GARDEN OF ENGLAND

    GARDEN OF ENGLAND

By Jane Scoggins

  Harry had lived all his life in and around South London. He had been across the river many times of course but never to live. He was a Londoner through and through and could not imagine living anywhere else.  He had done a number of jobs in his working life starting at fifteen on his uncle’s fruit and veg stall at Borough market. Not having been very well schooled and the family needing the money he had not minded what he did. His preference had been to work outside, but as long as it brought in a wage and he didn’t have far to travel from the family home off the Marshalsea Road he had been happy. When he got married in 1975 and with his first child on the way he was offered a council flat. He and Julie were over the moon and soon after Mandy was born he applied for, and was offered a job with Southwark council as a labourer. It was a steady job with a good enough income and he and Julie were content. When baby John came along Harry was even happier. When Mandy was nearly 10 and John 6 Harry asked the council if they could be rehoused so that Mandy could have her own bedroom. In due course they were offered a three bed terraced house near the Elephant and Castle. Julie was delighted to have a garden for the first time and she and Harry set about putting it straight and planting. Harry knew all about fruit and veg from the days of his uncle’s market stall, but he had never worked with soil or planted anything. He loved the garden and tended it with care. This new found interest eventually prompted him to apply for a job working in the Council’s parks and gardens. He transferred from labourer to gardener with ease and stayed in the same job with incremental promotions until his retirement. After the children had flown the nest Julie and Harry continued to tend the garden and go on regular trips to Kew Gardens when they felt the need for a bit more grandeur. When Harry's arthritis started to give him twinges, and Julie was diagnosed with Cancer they talked about downsizing. The council were glad to be getting a three bed house with a garden back into their housing stock for one of the many families on their waiting list, and offered Harry and Julie a modern one bedroom flat in Southwark. Harry's arthritis was manageable but Julies Cancer was more troublesome and despite treatment and periods of remission she died with Harry at her bedside in St Thomas's Hospital.

 Mandy and John came for the funeral and after a week returned to their lives and jobs in Leeds and Edinburgh. Harry was proud of his children’s achievements and how far they had come in their careers. He was less certain about how far they had to live away from him. With Julie gone, he felt lonely experienced the full impact of his bereavement.

Harry had spent the morning people watching in Trafalgar Square, and the pigeons had enjoyed the crusts from his home-made cheese, ham and pickle sandwiches. He debated whether or not to go into the National Gallery just behind him. Entrance was free and Harry liked a bit of culture now and again. In particular he liked the majesty of the Old Masters. It was a warm June day, quite a few tourists, but no schoolchildren as it was not yet holiday time. Harry raised his face to the sun and admired Nelson on his tall plinth. The sky was blue and almost cloudless. Not too warm for activities such as walking or gardening. Harry gave a little inward sigh. He would have loved to have rolled up his shirt sleeves and done a bit of gardening, but as he no longer had a garden he accepted the other option, walking. He thought he would walk down the Strand to Covent Garden and see if his friend Joe was on his market stall, or if there were any street performers busking in the square. Launching his near empty backpack over his shoulder, he set off past the open doors of St Martin in The Fields church towards the Strand. On the opposite side of the road was Charing Cross station. He liked old buildings as well as Old Masters and stopped for a few moments to gaze up at the architecture of the building. In those moments his mind transferred from present day to years gone by when he and Julie had travelled by train to Kent to visit relatives, or just for a day away from London when they fancied some country air. It had been eight months since his wife had died and he missed her very much. Instead of turning left toward Covent Garden as planned, he found himself crossing the road. Hesitating briefly he went to the ticket office and bought a ticket to Sevenoaks. The electronic departures board showed that a train was due out from platform 6 in five minutes. Within a minute of settling into his seat, the train moved off and only then did Harry have second thoughts about the sudden change of mind about his plans for the afternoon.

 The train was an early afternoon, stopping train. Harry watched as the enormous commercial buildings of London merged seamlessly into the smaller crowded buildings and houses of the south London suburbs with which he had been familiar all his life. His family born and bred around the Walworth Road had easy access to the South Bank and over London or Blackfriars Bridges to the City in one direction, and out towards Kent in the other.

 The train stopped at Catford, then Beckenham, Bromley and St Mary Cray. He was properly in Kent now. He knew the next station would be Swanley and then onto the pretty little villages of Eynsford and Shoreham. When Harry was a lad he and his Mum and Dad, brother and sister, together with his Aunt Beatty, Uncle Jack and his three cousins would ride out to Kent in the back of Uncle Jacks old lorry for the last two or three weeks of the summer holidays to pick hops. They all looked forward to the camping, fresh air and extra money. It was an opportunity to be together as a family, to work and play away from the grubby confines of their small cramped houses, and feel the sun on their backs. Harry remembered those annual trips with a deep pleasure. Even when he started work he continued to take his week’s holiday with the family when they went hop picking. And after he met and got engaged to Julie, she came too. They continued this working summer holiday until their first child was due.

The tannoy relayed a message to the passengers that the next station would be Otford, and those wishing to go on to Sevenoaks would need to change trains. At Otford Harry got off the train. It was a pretty little station with pots and hanging baskets overflowing with colourful orange and red Begonias, Geraniums, multicoloured stocks and blue and white trailing Lobelia. Harry admired the floral abundance and sat for a minute or two on a bench on the deserted platform. A butterfly alighted on one of the blossoming stocks and Harry felt completely at peace with the world for the first time since his wife's death.

  Feeling thirsty he made his second change of plan that day. Instead of going on to Sevenoaks, he decided to explore the village of Otford and seek out a pub for a beer.

It was a short walk to the village from the station and there was a choice of two pubs. He chose the one with the best hanging baskets. Harry bought a beer and wandered into the garden at the back of the pub. Apart from an elderly couple in walking boots and their dog, the garden was empty and Harry had a choice of tables. After his beer, Harry used the gents WC before wandering around the village. He was charmed by its character. Cottages with little front gardens overflowing with Hollyhocks, delphiniums, Lavender, and Roses scrambling up and over porches and picket fences.  Harry was in his element and he drew in his breath to take in the smell of the flowers and the countryside. He loved London but his flat with only a tiny balcony could not compare to the visual and scented treats that were seducing him now. He had grown fruit and veg, as well as flowers for Julie in their garden before moving to the flat. As he walked further down the road the houses became larger semi's and some detached. The sight of the village shop reminded Harry that he was getting a bit peckish. He went in and bought a small pork pie, crisps and chocolate, and a bottle of water for his homeward journey. The notice board advised of the local lunch club, yoga class, church services and bus trips. It would appear to be a village mainly for retired people or commuters Harry surmised. He then noticed a handwritten postcard 'Gardener Wanted'. Harry looked with interest and wondered where it might be. There was a house name 'The Chestnuts', a name and a telephone number. Harry asked the lady behind the counter if she knew where it was.

'Oh yes, It is at the end of the road on the left ' she said, pointing her finger in the direction, 'No more than 10 minutes walk.'

Harry memorised the name on the card and out of curiosity went in search of the house and garden. The Chestnuts was easy to find. Standing back from the road a fine detached, older style house with two mature Chestnut trees in the front. Although the lawn needing cutting and there were quite a lot of weeds in the borders, it would appear that the main part of the garden was at the back. There was no one around so Harry walked up the path to take a better look

There was a wrought iron gate at the side of the house and as he approached a dog barked. Before he had time to move away, a friendly, tail wagging but noisy Spaniel came rushing up to the gate to welcome him. A voice from nearby called to the dog and Harry looked up to see a woman in a wheelchair with a book in her lap.

'Can I help you?' she called out to Harry.

Taken aback by being discovered snooping, or even trespassing on private property Harry found himself covering his acute embarrassment by saying.

'I saw your advert for a gardener in the shop and……'

He got no further with his explanation as he was interrupted by the lady in the wheelchair beckoning him towards her saying

'Oh, please come in.'

Harry unlatched the gate, closed it behind him, and bent to pet the excited Spaniel.

As he walked towards the lady she laughed and apologised for the dog who was demanding his attention.

Mrs Simpson had Multiple Sclerosis and some days needed to use her wheelchair. Her condition was stable but during the last year her ability to manage unaided had declined. She and her husband had lived in the house for 20 years and during that time Mrs Simpson had transformed the garden .it had been her pride and joy. She had refused to give in to having a gardener until recently when her husband had seen her distress at how the garden had become unkempt and overgrown in parts, and persuaded her to reconsider. He had also suggested that they move to a smaller house. Mrs Simpson had reluctantly agreed but with the proviso they find a gardener who would restore her garden to its former glory before putting it on the market. She said she wanted at least one more summer in her beautiful garden.

Harry could not resist the challenge, and over a cup of tea they talked all things flora and botanical. Mrs Simpson accompanied Harry slowly around her garden telling him all about the plants and when she had planted them. She had many interesting and unusual specimens. She, in turn, was most interested in Harry's experience as a council gardener, his visits to Kew and his knowledge of gardening.

When she asked Harry where he lived and when he could start, Harry told her he lived in London but could start tomorrow if she wanted.

'How about having B&B at the pub and staying down here, it would be like having a working holiday. I could get you a good rate too. I would give you a sandwich lunch and as much tea as you can drink, and I would pay you generously to work from after breakfast until dusk if you wanted. How about it? I reckon about a week, would do it, and then maybe some ongoing maintenance after that if you are willing?’’

Harry agreed. All he had to do now was to go back to London, pack a bag and return in the morning. Before he left, Mrs Simpson phoned the pub and made the B&B arrangements.

The third impromptu decision of the day had been made and Harry felt that he was having an adventure that would see him coping with his bereavement and having a working holiday. Life was suddenly so much better. He was glad that the Garden of England had beckoned him back. However, the only hops he was likely to encounter on this working holiday would be in his Kentish Ale down at the pub each evening.

Copyright Jane Scoggins