One day in May this year, I was visiting the Anne Frank House in Amsterdam with a friend from Germany. The director of the museum, Hans Westra, is a long-time family friend. He gave us a short private tour of the secret annex where Anne Frank lived for 25 months before being captured by the Germans and sent off to Auschwitz. As he showed us the pantry of the house, which is normally closed to the public, Westra pointed out of the window, towards a gigantic chestnut tree sitting on the back of the building. ‘That tree will have to go soon,’ he said. ‘It’s sick. Come the day of the felling, I reckon there will be a lot of media attention.’