Police have launched an investigation after workmen taking part in a controversial tree felling programme claimed they had fallen ill after drinking tea provided by disgruntled locals.
Detectives were called in after three workers said they feared they had been “poisoned” after helping to chop down trees from residential streets in Sheffield, South Yorkshire.
All three were allegedly taken ill shortly after accepting tea from members of the local community where they had been working.
A spokesman for South Yorkshire Police confirmed they were investigating reports of “alleged assaults on three workers who were felling trees in Sheffield”.
Something there is that doesn’t love a tree.
And something there is that doesn’t love a tree cutter.
And somebody doesn’t agree wit the choice of teas made in friendly Yorkshire.
By Robert Frost (not)
I do love a tree. I also love a mug of tea.
I am a mug-lover as opposed to the more genteel cup coupler. But if I was to chop down a row of avenue trees in South Yorkshire, against the residents’ wishes, I would certainly beware the beverages that they proffered on cold winter mornings. The big old county is a friendly shire, but one has to understand that many of its inhabitants are direct descendants of vikings. And, as vikings, we love trees, nature, a spot of marauding, and nothing more than sorting out those petty enemies who think they can have their wicked ways with us. In the old days it would have been the Spread Eagle, nowadays it’s a little more subtle; hemlock tea (and would you like some sugar with that?).
Tolkien knew about trees, well he knew how to write a fairly tedious set of chapters on the Ents. They made for rather dull cinema as well. But trees are good and man is not so good. Okay, every now and again a tree falls on somebody. I like personification, but believe that most of these fallings are accidental. Perhaps the tree was waking up and stretching out its branches when it suddenly realised that it was not a human but a tree. It’s enough to pull anyone of us up by our roots.
Local authority workmen have been down our avenue of late. They have sawn off branches of trees that have regally lined the route of the otherwise manmade road. They do tend to put up the pathways with their ever increasing roots, provide a perch for pigeons to crap on the roofs of cars, and all dog walkers the excuse to fertilise the base with their canine byproducts. Apart from that, they are the homes for lots of little squirrels that dart back and forth all nutkinny-like. Now the little blighters are homeless. You can see them in shelters with sleeping bags and signs. It is not a good thing to take a fluffy-tails territory.
I have to fly now, or my daughter does as she is going back to France, but my story should be told.
Leave The Trees…