The Deff Ov ar Damson Pye

Me dad told me that if I count the rings in the trunk it would tell me 'ow old the tree was. It's gota be quite old cuz I cudn't keep up with them rings. One afta the other, it were like tryin to count the rings of an unyan only me eyes 'urt from tryin' to squint so much and not from the fumes, obviously. I rememba the tree when it stood in me garden, before the big cut. It used to 'ave big purple fruits, damson's they were, weren't 'alf sour though! Me bruvva dared me to eat one wunce wivout screwin' me face up, it were bloody impossible! Ev'ry year by the tyme the fruit were fallin' off the tree me mom would get us to go and pick the ones off the ground that aint been got at by the bugs. Me bruvva used to go one betta and show off by climbin' up its trunk and shake the full branches so that it rained damsons from the sky, me and me sis got loads this way. There were a good reason for this fruit pickin'. Me great Nanny 'Arfa', named so because she lived with a bloke named Arfa, could make the best damson pie in the 'ole of brum. I promise ya. No word of a lie. So off we went with our heaving 'eavy full bowls down to our nans. It wernt a long journey, were only two doors away, but me arms always felt like they were ready to drop off by the time I'd reached 'er entry. You see me mom moved so we could be closer to 'er nan as she got olda, it were nice bein' that close. I loved me nan.

She were so tiny, never believed that a woman shud wear trowsers, but swore and smoked like a bloody bloke. She were made of old stock, grew up in Digbeth in the old back to back 'ouses, rough as old boots but daft as a brush. She used to tell us we neva knew we were born, with our 'ot baffs and loos inside. She wud laff and say we were bloody spoilt, but we knew she were the one who did all the spoilin'. She told me once about when she were a likkle girl she wud lie in bed wiv her sista's and hold her jam jar covered candle to the wall an' watch the wallpappa move. It were bugs you see. She cud even hear them undernef chompin' on the flour and watea that 'eld the wall togeva. Ergh! The fougth today still gives me the heebby jeebies.

Anyway, I luved when it were damson piy making day cuz it meant a day of eatin' all the left over raw sweet pastry from them piys. Those were 'appy times. I would sit on the floor in 'er living room with a full belly waiting for that piy to bake. I wud be drownin' in clouds of smoke, which belonged to me nan and 'er mate Hetty, but I were 'appy. I remember Hetty, Irish, flaming orange 'air, could 'ardly understand a soddin' thing she said. But I wud sit there listenin' to them moanin' about the unsavoury at number fifty six. Between the "god forgive 'er" and "kids nower days" they only stopped to light anuva fag or for more tea. Now theres anuva thing I forgot to mention. Me nan and her tea! Still to this day I never met anyone who could drink tea like 'er. The kettle were constantly whis'ling away! She always drank out of pretty china tea cups too. I imagined me nan were like the queen when she drank her tea. The china tea cup, with its gold rim and delicate posh 'andle. Non of the new-fangled tea bag stuff that we have today eiva, Hornimans loose tea would only do. Me nan used to take trip to the rag market once a week to buy it especially. She'd boil it all up on her old stove and use the world's smallest straina to sep'rate the bits and brown brew, straight into her posh queen cup. Those china cups were somethin' we weren't allowed to drink out of though. Me nan would tip a bit of tea in 'er sauca and we wud sip it from there, but in all 'onesty I think we preferred that. I cudn't imagine 'aving me nans fine china tea cup, firstly cus she'd 'ave a fit and secondly it always felt special when she gave us some of 'ers, like it were a present. I know what ya thinking, its only bloody tea (second 'and tea if we are 'onest) but we loved it all the same.

Now back to the pie. When it were cooked me nan would sprinkle more sugar over the top then pop one of 'er tea towels over it. This were the cue to let it cool down. It felt like eternity cuz when somethin' is there and you know it's there, but you can't have it, you really want it more. But we 'ad to be patient, at least until after our dinna. And that night when we 'ad our fill of pie we would shuffle off to bed all 'appy and content.

This routine 'appened for years until we 'ad to get rid of the tree. I were gutted but me mom wouldn't let us keep it. She were hysterical. I rememba her screamin' and cryin' to me dad, as me, me sis an me bro all sat on the bottom step in the 'allway out of sight, "Paul, cut that bloody thing down, I dont wan' it in me garden, I can't 'ave it" and me dad, not being one to argue (well no one could really argue with me mom) went at it with an 'acksaw. It were carnage. Strange walkin' into the garden afta and seein' its massacred branches and trodden on fruit that 'ad spurted purple blood all ova the freshly cut green grass. Me sista felt guilty, and so she should, it were 'er fault afta all.

I remember the day. Me brother 'ad gone to play footie with his mates but me and me sis played in the garden. She kept going on abowt 'ow much she wanted piy for puddin', and to be 'onest so did I, but there weren't any fruit on the ground. 'Er thinking she were betta and brayva than anyone else in the 'ole wide world, declared that she would climb the tree, and so she did. Navigating 'er boney little body up the thick trunk, playcin' 'er likkle feet on the same knots that me bruvva had, she finally made it. And so we carried on like we usually did, except she were up the tree shakin' and I were down the ground collectin'. We 'ad quite a good little 'arvest, certainly enuff for one ov me nanny Arfa's pies, so I told 'er me dress skirt were full now. But me sista bein' me sista wan'ed to climb highya, I know why, she wan'ed to boast to me bruvva but that's when it 'appened. She slipped and fell. I didn't realise she had as me back were turned, but I 'eard it. I 'eard a yelp followed by a dull achin' slow groan, an' as I turned I saw 'er little 'ead captured between two branches, danglin' the rest of 'er wrigglin' body, which fought furiously to be free. I kinda froze. I didn't know what to do. I watched as 'er eyes searched mine in pure fear and desperation, and as 'er arms scrambled to 'er neck to somehow free 'er now contorted air pipe. Me 'ands slowly let go of me skirt and all of our 'arvest went crashin' to the ground and I just screamed. I rememba just screamin' so loud, not even words, no 'elp, just a high pitch cry. It all 'appened so quickly. Me dad came from nowhere and jumped that tree as if it were a step and pulled me sistas danglin' body free. She were alright of course, silly sod, but that were the end of our tree. No more collectin', no more raw pastry, no more piy. Gutted. I supposed we still 'ad the second 'and queen tea to be grateful for but we still all miss that tree.