Getting into Gardening. Slightly fictionalised.

Grandad's Sweet peas

Uncle Joe had bought an old car and rebuilt it. During the summer he had offered to take my parents and me out for trips. It was supposed to be a treat for me as my sister Mary had gone away on holiday for a week with one of her friends.
The first and only journey that we made turned into a disaster. The weather was fine, warm and sunny, but not too hot. The car ran perfectly. The place we went to was beautiful. The disaster was me. I was travel sick. Not straight away, then we could have come home. No, I started when it was too late for that. I was not mildly ill either, but violently and frequently. Uncle Joe shook his head and said that he had never seen anyone dredging up his boots like that before, or ever wanted to again. While the car moved I was sick, when it stopped, I stopped. In stop and start fashion we finally arrived at our destination.
This was one of those large public gardens, I cannot remember its name or even in which town it was. There were swings and roundabouts, even an Ice Cream Kiosk. However it was not those entertainments that saved the day for me. In any case I was feeling far too delicate to go up and down and as for round and round, just the though made me shudder. Even a promised ice-cream was turned down and as for the picnic lunch, I turned green. Joe said that it was the first time that he had ever seen me not eating, never mind turning down one of Mum's cakes.
What made the day for me were the flower beds. The houses at the top end of our road had small areas at the front. They were about three feet wide and as long as the house. Hordes of children playing in them stopped anything from growing except the tough old privet hedges that everyone had. Our local park was really just grass and non-flowering evergreen shrubs. The town was too poor after the war to go in for fancy bedding out. So, I had never seen anything like those flowers.
Roses, petunias, snapdragons, pansies and hundreds more, hid the soil. There was even a clock made out of plants. I exhausted my adults dragging them over every inch of the place, demanding to know the name of every plant, determined not to miss one display." I don't know" became my mother's constant cry. Fortunately, a friendly gardener was able to name the delights for me.
It was only the memory of those flowers which kept me alive during the even more horrific journey home and the three days afterwards which it took me to recover from the motion sickness.
From then on, until a good hiding stopped me, I pestered my parents to move to a house with a garden. They tried to explain that they could not afford that kind of place and even if they could, the houses were just not available. There was a National Housing Shortage. The smacking drove my obsession underground, so to speak. I began to read every book on gardening and flowers in the Public Library. I took to cycling round the better-class areas looking at the gardens, until winter robbed them of interest. I dreamt of getting an allotment, but there was a hugely long waiting list.
To make matters worse my mother's sister and her husband moved into a new council house with a garden, front and rear. I heard Uncle Frank boasting that he was going to grow prize winning Sweet Peas like his father used to do before the War. That did it. By hook or by crook I had to have a garden.
Our house had a long back yard, surfaced with tiles. These had been laid on a bed of foundry ash. Many of them were loose and fairly easily lifted. My father had just completed, with my help (getting in the way, he said) changing the old wash-house into a large kitchen. One of the things that we put in was a long picture window. That and the loose tiles gave me an idea. I now knew exactly where I was going to put my garden. I measured the new kitchen wall. There was enough room to make a bed 12 feet long and 3 feet wide. Only 36 square feet, but it was the best I was going to get.
Somehow I had to prove that nobody would miss that part of the yard and that Mum could still hang out her washing. First of all I filled the area with my go-cart (wooden box, plank and pram wheels), bits of bicycle and lots of other things. None of it was quite rubbish, that would have been given to the binmen. The soil was another problem all together.
One Saturday morning at the beginning of March, Stew, my best friend, came into the yard.
"The Sycamore Avenue gang have challenged us to a game of Rugby on the Rec. field, are you fit?" He asked.
I was always ready to play Rugby, except at school. "When?"
"This afternoon," said Stew. "Simon's gone to call for everyone else."
"We need more than seven, there's at least twenty of them." I said.
"I know," replied Stew. "You and me have got to go and ask the Foster St. mob if they want to play."
"OK! Mum, I'm off out." After my sledding troubles I had to keep her informed of my whereabouts.
She came to the back door, "Where to?"
"Down Foster Street to make up a Rugby team. Can I play this afternoon on the Rec field?" I was hopeful. I had been good....ish.
She nodded, "Be careful."
“OK, Mum. See you later."
It did not take long to round up six bodies from Foster Street and after lunch we met the Sycamore Rd. Gang on the Recreation ground. This was an area of Rugby and Football pitches owned by the Council. They did not stop us using the pitches on Weekdays as long as we kept well away from the Cricket square and any mid week proper games, which we did. It was not far from home.
Simon said. "I'll be captain."
"No, you won't" said Noddy. "It's my ball so I'm captain."
Simon muttered but had to agree.
Noddy tossed up and won which was no surprise as he used his special coin. The game began. It lasted all of five minutes. While all the players stood in a circle arguing about the rules a man came out of one of the gardens of the houses that backed onto the field. He was pushing a wheelbarrow full of garden rubbish. This he tipped onto a mound of soil at the edge of the field. Obviously seeing and hearing the argument he left the barrow and came over to us.
"Now then!" He said. "What's going on here?"
The position was explained to him.
"Right," he said. "Give me five minutes and I' ll referee for you."
As promised, five minutes later he was back. He was wearing boots and had a whistle. The game began again. It was a grand afternoon. Not only did he control the game, but he also seemed to know everything about Rugby. He turned the game into an immensely enjoyable coaching session. We lost the game by a couple of points, but it did not seem to matter. We had enjoyed ourselves far too much to complain. I had not played that well though my mind was elsewhere, on a mound of soil to be exact.
The man said, "Thank-you for an enjoyable afternoon." We were so surprised at him thanking us we almost forgot to thank him.
Before he reached his garden I caught up with him.
"Er. Mister."
"Yes, son?"
Thanks for refereeing, it was great."
"My pleasure!" He smiled.
"Er," I was a bit uncertain how to ask and the words came out in a rush. "Does this mound of soil belong to anyone?"
"Not really, that I know of, its mainly garden rubbish that won't go on the compost heap. It's been thrown here for years. Probably good soil by now. Why?
I answered with another question. "If someone came and took some of it away would anyone be, er,angry?"
"I doubt it, why?"
He looked like the kind of bloke you could trust. I told him. He did not laugh or tell me not to be silly instead he asked me a few questions about my plans and gave me some advice. He suggested standing the tiles upright around the garden to increase the depth of soil and to save a bit of digging.
Finally he said. "I'll not let anyone stop you from having some of that soil." He stopped and looked at me for a moment. "If you go ahead with this come and see me at Easter and I'll let you have some Sweet Pea plants."
I could not thank him enough, but he just said, "You'd better hurry or your mates will go without you."
I went.
When I got home I got changed and had a wash. Before tea I went into the yard and began tidying up my 'rubbish'. It did not take long to have the area clean.
At tea that evening, when we were all round the table, I said, "I've been thinking."
Dad said," I'll get the thermometer, he must be ill."
Mary sniggered. I ignored the insults and pressed on. "That stuff of mine in the yard was not in your way was it Mum?
"I didn't fall over it," she said. "But it was dreadfully untidy. Why?"
"If I took up the tiles where that rubbish was, there would be enough room to make a little garden," I said.
"You and your stupid gardening again," sneered Mary. "You can't make a garden in the yard it would be in Mum's way."
I bit my tongue. I was determined not to get into a row with her. That would only make my parents annoyed. I looked across at my Dad. You could tell he was thinking because his forehead was wrinkled. He said nothing though. He usually waited for Mum to decide anything.
"It would be nice to have a bit of colour in the yard." Mum said slowly. "But Mary's right, the yard is too small."
"But you just said that all that stuff of mine wasn't in your way. It will only take up the same amount of room." I was sweating a bit.
Mum and Dad exchanged glances. They did not seem to need to speak to know what the other was thinking. Funny that. "What about soil? It's only cinders under there and even I know nowt'll grow in that." Dad asked.
I was ready for that one. I explained about the soil on the Rec. Field and about the man. I finished with, "He promised me some Sweet Pea plants, so I can't let him down can I?"
“No, I suppose not," said Mum with a smile.
I was winning.
Mary said, "I think it's a daft idea."
"Nobody asked for your opinion," said Dad, "You can go and wash the dishes while we talk about it."
Mary went off in a huff. I did not let even the merest glimmer of a smirk cross my face. That would have been fatal. My parents wanted to know everything about 'the man' and whether the soil really was free to take. I really was sweating when Mum finally said, "Alright, your Dad will check if it is OK. to take the soil. If it is you can do it."
I beamed.
"But!" she went on, "You'll have to look after it when it is finished."
"I will, I will, I promise!" I was so excited I flung my arms round her.
"Get off, you daft clot. You'll spill my tea." she said, but I could see she was pleased.
"I've got one question," said Dad. "Why Sweet Peas?"
"Uncle Frank" I began.
"'Nuff said," smiled Dad.
The week went by agonisingly slowly until Dad came in from work on Friday evening. "I've been talking to your soil man. Did you not know who he is?" he asked.
"No! Why?" I was puzzled, What did it matter who he was?
"You are very lucky, his name is Joe Pickering," he went on.
I was still puzzled.
"He was one of the best Rugby referees I have ever seen. He retired a couple of seasons back," finished Dad.
"What about the soil?" That's all I wanted to know about.
"He says it is OK. You can take as much as you want as long as you leave the field tidy." said Dad with an even bigger grin on his face.
I cheered.
Mary sniffed. "I still think it's a daft idea. And he'll get fed up with it by next week. And someone else will have to clean up the mess. And I was going to keep my things there."
Before I could say anything Dad gave her a hard look that sent her scurrying quickly upstairs.
Next morning I was up at the crack of dawn, well half past eight. The tiles were easy to lift and I stacked them carefully out of the way. Then I began to dig out the cinders. We had no wheel barrow so I loaded them into a bucket lashed onto my go-cart.
Opposite our house was an open space that we called Andy's Bank. It was about 50 yards square and already covered in cinders. All the children in the roads used it as a playground. Over the years it had been used as a sand pit by many generations of children. My cinders were just right for filling in the holes.
Bob came to see what I was doing. Since there was nothing else to do, and he liked grubbing around in the dirt, he joined in. Next Grubby turned up with his go-cart. Noddy and Stew brought spades. Finally Peter and Simon arrived. The whole gang were happily filling buckets and tipping the spoil on the bank.
I was very clever not one of them was asked to help. They all volunteered. Nor did I tell them why we were digging the trench. I gave them the impression that I was doing a job for my father.
When I went in for a drink, Mum was in the front room looking out of the window. From there she had a good view of Andy's Bank. She was laughing.
"What's tickling you?" I asked.
"Just look at that," she gasped.
I looked at her a bit worried. I had never heard her laughing like that before. Then I looked out of the Window. Stew, Grubby, Noddy and Bob appeared to be doing some sort of dance on the bank. They had their arms linked and they were shuffling round in a circle stamping their feet every now and then. They looked like something out of Zorba the Greek. I had to admit they did look funny.
"Don't let them see you, Mum or they'll stop." I warned her.
"What on earth are they doing?" she asked between giggles.
I told her," They are flattening out the cinders from the back yard."
"I see, Ah well, I suppose I'd better get on." She took a deep breath and went off upstairs.
With all of us working it did not take long to dig out the dirt to about 18 inches deep. The next step was to fetch the soil. I wanted the gang to help with that as well, but I did not think they would do it just as a favour for me. I did have a plan.
"Did you hear what one of the Sycamore Avenue Gang found on the edge of the Rec. field?" I asked when we were all sat in our yard, drinking some of Noddy's Mums home made Ginger Beer.
They all shook their heads. "What?" asked Stew.
"A real Roman coin." I said.
"Rubbish!" Grubby snorted.
"Honest!" I protested, with fingers crossed. "It was in a mound of soil at the top end. I'll bet there's more there."
Noddy looked interested, "We could go and have a look."
"We could be rich," said Simon.
"Come on lets go now," said Peter, jumping up.
"Hang on a bit," I said, "we don't want anyone knowing what we're doing. They'll only want a share. We should bring the soil back here, sieve it and then no-one but us will know when we find the treasure."
"What do we sieve it through?" Bob asked.
"Oh, that's no problem." I said airily, "Look at this." I went to the coal shed and brought out a garden riddle which I had borrowed from Uncle Frank
"Great!" said Simon
"ER, What are we going to do with the soil afterwards?" asked Noddy.
"Oh, I hadn't though of that," says I, looking around as if for inspiration. I managed a big grin. "I know, we'll put it in the trench."
"Won't your Dad shout?" asked Bob.
"Not when he sees all the gold coins we'll find." I said.
That settled it. Go carts were rounded up, mother's buckets lashed to the seats, a variety of digging implements acquired, with or without owner's consent and the Rec. Field Grand Treasure Hunt got under way.
On the field I showed the gang the mound of soil. They started digging while I took a message from my mother to Mr. Pickering.
"I've come for the soil," I told him.
"Do you need any help?" he asked.
"The gang have offered to move it," I said, "But don't say anything to them or they might get embarrassed and go home."
His eyes twinkled. "What yarn have you spun them?" He asked.
He was too nice to lie to so I told him about the treasure. He laughed and laughed.
"You'd better make sure they find something, or they'll tear you to pieces." He could hardly speak.
"I'll think of something, I'll have to." My plan making had not got that far.
Still choking he said, "Let me know when you are on to the next to the last load and I'll see what I can do. Now buzz off before I laugh myself sick."
I buzzed off.
We worked hard until darkness, digging, wheeling and sieving. The small amount of stones, roots and other rubbish I took back myself. The soil went in to the trench. We found no Roman coins, but Simon found a penny so the day was not entirely wasted. When it was time to stop the trench was full.
Next morning I used the tiles to build a wall round the garden. Mum was very nice, mainly because I had very carefully cleaned up the yard and had a bath without groaning. She said, "For once you can miss Church, you'll want to get that finished while the weather's nice."
The gang were all Catholics and went to early Mass. They turned up still full of enthusiasm for the Hunt. By lunch time though, with no treasure they were beginning to get fed up. I reckoned one more load would do it.
I nipped into Mr. Pickering's garden and told him, "We'll be back for one more lot."
"Righto," he said. "Just make sure you dig in the same place next time."
Mystified I nodded. The last trip was the most successful. It was Bob who caused it. Digging away half-heartedly with his mother's coal shovel he suddenly gave a yell and started scrabbling with his hands. Seconds later he was on his feet dancing around clutching something. When we finally caught up with him he displayed a beautiful golden coin. That did it. Every one started digging feverishly, filling the buckets until the carts creaked. Except me, I was not as gold struck as the others. My eyes kept straying to Mr Pickering's hedge where I could hear rustling.
Back at home the soil was sieved and a further thirteen coins uncovered. Six very excited and one worried boys gathered round to share out the spoils. While they had been frantically sieving I had taken a look at the coins. It struck me as odd that Roman coins should have the head of Queen Elizabeth II on them. Even I knew she was not that old.
I t was Grubby who discovered that the outer gold covering came off, revealing, not more gold, but chocolate. "It's a swizz!" He shouted "A dirty con trick"
"Don't look at me!" I protested. "I didn't put them there." That was true.
They were all annoyed.
"Well I'm sorry" I said. "Oh heck!" I looked grim."How am I going to explain filling up the trench to me Dad?"
They began to collect up their spades and things.
"I'll bet me Dad makes us take it back." I went on.
They began to back out of the yard.
"Aw come on lads you wouldn't leave me to do it all on my own, would you?" I begged.
"Oh yes we will," said Simon.
"You miserable lot!" I shouted.
That brought my mother out. "What's going on here then, who's fighting?"
That was enough for the gang, they left in a hurry.
"What’s up with them then?" She asked.
"Nothing!" I was all innocence.
"You got you soil then, I see. Any bother?"
"No!" I said grinning" Easy as ...............eating chocolate." There's only this one load of rubbish to take back."
"Brush up the yard when you come back and dinner will be ready." She said as she went in.
I was happy to do it.
At Easter my Dad gave me the choice of Easter eggs or money. I took the money and bought three rose bushes, some seeds and canes for the Sweetness. Grandad Acock gave me a trowel and Granny Jones a bag of fertiliser. On the first day of the Easter holiday I went to see Mr. Pickering.
"Come for your plants? "he smiled.
"Yes please if that is all right with you?"
"It is a pleasure," he said. "I haven't laughed so much for years. Are your mates speaking to you yet?"
"Yeah, they saw the funny side of it in the end, and they did get some chocolate." I said.
In his garden frame was a box of Sweet Pea plants. They were even labelled with my name I could only say "Thank-you" in a very small voice.
Planting was easy and then it was only a question of waiting. Those plants were the most cared for, cosseted, loved plants ever. They grew and they flowered, huge sweet smelling blooms on long straight stems. The crowning glory came when Uncle Frank did as he had boasted and won first prize at the local flower show with his Sweet Peas. He offered Grandad Jones a bunch for Granny Jones. Grandad looked at them and said, "No thanks our Billy's are better than those."
Uncle Frank came rushing round. His face when he saw my blooms made all the effort worthwhile.
Mr Pickering had done me proud.

Never looked back after that.