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With glorious summer sun currently beating down outside my office window, it seems strange to be thinking about Christmas. However, as I contemplated construction site accidents, a vivid recollection made me wonder about the dangers of construction site Christmas trees.
Some years ago now, I was accompanying my small children to school and our route took us past a local building site where the frame for a ten storey block of flats had arisen in front of our eyes over the recent autumn months. My son was seven at the time and fascinated by all things digger-ish. He found the goings-on of the construction site quite mesmerising and we had been forced to stop quite frequently, particularly to watch the huge articulated lorries swing round a 90 bend in the road and try to negotiate the minuscule entrance to the construction site. It never failed to amaze us how they did it so effortlessly (well, some of them anyway).
This particular day we walked around the corner past the railway station to spot with astonishment, high atop the crane at the very top of the building frame - a Christmas tree.
"WOW!" we exclaimed in unison.
"Kwismas twee!" said my daughter.
"How'd they get it up there?" said my son.
And inside my mother's mind, "I hope they had a safety harness on," was muttered with concern.
Later that day, on the homeward journey, we glanced upwards to see the tree twinkling with lights and a huge gold star on top. It looked magical, but again, my stomach lurched at the thought of a brave young construction worker ascending the spindly branches, two tinsel covered coat-hangers clenched between his teeth, and little or no thought being given to the potential health and safety issues involved in the potential construction site accident that might ensue.
These work accident issues aside, the festive arboreal delight proved a hit all around. It was quite the local talking point and even got a mention in the newspaper. However, as the days went on towards Christmas, the tree undertook several radical changes; firstly, various lights went out, then back on, then the whole set of lights appeared to disappear, only to be replaced by some sad looking and almost invisible-to-the-naked-eye sparkly baubles. Then the star went and finally by Christmas break up day, it was a sad and bedraggled spectacle that had rather lost its appeal to the hordes of children now focussing only on three-more-sleeps-till-Christmas.
I was the only one in our walking party who still made a morning note of glancing skyward (I felt sure the tree cast some sort of omen for the day). And sure enough by the time we made our trek back to school in the New Year, it had gone. The crane was now, merely a crane, hoisting and positioning the panels and ephemera that would turn this huge metal skeleton into "38 delightful apartments" for the many eager families waiting on the council list for a bit of space they could call home.
The tree was now merely a vague memory for most, but funnily enough, it struck a chord with me. In this age of commercialism above all other beliefs, this little symbol of seasonal joy actually has its origins in an ancient Scandinavian religious practice. The tree mounting ceremony now known as "topping off" involves celebrating the putting in place of the highest elevational structure of the building. It can involve the painting, naming and signing by construction workers of the last beam and is sometimes used as a publicity opportunity for large landmark or commercial buildings.
The traditional placement of an evergreen tree on the very top of a building is thought to have been an appeasement to the ancient tree dwelling spirits of ancestors that have been displaced by building work. The practice migrated to England once Scandinavian invaders began to settle on our shores.
And so, nowadays, as Christmas approaches, if the timing of the topping off' is right, the tree will be dressed to impress with the appropriate paraphernalia and will become a local object of delight. Particularly for small people who would never think of construction site accidents as a reason not to put lights on a Norwegian Spruce, at the top of a crane, 120 feet in the air.
