Lovely, Though

From the top deck of the 42, on the second Thursday of October, it was Ivy Marsh who noticed it. She didn't mention it to anyone for two days, assuming it was her eyes. She'd seen the optician in September. He had assured her that her vision wouldn't deceive her about how things looked.

There are 212 trees on Cutler's Hill. Apples and pears. They were set in place by the mill at its construction, giving the workers something nice to see that wasn't the mill. The mill is gone. It has been gone for 30 years. But the trees haven't. They just carry on like that. Every February, Tom Marsh would prune them. For forty-one years he did this unasked and unthanked and died in March as most people do. Sitting in his armchair by the window with a crossword.

They were all white now in October.

Dennis Pike was telling us at the Fox. Warm summer. It was a warm summer. Warmest in living memory and dry, Whitcombe reservoir was down to its ankles. Hosepipe ban since July. Shame for the lawn. We all decided by Saturday it must be the warm summer. Had heard it on the radio by then.

"It's probably confused." Reverend Alan Purcell said, standing outside St Mary's, folding his hands. Looking up at the hill. "Confused, I suppose."

We agreed. Everyone was confused these days.

A blossoms committee was formed by Pauline Ashby on the Sunday. After church. She was chairman by the time the tea had been put on. Dennis was treasurer (he liked the cider). We offered jam. Maureen Cole from the craft shop in Whitcombe could provide banners at cost price. It was decided that it should be a low-key affair. A weekend. Tea, maybe a few stalls. Something at the bottom of the road.

Someone had contacted the council as well. We don't know who. Ivy Marsh said she didn't know when asked.

Priya Nair arrived on the Monday. She worked for the council in their tree department. Was only 26 and spent 2 hours on the hill. Dug around roots. Probed bark with her fingernail and took pictures of what little leaves remained.

Tuesday she came into the village hall. Where the committee was sitting. She asked if she could address the room.

"Sure, love," said Pauline.

"If a tree is in bloom in October, it's been forced to. It's panicked. They haven't had any water since June, and their root system is breaking down. So they've bloomed their life away to produce the next generation. They'll use it all if they can." She scanned the room of people at the long table. "Their next bloom would have been April. They won't have any. I don't think you'll get any."

Silence fell on the room. The light above flickered.

"Panicked." Said Dennis. "I think that's taking it a bit far."

"You must be from Reading, love?" Pauline said.

"Bracknell."

"Oh! Tea?"

Priya left a report with the committee. 11 pages and plenty of photos. Pauline filed it away in the blue blossom file behind the banners quote.

Ivy Marsh said nothing from the back of the room. No one asked her, and Ivy wasn't one to share information. We didn't know until later that since the beginning of July Ivy had been driving up to the top of the hill every night. Taking six 25-litre containers of water from her car. Tom's Corsa. Watering each of the trees by torchlight. Starting with Tom's. She had managed about 140 of them before it became difficult to get hold of water. Stopped in September. Felt it was enough.

People flocked to the hill. Four thousand three hundred over the weekend. We even hired a man to count how many people we had. Pauline said it's these little details.

By Saturday we had run out of cider at the Fox. Dennis drove up to Whitcombe to fetch some more. We sold £1860 worth of jam that we didn't know we had. The local paper was there too and spent most of his time walking between the rows looking for his photo. Managed to capture the whole hill white with a purplish-hue sky. The article appeared on Wednesday. "Autumn spring."

Kayleigh Dunn and Jamie Roper were getting married in May at the registrar's office in Whitcombe. They had their ceremony on the Sunday at 2. Under the biggest Apple tree on the hill. Got the registrar to come up by phone. Kayleigh's mum said we couldn't let it happen without having our photo on this hill. It was a beautiful day. Flowers fell out of the trees onto the confetti. It was hard to tell which was which. One young lad decided to ask his girlfriend. Got on one knee next to the wall. She said yes. Two more followed suit before tea time. Must have been in the atmosphere.

Everyone was elated, said Pauline after the fact.

Of course visitors wanted to know why the hill was in bloom. We told them it was due to the heat. "Oh well, beautiful." Is what everyone kept saying. Even Pauline's sister came from Devizes and said it. Lovely though. It allowed us to believe that it was lovely and didn't need any further explanation.

Ivy Marsh stood by the gate all Saturday. Next to where Tom used to stand and hang his flask on the 3rd branch. She wasn't selling anything. A young child asked her if she owned it.

"No," said Ivy.

"It doesn't usually do this," she said, after a moment. "It's just thirsty."

"It looks lovely." The mothers replied with a smile. Lovely though.

Frost came on the 3rd November. White and on time. First thing we'd had in season. Overnight the petals turned a brownish colour. Winds came on Thursday, and the hill lost its colour. All falling onto the dead grass.

Blossom weekend was profitable. Netting us £9860. We thanked Dennis at our meeting for his efforts to keep us supplied with alcohol. Pauline thanked the weather. Laughed it off as a joke. We all felt it had been a nice Autumn. Even told Priya when she returned to inspect the hill in mid-November. She just looked at us and made a note.

The hill did not bloom in April. Priya had told us it wouldn't, but we all decided it was just a slow spring. May came, and we told ourselves it was cold. In June, 41 of the trees sprouted a couple of leaves. The others stood with their limbs outstretched. Waiting, we said. For rain.

The letter came from the council in July. Formal paper with Priya's name and job title. The council advised that 171 of the trees should be removed from Cutler's Hill. Citing dangerous conditions in the winter. The remaining 41 are to be checked. Pauline read this out at our meeting in July. Dennis thought it may have been excessive. Agreed with him, Pauline and put the letter in the folder with all our blossom-related correspondence.

We had many enquiries over the Winter. Emails asking for dates. People travel 4 hours to watch things die. More travel: 2 hours to watch something beautiful. Probably the same type of person either way.

At our September meeting, Pauline stated that Blossom weekend had now become an annual event. Will take place on the second weekend of October. As per. Nobody mentioned the word cutting. No one mentioned the word dead. Maureen Cole could supply us with fake flowers. At cost, if the committee could cover the cost. Made of tissue paper on wire. Manufactured in Leicester.

"Nobody will know the difference." Said Pauline.

"They look the part." Said Dennis, who had seen one. "From afar."

We started attaching them on the Saturday before. Me and 40 others climbed up the hill. Took us till sunset to complete. Didn't speak much. Hard work and chilly. Ivy Marsh was handed a bundle like the rest of us. No significance to it. Climbed up to the apple tree by the gate. Hadn't bud any leaves since March. She knew it wouldn't again but placed one low on the third branch. Where Tom used to hang his flask. Made a good knot around the branch. So it wouldn't come undone.

It lasted.

On the second Saturday in October. People drove up to the lane and parked. The woman at the gate took a photo and looked at her phone.

"Beautiful." She said. "Though."

Then she turned to her husband, and he said it too.