In the Queen's gardens...almost

We parked the car back at the hotel and strolled to the old part of Windsor, just ten minutes away. We swung by a sedate Regency street that led to Windsor Great Park, in fact Windsor Castle’s back garden. And what a garden it was, seemingly going for miles. The road from the castle to the park was covered in tiny yellow pebbles and not open to the public. Cars speeding down that thoroughfare probably contain a royal. At the end of the road, and across it, we noticed garlands of spiky chain, just in case someone did not understand royal protocol.

Washed out in Sissinghurst

Just as we arrived, the sky opened up and poured down buckets. I could barely see anything.
“Go check it out, see if it’s worth going in,” said Frances.
I felt no great desire to get out of the car. “If we go in, we’ll still be outside. It is a garden,” I said, trying for once to use logic on Frances.
After a bit more prodding, I got out to reconnoiter. I peeked over a fence for a free look.
In good weather, the crumbling monastery sprouting plants and shrubs and flower beds must have looked quite delightful, but all I saw was an overgrown, sprawling, crumbling mess awaiting demolition. Only the keenest of enthusiasts could derive any joy from the garden in that downpour. And some did. I saw a flock of old ducks in see-through plastic bonnets, pointing out specimens to each other with unabashed excitement. Oblivious to the weather, they even smiled.
Straddling large puddles, I hurried back to the car and explained the situation to Frances, who was now in the back seat entertaining Kate. I suggested she check the place out for herself. Wisely, Frances declined to leave the warmth of the car. As we pulled out, a coach was pulling in, with obviously hardier types than us.

Another English garden

One of England’s most famed gardens, Sissinghurst was created by the writer Vita Sackville West and her essayist-publisher husband Harold Nicholson, two members of the Bloomsbury Set who, after sowing their gayest and wildest oats, decided to take up gardening. The English either come out of the closet or the woodshed. Vita and Harold came out of both. Not exactly faithful to each other, they were faithful to their garden. Ironically, long after their deaths, with books and scandals all but forgotten, the garden they created became their most enduring legacy.

A cauliflower grows in Dagenham, part 2

For some unknown reason, the cauliflowers attracted an inordinate amount of caterpillars. Every day these green and white creatures would promenade across the plants’ bulbous surface. When they first appeared, Lew was going to spray them with DDT but thought better of it. Using a stick he knocked the insects off and I had the fun job of smashing and mashing them to bits.
Eventually a caterpillar-free, fully grown cauliflower was delivered to Jessie. The large, heavy plant was divested of its outer greenery, then plunged whole into a pot of water in which it was boiled.
And boiled.
Eventually, the cauliflower was retrieved like a hot and soggy sponge, with all its flavor and nutrients drained away. The cauliflower was divided and served as a side dish. The remains of the florets had turned grainy and mealy, and overall the cauliflower tasted of hot water with fibrous bits.
To suggest to Jessie that a vegetable could be cooked less and retain a touch of crunch would have evoked derisive laughter and looks of incredulity mingled with pity. The idea that a cauliflower could be enrobed in a velvety cheese sauce would have caused my mum great consternation and might have had her doubting my masculinity. Mum would not brook such adulterations.

A cauliflower grows in Dagenham, part 1

If Jessie had the green thumb in our family, Lew had patience, a little skill, and great earth. Dagenham dirt was brown-black and rich in nutrients, either reclaimed marshland or ploughed-over farmland. Despite the sameness and dullness of the housing estate, all terraced houses had a plot of garden front and back. And this is where individuality flourished and occasionally bloomed.
The first part of the garden consisted of a small lawn, with beds of plants, mostly hydrangeas and roses. This was Jessie’s domain. Beyond the trellis and the spreading apple tree, the land belonged to Lew. Apart from the usual root veggies, Lew occasionally went in for more exotic edibles. One year, he decided to grow cauliflower, and he grew it from seed. After what seemed to be an eternity, tiny bits of green fluff began to appear. Then, before we knew it, small, white, carnation-like plants sprang up with thick gnarly green stalks. Within weeks the florets began to grow, yellowy at first, turning firm and white and knobby like a scoutmaster’s knees.

Thoughts of Spring

Cambridge

Lavenham

Canterbury