The garden – Chapter 1
“Buy me!” Those first tentative steps into the September garden over 30 years ago, were accompanied by sharp, frost crisp emotions. A mixture of excitement and disbelief, of wonder, trepidation and confusion whirled in my head, and yet the whispers still ring clear … “buy me”.
My wife and I were viewing a house that had been on the market for almost two years. To begin with, it was out of our reach in terms of price, but then, over the next 18 months, the price slowly dropped. It was as if the housing market had a slow puncture, and the air was gradually leaking out of it. We continued to look at other houses that would accommodate our small family of four but had no luck. We came close a couple of times, put an offer in on one house & had the survey done before it fell through. It was the usual rollercoaster of house buying: – fret, tears, elation, and more tears. Alongside our trials and tribulations, the price of our initial favourite tiptoed downwards, inexorably, until … until … until one day, it stumbled begrudgingly into our price range.
It was a buyers’ market and although we would lose on the sale of our current house, we could now afford our chosen favourite … but it was a buyers’ market and there were no individual viewings scheduled, simply a series of “open days” where all and sundry could visit and make offers… it was a buyer’s market, and other potential buyers now became the enemy, individuals who stood in the way of our dream, undeserving individuals whose needs were of a lesser nature than ours … we had to act fast.
… and so to our first visit. On a fairly busy road, but set back some 20 yards, the Edwardian (1929) three-bedroom semi stood on the crest of a hill in a small suburban “townie/village”. Through front door, lounge to the right, living room next on the right and straight ahead, into a very small kitchen, and through a somewhat flimsy door to an outside toilet … a “cludgie” if you will. Upstairs, a fairly standard semi layout, two decent sized bedrooms, a box room (third bedroom!) and small bathroom (with an exquisite turquoise bathroom suite). Then back downstairs, through the kitchen, passed the cludgie and into the garden….
At first glance there didn’t appear to be anything out of the ordinary. At about 80ft x 30ft, it was longer than our current garden by 20 ft or so. A small patch of grass to the right, a tatty garage to the left, a path that ran alongside and around the first of the trees (I had no idea what the tree was, 20ft tall, with a dome of branches and leaves that prohibited the chance of seeing what lay underneath, more of that later), and the plot culminated in a border with two imposing lime trees forming a shady backdrop. As we walked on, I realised that the land was on a slope which meant that, from the back door, you couldn’t see past the lime trees, but as we drew near, we noticed two substantial conifers behind the limes … and a series of four steps accommodating a downward slope. So, this wasn’t the culmination of the garden, it was simply a staging point!
I shared a secretive glance with Jenny as the extent of the garden unfolded before us (not wishing to give anything away to the agent). I’m not sure if the estate agent had grasped how long this recumbent beast was. He kept repeating the phrase “It just goes on and on”. And so it did! The garden reclined gently for about another 200ft or so. We ambled down a traditionally central concrete path, past a rickety wood and corrugated iron shed (long since abandoned), and a 15m stretch of dandelion masquerading as lawn to the left, a forsaken ornamental bed, and to the right, a vegetable patch desperately trying to breathe.
Onward, past three more tall conifers, a rusted, disused Anderson shelter (air-raid shelter), and into an orchard of apple and pear. The garden did eventually culminate with a small stream, barely visible under bramble, nettle, and wild iris, demarking the border between what we had both decided was to be our garden, and a large council allotment plot.
There was a real contrast between the smart, well edged, and regimented perches on the allotment, and the somewhat haphazard sprawl of the neglected strip that I/we already loved. The houses on either side had gardens of the same dimensions and at first glance it didn’t feel as though there was any serious garden design to be seen. Other than a well-maintained vegetable/flower stretch in the garden immediately to our left, there were soupçon’s of neglect and standard “lawn” work at play. Nothing to worry about here then, no abandoned cars, broken furniture, empty oil drums or signs of tippage and neglect.
From the bottom of the garden, looking back, you couldn’t see the house. The incline, and the trees punctuating the gentle slope saw to that. It created a secluded, “hidden garden” vibe which felt romantic, seductive … personal. I was mentally playing with a kaleidoscope of ill-thought-out possibilities and flights of fancy (self-sufficiency, the Good Life, wine making, pigs, chickens!, hide and seek). For what it’s worth, some 30 years later, “flights of fancy” have integrated themselves into my philosophy of what the ideal garden needs to offer.
… and there were trees! (“Climb us!”) … Conifer, sycamore, lime, apple and pear, and the domed beauty near the back door… My senses were seduced by possibilities … “the boys would love a treehouse Dave” … the garden already knew my name … and the fact that, whilst we only had one baby boy at that time, others may be forthcoming! We turned from the stream and hedged back up the garden to the house. Some twenty or so feet from the back door, we paused at the unknown domed tree. It resembled a lush, verdant umbrella, pulsing in the breeze and seemed at the same time to be both impenetrable and inviting, standing proud, assertive, dominant. “Step inside” … and so I did. The crisp September sun lost its dominance, light changed, dappled emeralds, flickering chartreuse, and bobbing jades competed in a hushed, muted, mellow, colour and soundscape. At first glance I was faced with what seemed like a standard tree trunk (“look closer”) and my eyes were drawn upwards. Approximately 10ft up the perfectly symmetrical circular trunk, to my untrained naive, impressionable, and already excited eyes, something miraculous presented itself.
The trunk exploded into a labyrinthine, Gothic contortion. It was as if, for the first however many years of its growth, the tree had followed the rules, had grown straight, true, and tall, had played the game. But at some point, something changed. About 10ft from the ground, the trunk exploded into another life, the branches contorted, entangled, enveloped, and caressed almost pleadingly, to the sky. It was as if M.C.Escher (played by Oliver Reed) and Hieronymus Bosch (played by Alan Bates) had been in a drunken, fireside scrap, à la Women in Love, with the winner deciding how the tree should grow … the result being a draw!
And out of the intimate hullaballoo of coiled wood came the soft, flowing branches, that formed the protective umbrella, the dome, the skin of the tree. This wasn’t wreckage, it wasn’t an abomination, it was purposeful, beautiful, and it told a story. Being under that tree, in that moment, felt akin to being in some arboresque changing room …. and I was changing.
I was reliably informed that this magnificent beast was a weeping ash…
Despite never having “gardened” seriously before, the 300x30ft stretch didn’t even scratch my trepidation nerve, didn’t scream (or even whisper) “Don’t you realise what you might be taking on!”, No, it communicated to me in a very different tone, and this was no one way conversation, there was an internal exchange of…. something. It generated a set of emotions, the combination of which, was completely new to me. The overriding emotion was one of excitement, not the excitement I would associate with my adult life experiences, but the excitement I felt as a child. That uncontaminated reckless joy of running as if nothing mattered, that squeal of pleasure as you “jumped a stream” or skimmed a stone, that homeward walk through the school gates at the end of the summer term with all the possibilities waiting to be explored. In short, it was the excitement of freedom.
… and so back into the house for a final few minutes of exploration. There were other couples mingling about and hushed whispers were the order of the day. I remember saying to Jenny, “I could happily live out my life in this house” (and by extension “… that garden”). This felt more than an announcement, it felt like a proclamation, a commitment … but first we had to secure the property.
The full price was offered, accepted, and then we waited. I won’t bore you with the details of the next two months. Let’s face it, I wouldn’t be writing this if we didn’t get the house!
My garden talked to me … “Buy me” it said … and we did.