01. TREES

They were already “Brahms” at the Oddfellows Arms

When Christopher first showed his face.

He knew, to be fair, that he shouldn’t be there

But he knew he had friends in that place.

Chris, though a nice bloke, was flat stoney broke,

And needed a way to make money.

The month it had turned, no cash had he earned,

The outlook was really not sunny.

Whilst Yuletide was looming, his work wasn’t booming,

He had nothing to buy for his mate.

Someone in here might stand him a beer,

And listen to his tale desolate.

Sitting at the bar, having a quiet jar

A familiar face he did see.

An old friend of his, out on the razz

With his mate chatting on furtively.

Chris went over to them, said “Hello, how you bin?”

Got chatting and got bought a drink.

They asked him “How tricks?” He said, “A bit mixed”

Did they know anything, could they think?

His friend, name of Stu, had something to do,

and thought maybe Chris could assist him.

All “cash in hand”, you do understand?

Chris said “oh yes” and then thanked him.

For Stu had a van and a bit of a plan,

To do something not very honest.

He needed two blokes who were handy with ropes

And fast on their feet in a forest.

His plan was all right, if not very bright

Like many a notion that’s dubious.

But he sold it quite well, and he quickly could tell

Here was someone who couldn’t refuse us.

And so Chris was in, to this small act of sin,

What did they want him to do for his pay?

Stu said, “here’s the thing, the clock is ticking”,

Was he ready to go right away?

To enter the woods and “acquire” some goods

To sell on the market next Tuesday?

So Stu now had Chris and some mate of his,

And off they went on their way.

So these tree-fellers three (there’s a joke there you see?)

Went into the woods dark and serene.

They lugged their packs, and a bloody great axe

To a copse full of trees, evergreen.

The ground it was white on that midwinter night,

And the footprints they left numbered many.

They didn’t stop to think, because of the drink,

That someone might be there to spot any.

The footprints were found all over the ground,

By a gamekeeper checking his traps.

He tracked them uphill, then kept very still

As he spotted these foolish young chaps.

The gamekeeper, Stan, was a reasonable man,

But no-one could mess on his patch.

Not this bold as brass, did they think him an ass?

He clicked off the old safety catch.

He moved like a ghost, and crept up quite close

Aimed his gun at the sky overhead.

He wasn’t a fool, just out of school,

He’d scare them, not shoot them dead.

“Bang!” went a shot and off they did trot,

Like bats out of hell to the van.

But Stu’s jacket got ripped, and Chris headlong he tripped,

Things were not going according to plan.

Chris was caught by old Stan, who now had his man,

And hauled him back to his place.

Chris was of course, then full of remorse,

You could tell by the look on his face.

“I should call for a copper, you daft little bugger!”

Said Stan to the frightened young lad.

“You’ll be in front of a beak, locked up for a week.

You deserve nothing less, when you’re bad.”

Chris’s story poured out, he left nothing out,

And Stan took a shining to him.

Let him off with a warning, sent him home that same morning,

Saying just “try not so hard to be dim.”

Chris was quite good at heart, and to be fair, for his part,

Knew he didn’t want a life full of crime.

He’d knew in his heart, he’d made a new start

And a new friend at just the same time.

For the thing is, old Stan was a friendly old man,

And took young Chris under his wing.

Stan taught him about trees, Chris was eager to please,

And took time out to hear the birds sing.

So from those dark woods, Chris never stole goods,

And Stan found a lad he could teach.

For the place that they stood was a magical wood,

And happy endings are not out of reach.