Week 2: Toads Revisited

Week 2 started out promising. It was a glorious winter day, the sun was shining, the skies were blue and our flasks were filled with hot tea. We had organised plenty of initial jobs to content ourselves with over the coming day and set out to conquer... well... the allotment. Tom was to be the Compost King, Alan was, after some change of previously planned job, going to deal with the existing soft fruit beds, and I was to start creating the first of three 16ft x 8ft beds.

Having arrived at the allotment we were instantly approached by our neighbour. 'Barbour Girl' was incredibly nice. We quickly established that she and her partner (female) had recently acquired the adjacent plot and were approaching being almost entirely organic. This contact proved rather useful as an hour later I asked where the advertised chemical toilets were, and the reply came back "There aren't any. But I have a shed and a bucket you can use. It'll be great for my compost".

Then we were hit from the other side by our Area Allotment Rep. AAP was also delightful. Eager to make us feel welcome, to know our visiting patterns and to pass on any wanted/unwanted advice. After almost an hour of talking about everything from broken fingers to the 'current trouble with asbestos', we parted on great terms of understanding. She would be nosey in a helpful way, and I would have someone to get the local gossip from. Originating from Yorkshire breeds a certain curtain twitching in my nature.

In not much time at all Alan's raspberry beds looked to be in great condition, impressing both me and Tom with his productivity. Tom's composting looked marvellous, boasting a tremendous mound of sweet smelling organic muck filled to the brim with worms, insects and a myriad of toads (at least 3 in every shovel full) which had us very excited.

Then the sun disappeared after Barbour Girl's infamous words of "you brought the sun with you" and the heavens opened. We quickly became cold and wet. "Pub" was the rally cry. We downed tools and fled to the saving grace of the adjoining establishment. I imagine strategically placed since the allotment opened in 1896 to save those without sheds in such same circumstances. After an hour, 2 glasses of wine, 3 tomato juices, a diet coke, two packets of crisps and the refusal of roast beef later, we headed back to clear our things and head home.

We had a good start but were thwarted by the rain. Or were we? In hindsight I cant help but wonder if, with all the excessive planning, some higher power was telling us to slow down and enjoy the pottering nature of the allotment.... if so I guess I agree... though not as much rain next time please even if the toads want it so.

'Mr. Middleton says: "There's nothing to be gained by rushing out with a spade and turning everything upside down in a few hours"'




Dean

Week 1: Choosing a Plot

We'd been talking about getting an allotment for years.

The thing is, that's all we'd been doing - talking. Well almost all... Alan, being organised had put his name down for an allotment that had a two year waiting list. That was about two years ago. Dean and I had spoken about putting our name on the same list for about two years.

I should probably introduce myself; I'm Tom, Dean is my Husband, and Alan is my Dad.

When we tell people we have an allotment they tend to laugh. Lots.

I've called this post 'Choosing a Plot' but to be honest there wasn't much choosing involved. Six of us turned up and eight plots were going. Each of us drew a number out of a hat (well a plastic bucket) and that was the number of our plot.

Ourselves, and a lovely lady called Eve were taken off to be shown our plots. On our way we were told our plots were 'a real opportunity'. My heart sank. I don't know much about allotments, but I do know a bit about English euphemism and I know 'opportunities' are code for 'large amounts of thankless work'. In the end though my fears weren't entirely realised - the plot has very recently been occupied, and although a little overgrown it is almost ready to go.

One oddity about the plot is that ours and Eve's plots used to be owned by one person and at the top they have created an arched, hedged off secret country garden area which spreads across both plots. We were faced with the options of sharing the top or months of work taking out a very established hedge, plum trees and concrete shed foundations. Thankfully we all (including Eve) fell in love with the quirky top 'garden' so it will stay.

Everyone has told us to take it slow and so we resisted the urge to jump straight in. Instead today was spent planning, measuring, and discussing. Mum said "I hope you don't all come to blows over this allotment" I assured her we wont, as long as we all obey Dean to the letter... Dean knows what he's doing, haven previously taken over an allotment by force aged 14. His neighbours were a little unhappy - mainly because his carrots were better than theirs.

And so. Now we're planned, plotted and ready to dig...

Tom

'Mr. Middleton says: "Nature wont be rushed. Not human nature, nor the good earth."' 

Prologue: The Beginning

Today is grey. Today is grey, cold and there is frost on the ground and fog encircling me as I leave the tame landscape of the manicured garden. The communal garden has a beauty that transcends day and night, sun or frost, summer and winter. Well formed and planned ever more meticulously. I enjoy the garden and have spent a lot of time in it throughout the seasons, from picnics to late evening walks, but something is always longing… to dig… to plant… to fiddle.

Work is dull. Work is dull, monotonous with the same ebb of conversation that is only interrupted by the sound of broken English spent with an ever-surprising amount of tourism. 

Time creeps at this petty pace… But something is wrong. I check my voicemail and listen nervously. The sound is muffled and distant but distinctive: “We have an allotment”.

An overwhelming feeling of happiness, a childish excitement and a longing to learn fill my head. I instantly start to sketch on remnants of customer surveys, on booking forms, gift aid submissions, almost on the desk…. I search through podcasts and download the latest edition of GQT to listen to on the walk home.

Thoughts wander across to a novelty gift that has slept on the bookcase, waiting for it’s time to shine. Now is that time.

‘C.H.Middleton: Dig on for Victory. All-Year-Round Gardening Guide 1945’

My mind dances through images of crop rotations, seed catalogues and muddy wellies though never forgetting the never ending, hard, back breaking work to come… But it remains exciting to once again be able to have nothing and build a kingdom. The immense feelings of pleasure and pride the will inevitably arrive when tasting my first self-grown lunches. The thoughts of these feelings will drive me through those cold, tiring days of strenuous digging.

Turning to Middleton once more, the quote on the cover burns onto my memory…

“Won’t it be grand when we can sit on the old garden seat, and listen to the birds instead of the sirens!”

The sirens may no longer be the threat of German invasion, but the sound of roaring traffic, telephone bells and the drone of millions of people still have that same effect for me. This is the age of a new war. A war of necessity and now to have that haven of an allotment to escape central city living will indeed be ‘grand’.


Dean