The couple began work on the allotment
in Autumn. Like many of their neighbours they had a mind to stretch
their household budget by growing fruit and vegetables, but they were
also motivated by fear. That Spring their beloved son had finally left
them and having tired of rolling unsteadily around their house, like two
shriveling peas, they were desperate for more constructive ways to fill
their time.
The couple's research had been thorough and they threw themselves into the project with an earnest enthusiasm. First they checked the PH of the soil. Then they built a compost bin, decided which crop varieties were most suited to the composition of the earth and drew up a planting schedule for the Spring. Overwintering vegetables - onions and cauliflower, garlic and leeks - were planted and the rest of their plot was forked and left rough dug, with the roots of any weeds exposed to the frosts that would follow.
It had been some time since the couple had met and spoken to anyone new and at first they were ill-at-ease around the more established plot holders. But their diligence was noted and they were soon made to feel welcome. By the end of their first month - as was the tradition with newcomers - they were given gifts of fruit and vegetables from those growers that had been most successful that Summer. They found themselves with bags of runner beans and courgettes, tomatoes and plums. There were squashes and a pumpkin, the biggest they'd seen. By the time people began abandoning the allotment for the Winter, the couple were able to reflect on a satisfying introduction to a community they had found more of a preoccupation than they might have dared hope for.
Potentially the most diverting of their new relationships was one they had begun with the old man on the plot next to theirs. They had been told that he had taken ownership of it a month before they had begun work on their own, but beyond that no-one seemed to know anything about him. Despite always arriving on foot, he didn't appear to live on any of the roads in the immediate vicinity of the allotment. His age was a moot point: he could have been 60 something or 70 something or, at a push, a sprightly 80. For whatever reason he wasn't the slightest bit friendly, and most of the people who'd spoken to him had been ignored; furthermore, the few syllables he had offered by way of reply had come with a heavy accent, from Germany perhaps, or Eastern Europe.
The couple's research had been thorough and they threw themselves into the project with an earnest enthusiasm. First they checked the PH of the soil. Then they built a compost bin, decided which crop varieties were most suited to the composition of the earth and drew up a planting schedule for the Spring. Overwintering vegetables - onions and cauliflower, garlic and leeks - were planted and the rest of their plot was forked and left rough dug, with the roots of any weeds exposed to the frosts that would follow.
It had been some time since the couple had met and spoken to anyone new and at first they were ill-at-ease around the more established plot holders. But their diligence was noted and they were soon made to feel welcome. By the end of their first month - as was the tradition with newcomers - they were given gifts of fruit and vegetables from those growers that had been most successful that Summer. They found themselves with bags of runner beans and courgettes, tomatoes and plums. There were squashes and a pumpkin, the biggest they'd seen. By the time people began abandoning the allotment for the Winter, the couple were able to reflect on a satisfying introduction to a community they had found more of a preoccupation than they might have dared hope for.
Potentially the most diverting of their new relationships was one they had begun with the old man on the plot next to theirs. They had been told that he had taken ownership of it a month before they had begun work on their own, but beyond that no-one seemed to know anything about him. Despite always arriving on foot, he didn't appear to live on any of the roads in the immediate vicinity of the allotment. His age was a moot point: he could have been 60 something or 70 something or, at a push, a sprightly 80. For whatever reason he wasn't the slightest bit friendly, and most of the people who'd spoken to him had been ignored; furthermore, the few syllables he had offered by way of reply had come with a heavy accent, from Germany perhaps, or Eastern Europe.
The couple were undeterred by
the old man's taciturn manner. There was something exotic about his
difference and this appealed to them. Besides. His was a constant
presence on the allotment and their relationship with him was clearly
going to be central to the experience: every time the couple ventured
out that first Autumn – and this was often enough – there he was, bent
double and turning over the soil like a peasant in a field.
This dedication gave the couple something to work with. If their exploratory 'hello!'s and 'nice day!'s had prompted no response, it would surely be more fruitful to prod the old man about the detail of his plans. It was. One weekend at the beginning of November, it became apparent why he had been working with such urgency when he took delivery of - and set about planting – a dozen rose bushes. This was unusual. Flowers were grown on the allotment; someone had sowed wildflower seeds to create a patch of meadow and the practice of planting marigolds and nasturtiums as companions to carrots and broad beans was widespread. But no-one had given a whole plot over to the cultivation of a particular bloom. The couple saw their opportunity. 'What's the secret then?' they asked their neighbour as he dug and dug, 'to planting roses?' 'You have to bury it deep', he said and although they left it at that the couple were thrilled with the effortlessly enigmatic nature of his reply.
Their curiosity was further piqued that Winter, when they began taking walks on the now deserted allotment. They were looking for something to fill the time during which nothing except emptiness grew. One day they were delighted to see a bird emerge from a previously unnoticed hole in a dead tree at the end of their plot. The bird was colourful and distinctive enough for the couple to identify it on their return home: it was a Great Spotted Woodpecker and they hoped its to-ings and fro-ings would hold their attention until Spring. The following week the rain was coming down but the couple remembered the bird, wrapped-up against the cold and ventured out anyway. Approaching the tree they were surprised to see the old man standing in the freezing rain, staring at his hard-worked soil. He was drenched but he stood up straight and proud too, even as the water poured off his flat cap in icy streams. It was as if he was willing the roses to spring forth from the ground, and for days the couple didn't speak of the woodpecker at all.
This dedication gave the couple something to work with. If their exploratory 'hello!'s and 'nice day!'s had prompted no response, it would surely be more fruitful to prod the old man about the detail of his plans. It was. One weekend at the beginning of November, it became apparent why he had been working with such urgency when he took delivery of - and set about planting – a dozen rose bushes. This was unusual. Flowers were grown on the allotment; someone had sowed wildflower seeds to create a patch of meadow and the practice of planting marigolds and nasturtiums as companions to carrots and broad beans was widespread. But no-one had given a whole plot over to the cultivation of a particular bloom. The couple saw their opportunity. 'What's the secret then?' they asked their neighbour as he dug and dug, 'to planting roses?' 'You have to bury it deep', he said and although they left it at that the couple were thrilled with the effortlessly enigmatic nature of his reply.
Their curiosity was further piqued that Winter, when they began taking walks on the now deserted allotment. They were looking for something to fill the time during which nothing except emptiness grew. One day they were delighted to see a bird emerge from a previously unnoticed hole in a dead tree at the end of their plot. The bird was colourful and distinctive enough for the couple to identify it on their return home: it was a Great Spotted Woodpecker and they hoped its to-ings and fro-ings would hold their attention until Spring. The following week the rain was coming down but the couple remembered the bird, wrapped-up against the cold and ventured out anyway. Approaching the tree they were surprised to see the old man standing in the freezing rain, staring at his hard-worked soil. He was drenched but he stood up straight and proud too, even as the water poured off his flat cap in icy streams. It was as if he was willing the roses to spring forth from the ground, and for days the couple didn't speak of the woodpecker at all.
With the arrival of Spring,
the allotment was full of people again, putting the finishing touches to
their preparations for the new season's growing. The frost had worked
its magic but there were roots to weed out and manure to tickle into the
expectant earth. The couple consulted their plans and sowed carrots and
lettuces and covered them with fleece. They secured canes for broad
beans near to the onions, in order to deter root fly. They transferred
courgette plants from pots to cloches, tomatoes and peppers too, while
chitted potatoes were buried in trenches.
The old man also busied himself, pruning his rose bushes and weeding assiduously between them. The plants had lain dormant over the winter but had taken well. The leaves were dark red, although some were already showing signs of the vivid green that the couple had learned would come with maturation. By the last week of April, the roses had bloomed. The flowers had large heads and were petalled densely in deep apricot and fiery pink and orange. The bushes were laid out in three precise rows, the earth from which they grew was darkly rich and otherwise clear of plant life and although the flowers had yet to fully inhabit their beauty, the old man's plot provided the most arresting sight on the allotment.
One morning in May, the couple ventured out for an early start, only to find their neighbour standing on the exact same spot as he had that Winter. Once again he was staring at his handiwork. 'Looking good,' they ventured, genuinely enough. The old man turned around. He looked past the couple, as though he was unsurprised that his efforts had attracted an audience but also as though he hadn't registered – or didn't care - who it was. He raised a hand to his chin as if lost in thought. 'Not good', he said, 'too strong. Too soon.' Then he turned back to his plot. The couple would have been happy if the encounter had ended there, with this further evidence of the old man's eccentricity, but even as they exchanged glances, they noticed that he had started to sob, his head full and bowed, his whole body convulsing in great wracks of distress.
The old man also busied himself, pruning his rose bushes and weeding assiduously between them. The plants had lain dormant over the winter but had taken well. The leaves were dark red, although some were already showing signs of the vivid green that the couple had learned would come with maturation. By the last week of April, the roses had bloomed. The flowers had large heads and were petalled densely in deep apricot and fiery pink and orange. The bushes were laid out in three precise rows, the earth from which they grew was darkly rich and otherwise clear of plant life and although the flowers had yet to fully inhabit their beauty, the old man's plot provided the most arresting sight on the allotment.
One morning in May, the couple ventured out for an early start, only to find their neighbour standing on the exact same spot as he had that Winter. Once again he was staring at his handiwork. 'Looking good,' they ventured, genuinely enough. The old man turned around. He looked past the couple, as though he was unsurprised that his efforts had attracted an audience but also as though he hadn't registered – or didn't care - who it was. He raised a hand to his chin as if lost in thought. 'Not good', he said, 'too strong. Too soon.' Then he turned back to his plot. The couple would have been happy if the encounter had ended there, with this further evidence of the old man's eccentricity, but even as they exchanged glances, they noticed that he had started to sob, his head full and bowed, his whole body convulsing in great wracks of distress.
