Special Branch

For as many years as I can recall we have, on the second weekend in December, made a short journey across town to a garden centre to purchase our Christmas Tree.

We have undertaken, every year, that inevitable calculation of how much we have spent on real trees as opposed to the investment in an artificial tree that can be unfolded, straightened, screwed into a custom made base and ruffled a bit to give a bit of authenticity.

We laugh collectively at the very concept of a false, mock, replica, look-a-likee, tribute, lip service, and pitifully poor homage to a proper tree even though we would have certainly been quids in had we gone plastic, aluminium, fibre-optic, black, white, colour change, etc, etc, etc.

The garden centre, a large, sprawling family run business has always carried a good stock of Christmas trees and even at what some may regard as a bit late in the season to go and buy a pivotal part of the celebrations we have never felt pressurised or panicky as we pull into the car park.

The greenhouse which serves as the show-room for the stock of pine trees smells wonderfully of freshly cut boughs and extruded resin. The earth floor is strewn with fine needles, powdery sawdust and larger wood cuttings.

We are sufficiently familiar with the layout of the showroom to make our way to the section for our size range of tree. There are some huge 12 foot high plus non-drop types suitable to grace an expansive vestibule of company offices or one of those uphill and palatial mansions with a sweeping reception hall with minstrels gallery. We have more modest room dimensions having until last year lived in a 1920's house with a 9 foot floor to ceiling height and now our new residence of 1977 vintage and a lower 7 and a half feet of airspace.

In my childhood there was only one choice for a Christmas tree.

They were sharp and spiky and within only a few days of being exposed to the levels of heat and moisture in modern lifestyles there would begin the exfoliation process which would create, before the New Year arrived a display of a skeletal, bald and positively sad looking twigs and trunk.

At the garden centre, within our specific section of the showroom, we are spoilt for choice now.

The old style trees have been superceded by Nordmann Pines and many others with promises of sustainable smell and foliage. They are perfectly shaped, bushy and lush. There are no traces of ugly trees but they must exist somewhere. It may be these less than beautiful trees that find themselves hoisted up onto flag pole mounts outside High Street shops or left alone in the dark corner of the assembly hall after school has broken up for the holidays.

Those propped up are inspected as though in a beauty parade.

When my own children were little it was up to me to hold the top of the tree and rotate it for approval. In more recent years I have taken on the role of judge as one or more of my young adults,as they are now, do the heavy work.

I have never asked my parents what they used to pay for the family tree back in the 60's and 70's. The current up to date rate for an 8 foot tree works out at £10 per linear foot. This has remained fairly constant for, again, as many years as I can recall. This is surprising given what we are led to believe are escalating land prices, growing costs, transport expenditure, conservation issues and the improvements in technology of those dreaded artificial trees.

Our tree for 2014 came from a short-list of two entrants.

It ticked all the boxes for size, colour, smell, spread of boughs and classic shape. It was fed unceremoniously into the galvanised metal funnel which compresses and wraps the unruly growth in a mesh netting for ease of loading into the car. The trunk, on request, has been cut and shaped to fit a sample of the old metal stand on which the tree will be supported for the next 4 weeks.

On the drive home the car is filled with that wonderful odour which acts as the catalyst for my Christmas spirit to be released. The thrill of our purchase is however muted a bit by the revelation that it may well be the last from the usual garden centre.

Ironically it is escalating land values which have meant that the family business is sat on a goldmine for a housing development and they have decided to go for planning permission and sell up.

It may well represent the end of an era for that aspect of our family tradition but I sincerely wish them well and hope that the mansion that they will be able to afford with the proceeds will have a vast, vast hallway to compliment an obscenely monster Christmas tree.