​The second in my series of articles of A Guernsey Gardener in London was published on 20th December 2021 in the Guernsey Press, my homeland newspaper.  The article looks at our Christmas harvests, and how a typical day used to be when I was growing up at Le Pignon in Castel, Guernsey.  The first two paragraphs of the article are copied below, and to read the full article for free click on the link under the paragraphs.  Enjoy!!  👍

"‘CHRISTMAS time, mistletoe and wine’, so suggests an old client’s most catchy and ‘memorable’ Christmas song, though for us gardeners and growers it’s less about mistletoe and wine and more about Brussels sprouts, parsnips, new potatoes, carrots, cabbage and any other vegetable we can bring into the kitchen, straight from being harvested, for cooking for our Christmas lunch.

I guess of all days of the year Christmas Day is the day us green-fingered lot want to harvest fresh vegetables straight from a garden or allotment. A day for celebrating the bounty of the work that has gone on throughout the year to ensure the crisp freshness and homegrown tastes to share with family and friends that grace our table. For some, Christmas Day is a day of celebrating a birth two millennia ago, for others it’s a time to gather and share gifts and happy times, and for a few it’s simply a day off from the everyday drudgery of life – for most it’s likely a mixture of these and a fulsome meal around a crowded table strewn with disarmed crackers, printed novelty jokes and a microscopic plastic magnifying glass."

To read the full article for free click the link below:

https://guernseypress.com/news/features/2021/12/20/all-i-want-for-christmas/​

​Yesterday, the first in a new series of articles of A Guernsey Gardener in London was published in the Guernsey Press, my homeland newspaper.  The article takes it all back to where it began for me - as a young child in a lane in Rue du Lorier, St Pierre du Bois, Guernsey.  The first two paragraphs of the article are copied below, and to read the full article for free click on the link under the paragraphs.  Enjoy!!  👍

"MARTYNDALE, Rue du Lorier, St Peter’s… that’s where the seed of A Guernsey Gardener in London was set, though it was not for another four decades and more that the seed would be sown.

Looking back, those days of the late ’60s and early ’70s were pretty idyllic for me… a huge garden with flower borders, loads of lawn to play on and a good area of ground set aside for the growing of fruit and veg. We were surrounded by fields, flower-splashed meadows and family, friends and a host of aunts and uncles who were named such simply for being part of our lives than being a blood relation; the occasional cow found in the garden that would be led around the side of the house, up the road, and along Route des Paysans and back into its field; secretly scrumping in a nearby orchard (when in fact the owner always knew full well); the spring-picking of violets and primroses that would be sent off by dad to Covent Garden (note – not something to do these days); the whole street pasting asters of all colours of the rainbow onto a float for entry to the Battle of Flowers… and that heavy heady smell of the glue; walking to St Peter’s School and all the playground fun, and swimming certificates for a width, a length, two lengths and more; and the utter joy of a walk down to L’Eree and a day on the beach… a beach which to this day is one of my favourite places in the world to sit, chat, laugh and reminisce with a swiftly melting soft ice cream cone and crumbly chocolate flake in hand."

To read the full article for free click the link below:

https://guernseypress.com/news/features/2021/11/12/where-it-all-began

Saturday... A Bank Holiday weekend... Blue skies. Grey skies. Billowing white clouds. Blankets of grey. Sun. Brief showers... very brief showers... and lots of chat.

Being the first Saturday in May it was Naked Gardening Day, though no one I know of... including myself... was brazen enough to go the whole hog; I did go barefaced apart from suncream and wearing a T-shirt... so my arms were definitely taking part in the day of the year that elicits a huge amount of social media interest with very little full-on nudity... which is both fair enough and a good thing in my view!! Much more Monty Don and Carry On rather than red-light district... thankfully!

Being Spring Bank Holiday weekend in the UK I guess it was always going to be a busy three days at our site, as I'm sure it was across most sites in the four countries of the UK... and possibly allotment sites, Victory Gardens, community gardens and such other community-driven green spaces around the northern hemisphere too. Down Under, the busyness is of a different time; gathering harvests, relishing bounties and seed-saving for next year's hopes and dreams... polar opposites, literally!

As I chatted with plot neighbours there was much talk of how this year is behind last year; the sunniest April on record still turned out to be the frostiest since the great depression. Early potatoes still not showing, carrot and parsnip sowings delayed, direct sowing of French beans postponed, tomato plants still being coddled at home, fleeces readily at hand, greenhouse venting largely closed, warmth whilst in sunshine, chills in the shade, flasks still filled with warming liquids rather than cooling cordials, and no rain... or too little to give any real benefit. The forecast was for the Bank Holiday weekend to end with a downpour, or two, or three... and no one was complaining... and no one is now as for once that forecast was right!

With so many wanting both to chat and just crack on with their tasks a quiet job I'd planned for Saturday was moved to the day after, and a job for the day after was done instead. Beds were topdressed with Soil Improver and Peat-free Compost, and their bags dried out and readied for re-use. The forecast rain would mellow the topdressing onto the beds, and the nutrients will start working their way down.

Shortly after my job was done I was told by a passing fellow allotmenteer that my beds were so neat that they looked like they were on parade... and I sort of got the drift, and hoped for once the forecast would be right so that we WOULD have rain on my parade... which we did. I'm still deciding which beds will hold brassicas, and which beans and salads and direct-sown beetroot and turnips, and more; one thing for sure is none will hold radish which remains a bête noir...

We're now well into our growing year, which for us runs October to September, just as it did for my dad; I know I think differently to others, and I guess in terms of this I always will. To me the planting of garlic and sowing of broad beans in October is always a good start for the year.

And on broad beans, will I do Bunyard's Exhibition again? This year they were bitten so hard by snows and rugged chill winds I think we'll be back to the seemingly sturdier Aquadulce Claudia come October. And that's where part of my head is now... October... and next year. I'm already making notes, as it's never too soon... varieties I want to grow... and ones I don't... seed-saving of what and how and when. I'm doubting onions will be in our beds next year. In fact, I doubt we'll do onions here again... unless, of course, we do...

So the weekend wore on and work got done... hoeing, weeding, raking, topdressing, watering, tidying and importantly the art of quietly observing; a simple yet complex skill that often many forget.

Of all that got done on our May Day at the plot, and during the rest of the weekend, the most important was chatting... chatting is so important, and such an intrinsic part of allotment life; remaining socially-distanced didn't mean we had to remain distant. Catching-up... who's doing what, feeling well, needing an uplift, a gifting of smiles, a sharing of laughter, a listening ear for someone's sorrows, and an uplifted heart from sharing someone's joys... simply spending time in the company of others whether friends, colleagues, acquaintances or simply frequently passing nods and smiles. This is allotment life... as important as communing with the soil, sowings, seedlings, plantings, harvests, Planet Earth and Mother Nature is communing with each other.

A Guernsey Gardener in London, 4 May 2021

As many of you know, the fabulous Vivi (or The Queen of the Gardens as I call her) has become a really close friend of ours over the past year; in fact it's not even a year since she and we met physically for the first time. That was a memorable day, as every hour spent with her since has been. Apart from being a good friend, I also admire her for all the work that she does in her garden, on such a tight budget and with such a clear unambiguous necessity in mind: the requirement to be able to feed herself for a year. And she does it with such grace and tenacity, teaching us lots and learning from us a little, with earnestness and with integrity and most of all with true, honest grit, determination and hard work.

As I was tackling this additional growing space over a few mornings earlier this week, Vivi was a near constant in my mind. This area here, now under cardboard and bricks, is on a fellow plotholder's growing space he is not going to be able to use this year. He's asked if we'll manage it for the time being, and we'll be growing a selection of squash on it. Some of these squash will be distributed, others will go towards various soups and sweet and savoury treats for our Association get-togethers... which hopefully we'll be able to have once again when this lockdown ends!

The soil here is very different to further up at our plot. It is more alluvial. It is closer to what was the Brent River bed many years back. The soil is quite compact, with loose yet tight clay deposits; fertile and robust, whilst being hard to work and tiring. However, two mornings work and the bed is now forked, weeded, Marestail removed, topped with a bag of well rotted manure, watered, covered with cardboard and weighted down with dried branches and heavy old bricks. It will stay this way for at least another month, maybe even six weeks, and then the squash plants will go in... though fingers crossed as I am waiting for them to germinate!

So in my work of these few mornings, I've become even more admiring and understanding of Vivi and the way she tends her soil, the knowledge that she has of her soil and the genuine year's worth of fresh food she grows in her soil. A number of people have suggested she needs to go No Dig, though 'needs' is a very challenging word for many of us; especially when 'needs must' are the words that one needs to live by.

So hats off to you Vivi! My admiration for you is higher than ever!!

A Guernsey Gardener in London, Day 29

I checked on the Cedrics and Cedricitas earlier and they're all blissfully unaware of what is going on in the world. You see, they're well cocooned (almost!) in their own world. They've survived the winter really well and have been munching away on their breakfasts, lunches and suppers. I know it's not the type of sustenance that I would want, though Hey Ho... they seem to love their nourishments!! They've also now eaten fully through their winter blanket (more commonly known as a hessian sack!) so Richard really does need to get his crochet needles out and sort something for them for the coming winter. The other day I suggesed to Richard that I buy some hessian twine for him to crochet them a blanket... though he didn't seem impressed by the idea... I guess a hessian sack will again have to do...

Whilst knowing we're in the middle of the major worldwide crisis that some predicted though none expected, I have to say I'm rather enjoying the quiet, the tranquility, and the general lack of rush that the world finds itself in. Don't get me wrong, I appreciate there's so much to hate with this worldwide tragedy being played out in real life rather than on a high-definition screen; loss, pain, anguish, exhaustion, anxiety, stress and the lack of a normal day-to-day life,... though, within these extraordinary times there is also some quiet, some balance and some peace for many of us too.

Obviously, it's a deeply sad, busy, exhausting, dispiriting and hopelessly challenging time for those frontline workers in the NHS and all hospitals, hospices and care homes around the world, the delivery drivers, many teachers, police, ambulance drivers, supermarket workers, shopkeepers, careworkers, farmworkers, volunteers, rubbish collectors, charity workers and all the essential 'unskilled' (as our hideous governments like to call them); many are working through this time ensuring we're as safe as possible in our homes, whilst they're out doing their essential jobs and working in so many dangerous places, including in our hero hospitals. These essential workers, who it is now so clear our societies and economies cannot do without, are the real heroes, in both horrendous times of crisis like these and also our 'normal times'.

'Normal times'... I guess there's the rub.

Do I want it to go back to those 'normal times'?

Obviously, I don't want anyone to die in life-threatening situations, though even as this virus goes on evil does not take a pause for calamity. And afterwards I'm sure war will still wage, greed will prevail, we will plunder Mother Nature, and the rich will be heralded and the 'unskilled'... well... they will likely again be forgotten... though I hope and would almost even deign to pray that this is not the case.

We need a new normal, a different and more caring normal. A normal that genuinely appreciates kindness, understanding and thoughtfulness. Many people who are having challenges are not born into their challenges, and the challenges they find themselves in are not of their own doing. For these people, and all people and all of our greater kin of Mother Nature, virus and post-virus, I like to hope that there will be a greater knowledge, a greater appreciation, a greater understanding of the important elements in life; of air, fire, water and earth in balance and nourishing our bodies and sustaining truly sustainable lives, not just for the few but for all: with a greater appreciation and comprehension of how being kind, being thoughful and being understanding is the true greatness we can hold in our minds and in our hearts.

We can no longer accept without thinking. Virtually globally, our governments have continually put economy before society, and that cannot continue. If our governments do not understand we need a 'new normal' it is the duty of each of us to tell them; at the ballot box, in writing, through social media, and through the actions we take. Let's not buy the cheapest without understanding why it is so cheap. Let's not buy simply what we want, but think first and buy what we need. Let's think how a purchase negatively impacts on someone's life, or all of Mother Nature and our one Planet Earth.

Let's not forget the times of Covid-19. Let's learn from them. Let's change the future. If we don't, Covid-whatever is only a small number of years away...

The times they are a changin'... I hope!

A Guernsey Gardener in London, Day 28

So here we are... Twenty four days from my last blog post... with much having happened... yet much having stayed the same...

It was said by the fastidious wordsmith Geoffrey Chaucer that "Time and tide wait for no man", and this has certainly been the case for me over the last month. Time has certainly travelled on and the ebbs and flows of life have meandered unannounced, yet with a quiet fanfare...

Richard's nosebleed, visiting mum, rain, a pandemic, stock market crashes, gales and gusts aplenty, more rain, some sunshine... and life carried on. Some videos were made, Planet Vegetaria was exquisitely active, seeds were sown and our newly acquired plot has taken shape. So yes, life carried on... even if I was not writing my blog...

So here we are.. Twenty four days from my last blog post... with much still to happen... and yet much still to stay the same...

...and with normal service of my blog posts being resumed!

A Guernsey Gardener in London, Day 27

When we drove into the entrance of the riding school a few weeks back, this great hulk of aged compost was really a sight for poor eyes. Now, I don't mean that my eyesight is bad... as it's not...

Let me explain...

This year I decided to do my best to cut down further on my participation as a consumer in this crazy world we now live in; I'm simply thinking more about what I need rather than what I want. So... my choice is that I want to buy less, so to be able to pick up compost for free from not too far away was a definite joy to grab hold of!

This compost is well rotted, soft, pliable, and already comes with worms included! It's a really well-turned mix of stable clear-out, woodchips, goat dung, those stone chippings you get to keep horses' hooves keen, and the rake out from the arena base. The management of it has been good too, as it's clearly been turned with a mechanical digger, and heaved up high, and the result is rather sublime.

This morning we did another two journeys... another two tonnes. So, in nine journeys and across three days, an allotment friend and myself... AND her reliant Citroen Berlingo, have moved nine tonnes of compost. We've shared it... 50/50... though I will be baking a loaf or two of bread as a little thank you. Our journies to the riding school are not quite over yet though, as we agreed another morning of shovelling later in the week.

Recently, I'd been wondering how I was going to even topdress the cardboard of our edged beds with an inch of compost. You see, I didn't really want to take compost from our old plot; maybe a few shovels full as an activator though certainly no more. The compost that we have in our pallet compost bin needs more time to break down, with a good turn or two to come, though the one in our Hotbin needs to be emptied so can be used. However, I'd really no idea how I was going to cover even thinly the three layers of cardboard of our repositioned edged beds... without spending money... and pretty serious money too!

So, being now able to put down not only an inch of compost on each edged bed but rather three or four inches is really a joy to behold, and a sight for my poor eyes and, by my own decision, my shallow pockets.

A Guernsey Gardener in London, Day 26

As we stepped into mum's apartment the other day, my senses were immediately struck by a smell that I knew so well yet also could not quite place. I'd been caught by a scent that was both heavy and heady, yet full of light and shade at the same time. Each pace I took along the hallway the stronger the scent became... until, as I passed the kitchen doorway, I saw some narcissus in a small glass vase and was instantly transported to another time and place; to a time some four decades ago and a place some 3 miles from where I stood...

When we lived as a family at Le Pignon, a home near the centre of the island in the parish of Castel, I would walk with friends to school; Castel Infant School. I guess I was around ten or eleven, with no cares in the world and a host of unknown hopes and dreams ahead.

Our journey to school would be along Rue des Varendes, which lead onto Le Villocq, up Le Neuve Rue, right into Rue des Cauvains (avoiding the electric shock treatments of the Castel Hospital!!), then passed the King Edward VII Hospital, and then, as we got to the T-junction with Les Vieux Beauchamps there they were, directly in front of us.... a field of golden daffodils dancing in all their sunshiney glory. Yet for me it was not the yellow beauties that caught my eye, it was the yellow-eyed white narcissus that did, and they caught my nose too... and my imagination. These cherished mutli-headed floral gems were called Avalanche, and dad told me that they were from the Scilly Isles, which I always thought a wonderful name for an amazing multi-headed cascading fall of blooms... yet a silly name for a group of islands.

As we'd walk home from another joy filled day of school - and I do mean that as my schooldays were full of the joys of learning, of numbers, of letters, of nature, of play, and of friends - we would pick a bunch or two of flowers on our way. Diving into the field, we would gently pick a handful with the billy-goat-gruff farmer looking on... "Don't take too many... I gots to make my livin'".

As we walked to the back doors of our homes, where comfort and love abounded, the hands of each of my friends was the glory of a bunch of golden daffodils for their mum; in mine a multi-headed magisterial mystery of name and of place enveloped in gold and white petalled flows for my mum, Mary.

Those few steps into mum's apartment a few days ago really took me back... more than four decades... to a heady scent of the past.
​

A Guernsey Gardener in London - Day 25

So much of our lives for the next year, and beyond, is held within this simple, unassuming cardboard box.

It's name is Bertie.

Bertie originally started its travels on the Isle of Arran, coming to London then spending some time in France, before returning to London.  A quick visit to Wales then ensued, though for much of last year Bertie was just happy to sit at home... quiet... unpretentious... still.  And we're delighted that this was the case, as Bertie holds so many of our growing hopes and dreams.

It is within the packets... within the monthly sections... within Bertie that much of our growing year is held. The seeds in each packet, and each monthly section, will barely ever see the light of day.  As they sit in the darkness of their packaging they're really just waiting for the dappled darkness of soil... or compost... and moisture... and sunlight.  You see, it's these seeds that will germinate and grow and produce food for our table.  Some will need to burst into flower before giving up their taste-filled offerings; others will just be resplendent in their luscious, leafy green goodness; the rest we'll know little about until they're pulled from the ground and their lengthy tap root or bulbous tubers are revealed to the sun or rain drenched world.

Bertie is a spit of a thing and doesn't really weigh much, though this meek little box carries the full weight of bountiful growing seasons and harvests... harvests that we hope will sustain and nourish. 

​We certainly have much to thank Bertie for, and can only hope that our growing hopes and dreams for this year are fulfilled... weather and pests permitting!

A Guernsey Gardener in London, Day 24

Even though these planters look a bit ragged and rugged at the moment, they still bring me that little uplift that one needs when starting a long day of work.

Yesterday was a day at For Earth's Sake, and it was longer than usual. We had an additional meeting in the early evening - a Business Improvement District meeting - so my train back would be late. It's rarely a chore to travel down and visit Vanessa and the team, however multi-sequenced my trek... They're all working so hard to try and do good for the planet, its wildlife, flora and fauna and its people. Nothing to not enjoy being part of, though it is a trek; albeit giving one time to think, as public transport often does.... though more on this another time...

... going back to these planters!

It's early morning and the middle of winter and they're looking a little forlorn. In a few months' time some of this grouping will be flowering and giving up their yellow buds to commuters already weary and worn on their morning commute... I'm sure they are even more of a blessing during their evening trudge back to home! These planters, or rather the plants, are also adding a little fresh air, doing their carbon dioxide and oxygen thing that they do so well. These little green growing places, these oases that we often walk past without a care do lift the spirit, if you let them. I'm forever grateful that there are those willing to care for them; as part of their job or on a voluntary basis of one sort or another.

We had some planters at the top of our road which had "seen better days", sullen palms in them. Not really the ideal plant for this place at the outskirts of London, in my humble opinion... I suppose the council thought "plant a palm and you won't have to worry about it", though the rest of the human detritus that gathers in these planters is the main problem. You see, the issue isn't the palms... it's the people. At one time I thought about taking up the cudgel with these top-of-the-road travesties and doing some guerrilla gardening, though there's already a lot going on in our life and maybe that would've just been a step too far... Anyhow, now they are gone, and the space is more barren... ...

... going back to these planters!!

As I continued my journey to Cranleigh, I had a little outward smile and inward warmth at this little oasis of greenery; positioned awkwardly amidst the rolled steel tracks of railway lines, harsh steelwork hoardings, softening wooden fences, vibrant caution stickers, and the hard concrete, tarmac and slabs of the platforms.

Returning late last night, and passing through the station at a little past 11pm, I glanced over my shoulder at these planters again; through the cinematic little lit pods of travellers of the train as it trundled out of the station.

There they were... unsurprisingly... across on the other platform, in darkness yet lit up by the neon glow on the station. All quiet, and gentle, and resting...

One bus ride home and I would be doing the same.

A Guernsey Gardener in London, Day 23