THE GARDEN AT RICHMOND HILL THE FRIDAY BLOG PAGE

THE GARDEN AT RICHMOND HILL

I must have been nine years old when we moved to Richmond Hill. Ration books were still a big part of everyone’s life. But we were getting a little more variety so not all the garden was for growing vegetables as it had been at our garden in Warren road. There was a long narrow border along one side of the path as you walked through the gate and there were flowers. Pink thrift, smiling pansies in deep blues, and sweet violets. A few small shrubs were dotted here and there. The following spring there was a mass of snowdrops and bright gold crocus. It was rather shady being very close to a tallish wooden fence. That must have been the reason they had not been pulled out to make room for growing vegetables before we had arrived to live in the bottom half of the house that Mr and Mrs Pepper owned. In my mind’s eye, I can still see that delightful border that was to bring so many smiles into my life. This flower border went half the length of the house and ended at the edge of a metal frame made from an old double bed attached to the fence at one end. Along this framework grew the tiny pink rose Dorothy Perkins. At the other end close to the path that went down the middle of our part of the garden was a circle of largish round white stones. Growing in the circle were the ever charming pale blue forget-me-nots. As I write I smile at the memory of the pinks and blues of that pretty patch.

My father kept a very nice garden and he loved every moment he spent in it. He was no longer as strong as the year before and got rather short of breath very quickly. He had so much patience that the job he would start in the garden would always be finished however long it took. That Summer we had runner beans, peas, broad beans, carrots, beetroot and tomatoes. All these were grown from the seeds he had kept from the year before Mr Pepper had left the fruit bushes in and we had a share of the black currants, gooseberries and my very favourite raspberries. It was a lovely summer. He grew cabbages, broccoli, Brussels sprouts for the cooler months. The other side of the long concrete path he grew and harvested the potatoes which were kept in the shed underneath old sacks for the winter time. He also grew herbs and this was how my love of using herbs started with the thymes, sages, several types of mint and parsley. Be assured once the fresh herbs were finished, there would be plenty of dry herbs that he had carefully hung in small bunches to dry on the hanging clothes dryer in the scullery. When they were really well dried my job was to rub the herbs through a sieve and put them in small glass jars. I loved to watch as he took the onions that had been harvested a good few weeks before and were now ready to be plaited together, they would also hang in the scullery. My father just loved onions and would often slice them so thinly and have with Huntley and Palmer’s cream crackers with a slice of cheese or meat. This was to be the last garden my father would work in, so the memories are of being old enough to help and understand the cycle and seasons of a garden that he taught me are very special in many ways.