Tales from the Trees (August 2022) : Phone cables, broadband and Easter eggs

A FEW days ago I received a final warning to fund the repair of an overhead line that was damaged during the course of our work.

This accident was not caused by reckless disregard to safety, but by one of those unfortunate incidents that must surely have been experienced by all those reading this; well, all tree surgeons anyway. I wasn’t on site, but the scene described to me by the arborist was so familiar that I wasn’t annoyed, not least because I’m no longer in charge of tree operations.

The man up the tree cut a branch from a large beech during a reduction operation, this limb magically cartwheeled and hit the overhead service which was well outside the drop zone and caused minor damage, so we reported it.

READ MORE: Tales from the Trees (June 2022) - Border collies and PTO driven circular saws

This sort of thing happens, it’s annoying, often expensive and often embarrassing when something at work is damaged, but it happens and the reaction from the customer is unpredictable. The client can be completely reasonable, or the polar opposite and this isn’t always in proportion to the level of damage incurred.

“I’m really sorry, we’ve slightly chipped your mass-produced, concrete and quite frankly hideous bird bath,” can invoke levels of hysteria usually along the lines of: “Oh no! That was the only thing I had left to remind me of my recently deceased aunt, it’s irreplaceable …”

On the other hand, I once chipped the nose off a mediaeval gargoyle on a very old church, which invoked the response: “Never mind, it just needs a bit of filler.” (I paid a fortune to a stone mason in the end rather than resorting to some DIY car body repair that was my first thought).

Anyway, on the theme of ‘overheads’ I have a distant memory somewhere in the 2000s, of a telephone line we snipped through, probably one of about ten over the past 32 years.

The job was to clear the line, which was completely ensnared in shrubbery, climbing plants and low branches which had combined to reduce the height of the service to about 12 feet from the ground. The wire was also under extreme tension, you could almost play a tune on it, and I knew it was risky trying to free it, so warned the customer that we might accidentally damage it.

“It’s faulty anyway,” said the man, a semi-retired plump fellow with a bald head and a tank top which was so colourful that, combined with his ovoid shape, ensured he vaguely resembled an Easter egg.

A large part of the job involved trying to reduce a horrible, bramble-infested Thuja hedge to a sensible height, which I was succeeding in doing by propping the phone line on a Y-shaped stick, to avoid damaging it with the chainsaw.
All was well until Tom (one of the many with this name I employed over the years) embarked on the cutting back of a dog rose with the pole hedge cutter, and the inevitable happened.

“**** it!” I heard, above the din of the wood chipper and I knew at once what had happened, in part because my prop suddenly keeled sideways as the tension from the severed line was removed.

Tom, who true to type had a beard (all Toms have beards), was shamefaced and embarrassed. 

“I’ve cut through the phone cable,” he said, unnecessarily.

The Easter egg fellow was only mildly disconcerted, but I told him I’d go home and try and sort the problem for him, and oh how I regretted that. After a long delay because of ‘unexpectedly high call volumes’ or some such, I was put through to a lady, and explained the problem.

“Are you calling about your own phone?” she asked, leaving me wondering how this would be possible, having already explained that the line was cut through.

“No, it’s one of our customers.”

The engineer thought about this for a minute then concluded: “You can’t report a fault on someone else’s line unless you are related.”

This seemed odd to me, but I wasn’t prepared to give up, feeling duty bound to rectify the issue, so I did some quick thinking. “I am related,” I said, not entirely untruthfully.

If you think about it and consider the evolution of humanity from a very low population base several hundred thousand years ago, I probably was a distant cousin of the client.

The lady obviously was thinking along the same lines and didn’t question this new relationship.

“Is the phone plugged in at the wall socket?” 

I was puzzled at how this was relevant, given the fact that the line was now in two pieces, but decided to play along. 
“Yes, it is, I’ve just checked.”

It took a while to persuade the ‘engineer’ to send out a repair crew, but in the end she agreed and I informed the customer that he was to be reconnected the following day to his obvious relief.

We finished the job, bade farewell and on the following day I passed the property to check that the team had arrived to carry out the work and was reassured by the presence of men in hi-viz, complete with cherry picker. This was good news, though I knew it would cost me because the lady I’d spoken to had informed me that the customer would receive the charge on his bill. Never mind, that’s just par for the course.

On the Wednesday I popped in to the property to make sure the gentleman had full access to communications, but walking up his driveway I couldn’t see evidence of a new line, so knocked on the door.

The client, who still vaguely resembled a chocolate treat, shook his head sadly. 

“They showed up, but didn’t have any spare cable, they told me they’d be back on Thursday.”

This was disappointing, so I apologised some more and promised to call in on Friday, just to be sure.

The issue was starting to get embarrassing, but I let it out of my mind – worrying doesn’t help – and carried on with the week’s work.

Returning on Friday I noted that the engineers were still there, but rather than query them directly at why they were either a day late or making a relatively straight-forward job last two days, I knocked once again on the door.

“Hmm,” said the customer, who’d removed his tank top and was now sporting nothing worthy of mention. “They forgot the cherry picker yesterday and couldn’t access the pole.”

They could have borrowed mine, I thought, desperate now for a resolution, but decided that was probably against protocol and in any case, they seemed to finally be on top of the job. Expecting the worst I called the client that night and got through straight away, proof in itself that all was now well.

We did return, several years later, by which time the brightly dressed chap had moved on, leaving my details for the new owner who had called complaining that his telephone line was being interfered with by branches. We quoted, got the work and with extreme caution cleared it again. Nothing was damaged – perhaps I was more careful this time because I felt part ownership (having paid for the line) – but I do wonder if customers could call us in before the trees start intruding on overheads, it would be a bit easier.

In the interim period this unfortunate incident has repeated a couple of times, along with a few garden ornaments, a couple of windows and gutters, the latter of which I am now adept at repairing.

The overhead line most recently damaged was quickly forgotten, these things are after the initial crisis, and I anticipated the bill which we were perfectly reasonably expected to pay, but it didn’t arrive. Assuming nothing, mainly because it slipped my mind, we carried on with work as normal until the ‘final reminder before action is taken’ notice.

Realising it wasn’t a scam I scanned through the document and noticed that not only did it have the wrong address for my business; it also had the business name completely and utterly wrong.

In fact, apart from the final figure which was around £600, nothing about the bill could possibly be enforced legally. I imagined my initial question when the bailiffs arrived.

“Are you the director of Oliver’s Tree Surgery?”

The answer would have to be ‘no’, I’m no longer a director of the business at all, and certainly not of that one, but the debt collectors would be unlikely to have asked me at all, presumably calling at my previous address. Rather than leave things unresolved and the new owner of my old house having his car impounded, I called the number on the final demand.

“Where did you get my company address and name?” I asked, having explained the situation.

The telephone lady didn’t know, but I gave her the correct details anyway, a victim as always to my own honesty, I could have probably got away with it.

As I write this I am eagerly awaiting two things. Firstly, I want the utility company who started messing with my arboretum to conclude their rather overdue business and leave me alone. It’s been a while now and the rights they have over my private land have astonished me.

Secondly, the other unnamed company who are to fix another overhead service are due at noon.

They were also due at various intervals in March and April.

Of the three previous visits, only one managed to touch base with me after a distraught phone call. 

“I’m in your driveway, next to the black car.” 

The chap was obviously exasperated, I could tell by his voice and the fact that he was so late, so I was patient.

“Err, we don’t have a driveway, or a black car …”

I talked him in, from a neighbour’s house, and politely didn’t mention that I’d told his employers not to use the satnav.

Inside, he produced some electronic gadgetry and stood for a long time bleeping and looking puzzled before announcing with blinding accuracy: “Your internet is very poor.”

I already knew this.

We talked awhile about solutions, of which there were none, so I had no option but to bid the man farewell. A few minutes after his departure I received a text: “Your broadband should be working now, if you still experience problems ...”

The text pointed me to a website that I was unable to access, so I called the company and explained the problem. 

“Stay on the line while we run some tests.”

The company employs helpful, friendly staff, which is something, but I knew full well what the tests would reveal.

“Your broadband is very poor.” 

Eventually, I got re-directed to someone that offered me an internet package that works off 4G.

“Does that mean we need mobile phone reception?” I asked, fully aware that it probably did, though I’m no expert. Despite being re-directed again nobody seemed to know.

During the writing of that last sentence the mobile did ring, in one of those rare moments when a satellite seems to be overhead for long enough to have some reception.

The chap from the company is coming early! I agreed that this was most welcome and was on the point of explaining that our address is difficult to find, when the satellite vanished from range, along with the utility man.

I wonder how this will turn out.