, shudder for moments and settle to a sway.
The one now carrying a wee lad also sprung away, though not as fast yet still with some haste, and with the added weight of the wee lad would spring back further and take longer to be still. The wee lad swinging on it often prolonged the ride.

We would do the same with each tree til we reached the end - then often turn around and do the same the opposite direction.
If memory serves, there were about a baker's dozen of these trees. Such fun. Such wholesome innocent fun.

Aaaahhhh....