Aunty Dor\u00adis had a lem\u00adon tree.
\nShe did\u00adn\u2019t live in Limone on Lake Garda, where the lem\u00adons grow in abund\u00adance in the rich fer\u00adtile soil. Nor did she live in Sorento where the Pon\u00adder\u00adosas grow to the size of a small bowl\u00ading ball. None of those places where the sun shines in per\u00adfectly blue cloud\u00adless skies for most of the year and the old people are wrinkled from years of work\u00ading out\u00adside under intense sunlight.
\nShe lived in Shaw, a small densely pop\u00adu\u00adlated mill town in the val\u00adley of the River Beal, at the foot of the Pen\u00adnines. Fam\u00adous for its forty eight dark satan\u00adic cot\u00adton mills \u2014 large rect\u00adan\u00adgu\u00adlar brick built build\u00adings that once dom\u00adin\u00adated the pan\u00ador\u00adama, mak\u00ading the area the power\u00adhouse of tex\u00adtile man\u00adu\u00adfac\u00adture dur\u00ading the indus\u00adtri\u00adal revolu\u00adtion. A town where the cold damp air caresses you, wel\u00adcomes you, makes you feel like you belong, before its dark angry clouds dump their rain on you before they rise over the Pen\u00adnines. A place of poor sterile soils and rugged ter\u00adrain. A place described by Samuel Lewis as hav\u00ading pro\u00adduced \u201ca race of hardy and labor\u00adi\u00adous men\u201d.
\nShe lived in a Edwar\u00add\u00adi\u00adan mid-ter\u00adrace oppos\u00adite the Ideal Bakery. A two-up-two-down house that stood proud flush on the pave\u00adment, branded with years of smoke that bel\u00adlowed from impos\u00ading fact\u00adory chim\u00adneys and rows and rows of chim\u00adney stacks ser\u00advi\u00adcing cosy but func\u00adtion\u00adal coal fires.
\nThe house had a back garden, noth\u00ading more than a small yard that sep\u00adar\u00adated it from the cobbled alleys the inter\u00adwove between the sur\u00adroun\u00added houses. Large slabs of stone \u2014 not the per\u00adfectly formed con\u00adcrete pav\u00ading stones of mod\u00adern, but rough, nobbled, and dis\u00adcol\u00adoured slabs that might have been pulled from the loc\u00adal quar\u00adries \u2014 made a path between the neigh\u00adbours yard wall and the small per\u00adfectly preened patch of grass, toward the back of the yard.
\nThere at the back, nestled between a low wooden fence and the out\u00adside privy-cum-coal shed, stand\u00ading slightly lower than the out\u00adbuild\u00ading, and sur\u00adroun\u00added by mis\u00adplaced hom\u00ading pigeons, stood the tree. It did\u00adn\u2019t grow those gnarly, fra\u00adgrant, and fresh lem\u00adons that you find in the mar\u00adket stalls of Por\u00adto\u00adbello Road, nor the per\u00adfectly dull and sym\u00admet\u00adric\u00adal more com\u00admon to brit\u00adish supermarkets.
\nThe tree was\u00adn\u2019t covered in long dark green ellipt\u00adic\u00adal leaves, finely toothed. It did\u00adn\u2019t have small per\u00adfect red buds or white purplish flowers with yel\u00adlow anthers. It was\u00adn\u2019t a tall majest\u00adic well nursed tree with light yel\u00adlow fruit shown beau\u00adti\u00adfully against blue skies. It was non\u00addes\u00adcript, fit\u00adting of its place \u2014 in the corner of yard in a small cold Lan\u00adcashire town. It was old, woody, and ever so slightly out of con\u00adtrol. But on it, at the end of every branch, sat the most eleg\u00adant lem\u00adons; per\u00adfectly formed by years of love and care. Ten\u00added for in a way that only a little old lady could.
\nEvery shrove Tues\u00adday when I was still so small that I could barely reach the fruit on the low hanging branches, we would cross the yard, pro\u00adpelled by excite\u00adment and expect\u00ada\u00adtions, to har\u00advest a pre\u00adcious lem\u00adon to squeeze on our pan\u00adcakes. I would lift my hand up and caress one of the many per\u00adfectly identic\u00adal plastic fruits hanging from every branch by the thin\u00adnest of cot\u00adton. No mat\u00adter which one I took it was always full of the most won\u00adder\u00adful juice, the taste of which would always remind me of this spe\u00adcial place, this spe\u00adcial moment. We would take off the lid and check, just to make sure, before return\u00ading to the house to con\u00adtin\u00adue with our feast.
\nAunty Dor\u00adis\u2019s \u201cJif Lem\u00adon Tree\u201d a work of won\u00adder and beauty.<\/p>\n