I'M the tree who lives up Rough Hill Drive (Advertiser, May 12). I am 150 years old. It's my birthday today but us oaks call it our acorn day.

My mother was chopped down to make way for Rough Hill Drive and it was she who told me a squirrel hid her seed in the soil where I now stand for its winter larder. Luckily for me, it forgot where it planted me and I survived.

My old dad had trouble with his heartwood. He looked OK from the outside but it was slowly eating him away on the inside. Perhaps he missed my mum. I know he used to get angry about new developments and Rough Hill Drive nearly finished him off.

He was cut down about eight years ago now. I can still see his stump from where I stand.

He was 300 years old and had amazing tales to tell about the forest where he was born and the other trees he knew.

I do remember when it was quieter around here and there were no big lorries to vibrate the soil from my roots. Those were the days when red squirrels would play among my young branches and they tickled terribly.

I have seen many changes, not least the new road, which you call Rough Hill Drive, being built in the late 1970s and the steam trains I used to see in the distance in the late 1940s.

There used to be Friesian cows in Grangers Field and they would go off to be milked by hand in a milking parlour on Woodrow Farm.

Some of the girls would shelter under the shade of my leafy canopy in the heat of summer and gossip terribly, often about the farmer and his new-fangled machines, which were noisy, cold and pinched terribly. I have no idea to what they eluded but it fascinated me hearing their emotional retorts.

I have many friends. The oak tree at the top of the hill and the oak by the bottom by the bridle path. We often chat to while away the time. They have seen many changes in this area; children playing in the sand pits just across the footpath and making dens among the other trees and in the hollows made by people digging out the sand. I overheard a couple of humans back in 1939 saying the sand was for sand bags for the war.

Old human songs would often waft on the night air from the pub at the top of the hill by the old turnpike. This was where farmers would gather and have their lunches and a glass of best ale.

We trees do our duty to nature by balancing the environment. My roots, like those of my friends, anchor the soil to stop the rain from washing it away. I can also get quite thirsty, especially when it's hot. I drink gallons of water a day and this helps the land I live on to not get too waterlogged.

My friend was very upset last year she was beaten up by a yellow monster which had a large mouth and a noisy roar. It tore the soil from her roots and stamped on her toes. It shook her to the core and we thought she may die. Thankfully, she is alive and well and her livid wounds have almost returned to their natural colour.

Now though, the sheep have gone and we miss the sounds of the lambs and their mischief, but we still hear and provide shelter and roosting for the local bat population.

A great and dear aunt died last August. She was struck by lightening which rendered her in two. She is sadly missed by us all but thankfully her acorns live on.

I am 150 years old. I look forward to my next 150 years and thought you would like to know.

Please send birthday cards care of Redditch Council's planning department because they don't know I exist.

Mr AC OAK

Rough Hill Drive