Look at it:
Isn’t is the most amazing sight ever – pure Yorkshire soil, eager for another season of production, and freshly turned before the next batch of frosts come in from Russia (hopefully) to kill, kill, kill some pesky slug eggs. Beautiful stuff. There’s something primordial about it, like man going back to nature. Soil and Rachel de Thame are what gardening is all about.
It’s a mystery to me why so few people grow their own fruit and veg. More so now, than ever. The economic depression that the UK is certainly facing (doom monger, moi?) should be the kick-start that’s needed. It’s like the thirties and forties all over again. Let’s get the lawn mowing, border hoeing masses to tear up their turf, rip up their ornamentals, and say no to such decorative nonsense. A proper garden should be like a healthy version of Willy Wonka’s chocolate factory, not a florist’s shop window. I want to see “War Gardens,” aplenty. The nation’s wallet and its waistline would benefit no end.
There’s no excuse. Even a blind chap managed it:
The winter cole crops chez Bonnett are doing well as are the autumn-planted broad beans (Aquadulce Claudia), and onions (Radar). The cloches are down, ready and waiting for more broad beans (Bunyards Exhibition) to be sowed next week, and the buckets are doing a superb job forcing some rhubarb.
The CDs have, so far, kept the pigeons away from the brassicas, and pest numero uno, also known as Lepus Europaeus – or more commonly “a ****ing hare,” now has his work cut out if he wishes to gain burglarious entry. I suspect, though, that the devious fellow will somehow find a way around, over, under, or through the buried chicken wire fence that now surrounds the garden. Hare-proof, is, I believe, an oxymoron.
—-FIN—-
Oh, okay. A discussion of war gardens just wouldn’t be complete without due mention of the Dig For Victory anthem, so sing along now:
‘Dig! Dig! Dig! And your muscles will grow big.
Keep on pushing the spade.
Don’t mind the worms, just ignore their squirms.
And when your back aches laugh with glee.
And keep on diggin’, till we give our foes a wiggin’.
Dig! Dig! Dig! To Victory!’
They don’t write ‘em like that any more…
I’ve nowhere to dig but fully support the digging endeavours of my fellow man.