Happy memories..

Going back over 50 years I remember my Grandad building us a greenhouse...about 10x20
My Dad used to love his tomatoes...I remember the smell of bone meal and dried blood that he used. They were grown in large pots that were made of some sort of stiff cardboard.
He certainly knew his business and grew masses of them...the plants grew up strings that were attached to the roof.Obviously I have no idea of the variety...but when collecting them the smell was amazing.
As a kid I used to deliver them to neighbours...1/6d a pound..that's seven and a half pence.

My Mum had a corner of the greenhouse where she grew her chrysanthemums...beautiful flowers that she grew inside bloom bags.She never entered any competitions but if she had I'm sure she would have won loads.

Happy days...

 

my grampa did the same ,grew loads of tomato plants with strings tied to the roof and had 2 deckchairs for him and granny to relax and heat there bones :D

 

...now you're taking me back to when my dad built ours. I put a little Britains farm animal, (a lamb) in one of the holes of the brick base as it was being built! A Hartleys Clearspan greenhouse. Difficult to forget when you're only young and it seems to be the main topic of conversation for many weeks!
That smell of the dried blood and bonemeal, ours was kept in earthenware pots with an old silver teaspoon in each!
Back then, our tomatoes were Ailsa Craig.

 

I remember my Grandad's greenhouse - huge great thing it was, (20' x 18'), wood and glass sitting atop 4' of brick. It had 5' beds on 3 sides, a cinder path which went all the way round and a central 'island' which was part wooden staging with shelving beneath and part raised nursery beds . On one side he grew tomatoes, hundreds (or so it seemed to a small child), which they ate, or my Gran bottled whilst the remainder he sold in his butchers shop, (along with the lettuce and cucumber also from the greenhouse).

At the far end of this 'cathedral' was a grape vine, given to my Grandad by a relative who worked at Kew. Although I remember the wonderful smell of tomatoes, my over-riding memory is spending part of each school summer holiday with my grandparents and making - what to me - was a small fortune, by earning pocket money from my Grandad as I helped thin out the grapes as the bunches formed. It made your neck ache, your arms ache and your legs ache but I loved every minute of it ... there was a strict ban on eating any of the grapes (far too sour at that stage), but you were allowed to eat as many of the - what today would be called cherry-sized - tomatoes as ripened, you got to stand on a step-ladder (which would have given my Mother heart failure had she known!), you used 'proper' scissors (not the blunt, round-ended things you were given at home, which cut nothing and would again have had Mother in fear and dread of my life!) and you got 'paid' - one year I was sent on holiday with 10/- and went home, 3 weeks later, with over £4 :happydance:.

 

for those who don't know what that is, this may be of some help - :WINK1:

TEN SHILLING NOTE (TEN BOB NOTE) | Flickr - Photo Sharing!

 

My Grandad also loved his greenhouse - I think it might have been a bit of a refuge from the wife. Grandma was a formidable lady who didn't much like men getting in the way or making a mess. Grandad grew flowers for her and fruit and vege for the family. My most vivid memory, however, is the taste he had for strong flavours. He grew horseradish in a patch at the bottom of the garden and periodically braved Grandma's immaculate kitchen to concoct a sauce of such potency that it could floor a man at ten paces. No one but Grandad could ever eat the stuff. Looking back, it was probably a small but significant act of rebellion.