It has been decades since Matt has climbed a tree or even seen a spitfire nest. Nevertheless, the fear strikes to the core of his heart every time he’s within the general vicinity of a gum tree.
Often as he strolls through bushland he’ll look up like a crazed, paranoid padded cellist as he tries to identify his impending doom. He knows too well that if a spitfire nest was to fall on his head while under a tree he’d succumb to his trauma.
We spoke to Matt who still had a 1000 yard stare every time spitfires were mentioned. He told The Times,
“Pretty sure hell is just a series of gum trees with writhing, horrific masses of black death hanging onto branches”
He took a moment to compose himself before delving a bit deeper into the origin of his fears,
“I think any normal person was horrified by them. We always believed that they could spit acid into your eyes and blind you. Turns out that’s not really true but it’s what I think about. Then in the summer of 1992…”
Again, he paused as the colour drained from his face, grimacing at the memories that he was about to articulate. Nevertheless, he pushed through,
“My brother called me over to this tree and pointed out the nest. He then ‘pretended’ to throw the cricket ball we had at it to spook me. Only he let go of the ball. He let go of the fkn ball. I still remember those spitfires descending on my bare skin. The horror”
Yikes. There is a bit of brotherly tough love and there is action that ought to be a contravention of the Geneva Convention.
Matt has learned to forgive his kin but the scars live on and there won’t be a single tree he walks under for the rest of his life where he thinks – what if it’s today? The day they finally come to finish the job.