A trip to Trien for a Christmas tree
The Christmas tree was far bigger than anticipated.
In years gone by the choosing of a Christmas tree felt like a traditional ceremonial type of event.
I recently walked past a stall of Christmas trees on a footpath and the strong scent of pine took me on a trip down memory lane to when I went to choose a Christmas tree with my father.
December 8th was the day when a Christmas tree was sought for our childhood home. Looking back on an old diary I recently found, December 8th, 1990 simply read, “got a Christmas tree with dad in Gunnings, hands all sticky with sap.” The beauty of December 8th, 1990 was that it fell on a Saturday and dad took the day off work. The result was that the main event of the day was fully focused on choosing a suitable Christmas tree to take pride of place in our home.
Dad and I set off in our Ford Granada with words ringing in our ears from my mother “now don’t come home with a monstrous thing Gerry.” She never really got over the year we hit for a forest with a Geordie called Mick Bradley and came back with a tree that would dwarf the one at the Rockefeller Center.
As was tradition, a trip to Padraig Gunning in Trien was our port of call to choose from a vast selection of trees on offer.
A thin coat of snow covered the trees and grass in Gunning’s as dad and Padraig joked and laughed together before any tree was even looked at. I kicked ball in the frost covered garden with Padraig junior until the men beckoned me over to have the final say on what tree was going to sit in our front porch for the next four weeks.
As per usual our eyes were far bigger than our porch and the tell-tale sign was that the tree sat a good seven foot out the back of the boot of the Granada and the Granada at that time had a fine boot. On our journey home the top of the tree got a good clipping from the road with every bump we met.
Dad is a joiner, so surgery had to be performed on the tree in our shed before mam condemned us for the sheer monstrous size of it. As dad planed the base with the hand plane to fit in the stand and pruned the branches the strong scent of pine filled my nostrils and was the vivid tell-tale sign that Christmas had arrived. Holding the tree in a tight grip as dad performed surgery, he laughed knowing full well that my hands were going to be welded together with the sticky sap.
When about half the height of the tree was trimmed, we placed it in our front porch for mam to start working her magic. That evening we all helped as a family as we placed what felt like hundreds of coloured Christmas lights, shiny tinsel, baubles, which contained stories from the past, bright red bows, gold and red beads and snow spray all while tying up any branches that looked out of place. Work continued until we finally had a tree fit for a palace.
When the decorating was complete, the lights lit up the porch with a warm Christmas glow which reflected back from the windows as the pine cones filled the air in our home with a unique festive winter aroma. A calm and relaxed happiness would transcend upon me that Christmas Day was near. I’m sure if I asked now, there was probably a lot of stress and worry about money etc going on behind the scenes that Christmas like in many homes. However, as a child on December 8th 1990 when the tree lights were switched on on our tree from Trien everything just felt perfect in the world. Isn’t that the way it should be for all children at Christmas?
