Decades ago, the focused young grandfather of Liverpool resident, Peggy Atkinson hid in his garden to prevent people from stealing fruit from his pear tree. Post tropical storm Noel destroyed the tree, but not the memories of many present and former residents.
My grandfather and the pear tree
A social commentary in bark
History, memories, happiness, and, of course, a large supply of forbidden fruit were all carved in a simple Liverpool pear tree that lasted about 100 years until post tropical storm Noel brought it down during the early morning hours of Nov. 4.
The pear tree, at least 100 feet in height, previously sat in Peggy Atkinson’s yard in Liverpool.
She says, “It happened in the middle of the night so I didn’t hear anything. I got up in the morning and saw that it was split in two.”
Atkinson is quite certain her grandfather, Cliff Mitchell planted the tree. Her mother, Margaret Young and later, herself, took possession of the tree, and house and property, in subsequent years, she says.
But Atkinson remembers her grandfather closely guarding the mouth-watering fruit.
“He used to hide in the pole beans in the garden and wait for people to steal. He would shoot them with gun shot, rocks or if he caught them up the tree, he’d poke them with a stick and he didn’t care where he poked them either.”
Now, she continues, “I’ve had sympathy calls at the house. People are feeling bad because the tree blew down. It’s part of history. It’s always been there. I still hear stories about my grandfather and the pear tree.”
Primarily, she says young men frequented her yard in the 1940s and 1950s, but the thievery never quite stopped.
She now hears frequent stories about the often-lost battle of wits against her grandfather.
She says times have certainly changed. “You couldn’t do that now-a-days. God, you’d be arrested, both of them, my grandfather and the kids. It’s amazing.”
In addition, she says, not one youth ever told a parent about the escapades.
“That’s the funny part of it. They didn’t dare tell their parents at home because they would get it again. Today, even in school, teachers are having trouble disciplining the kids. I think of just how much things have changed between then and now.”
She adds her grandfather, and the subsequent owners, used to share the pears with many neighbours.
She admits, however, she did throw a piece of wood or two at some would-be thieves.
Now, she says, a fast-growing tree barren of such irresistible fruit has been planted in the famous tree’s place.
“The end of the tree is the end of the story.”
