Over the Garden Wall
Bryony Lewis

I was both sad and glad that Nell had decided to down her pen in order to pursue a full time professional gardening career.
I enjoyed her columns over the years – I used to have a Newquay based friend who’d mail me regular copies before I moved here. I am also glad she is moving on because it means I have been given the opportunity to take over. I had also enjoyed Hilary Parslow’s diary though I will admit to being far less committed to self sufficiency than she and her family are. So my column is not strictly gardening based nor is it the greenest column you will find, but it is more of a general take on life which, in my case, when not in London earning my living revolves wholly around renovating our home here and doing all we can to make it better.
Unlike Nell I am not a professional gardener. Instead I am one of those dreaded “incomers” who has taken to the soil with a vengeance since swapping a surburban semi (near Wembley) where the front garden was paved over for parking and the tiny back garden was more or less 70 per cent covered with an ugly concrete patio. My experience, save for what I gained as child on my grandfather’s allotment, was pretty much limited to what could be grown in pots in a mucky, grimy atmosphere until two years ago. When we moved down here it was as much to escape the noise from motorway and dual carriageway, railway lines, planes taking off and landing, as it was to gain a more “hands on” way of life. Not having vast resources behind us there was always going to have to be some compromise. In our case this meant me negotiating with my London based employers to convince them that I could do the same amount of work over three extra long days in the office as in five normal days. This enabled me to retain my London salary and by travelling up on a Sunday afternoon and back late Wednesday evening I can get a low off peak advance purchase rail fare. I stay with my sister when in London and pay her a small sum for bed and board though I do make sure I buy my share of food and treats too. My partner was able to get agreement that he could do his job (as a computer programmer) mostly from home once we had broadband installed.
This means we can keep a roof over our heads down here and cover our outgoings whilst not taking jobs away from locals. I make that comment because we did initially meet with some resentment when we bought our modest coastal house. But it was a local who sold it to us so I always found it a bit odd that you can slate the “incomers” for buying houses yet not mutter a word against the locals who put their houses on the market at the market valuation that the local agents suggest… Surely if they felt that strongly they would adjust their asking prices downwards in order that locals could afford to buy their houses?? Then there is the amount of money we incomers spend with local trades people when doing up our houses and the way in which we vigorously support local traders whilst, sad to say, our born and bred neighbours are more likely to hot tail it to Tesco for everything. I am not about to get political with this column so not another word on these matters other than to say that I can never recall there being resentment shown towards those from the south west who migrate to other parts of the country for better work opportunities…
Anyway, on with the joys of having a small plot of overgrown, wind blown garden with its distant sea view and the few gnarled apple trees that have somehow survived what must be decades of neglect. We began with scythes. Cutting down grasses that were waist high in some areas and chopping away at the massive patches of brambles and nettles which covered old piles of rubble, broken glass (a decayed old wooden greenhouse) and what we thought might be a well. In one of the small areas of side garden we settled on laying down an old and smelly carpet we had taken from one of the bedrooms. At least that way we could suspend the growth of any more weeds and grasses until we had sufficient time to spend on it. Gradually, foot by foot, our back garden emerged to reveal an old lawn that had been completely taken over by moss and old flower beds where a couple of roses were struggling to survive. There were self seeded marigolds to be found too as well as rooted strawberry plant runners. I am not exaggerating either when I say that every weekend we must have removed ten buckets worth of broken glass, masses of rusty old cans, bicycle wheels and more, – and that was before we reached the bottom of the 200’ garden where the remains of an old shed were found to house all sorts of discarded tools and “implements” virtually welded to each other with rust as well as yet more brambles and self seeded trees of dubious ornamental value.
What we eventually revealed was a garden that someone some time ago had been immensely proud of. There were lovely local slate retaining walls, a stone bird bath, little pathways and clumps of plants which came to life once the light could reach them. We determined not to do anything more than clear and maintain what we had cleared for the first year and what a good job we did that. By early spring we were rewarded with sweeps of snowdrops, a succession of primroses and daffodils pushing through the mossy lawn. The indistinguishable shrubs we had pruned burst into bud and by May there was apple blossom, swathes of bluebells, forsythia, mock-orange, ceanothus as well as a lovely escallonia hedge.
Rule One: you have to do the donkey work first and do it thoroughly – that means digging out old roots as well as clearing he top growth
Rule Two: you must tell yourself it is good exercise, good for the soul and praise
yourself continuously for not giving up
Rule Three: reward yourself with the odd pint of beer or glass of wine and alfresco snacks to keep you going
Rule Four: invite friends to see your work in progress and to pitch in when you seriously need extra help – our “townie” friends found it great fun to camp in our dining room for the odd weekend in order to help us with the hardest tasks
Rule Five: find out who has lived nearby for a long time and ask them what the garden looked like in its heyday so you have some idea of what you might discover
Rule Six: pat yourself on the back for a job well done and let nature do its stuff