The Muddy Memoirs – No Patch Too Small
As children we were always encouraged to tend our own little plot in the garden. This was common practice in those days but I’m sure that it was only to keep us little rug rats out of the way while mum and dad got on with the bigger jobs like trimming the huge hedges and cutting the grass. I remember it being like a military exercise with dad on cutting duty and mum on bagging while the kids were on the other side of the garden pelting mud at the shed and picking worms out of the soil to chase each other with. I remember my Aunt telling me about her perfectly potted patch in the shade of the old brick shed that had a bright blue door that was always hanging off the hinges, still we painted it every year until our parents decided it was time for it to retire and join the the burning pile for Bonfire Night. Times were hard back then and money was short, they could only dream of watering cans and spades. Improvisation was the only tool. It was creepily common to use an old mop bucket and a scoop to water the plants. I even heard that they used a metal baby food can with holes punched in the bottom to water the more delicate plants in the children’s most prized patch of pansies and marigolds. I’m told that they looked fabulous.