Has the perception of allotments changed in the last few weeks?

There are many different perspectives of allotments, allotment folk and the value they provided to the community. Views will vary greatly, and some from outside may be far adrift from reality. The views of the value allotments give their plot holders will also differ by demographic and ethnic mix. But whatever the view held we must respect perception often trumps all.

Some views may be tainted by the length of waiting lists and in today’s instant gratification times, view allotments as elitist and plots unobtainable. Others may look through the gates and take the view that they often resemble a ramshackle shanty town. Others will look with envy at the fresh vegetables and jealously yearn for the good life. The perception will obviously vary significantly between rural and urban, suburban and inner-city sites. Some even see them as a sort of day care centre for the retired.

Over the years allotments have gone in and out of fashion. Often in times of hardship they attract attention, whilst in times of plenty and affluence they may lose that attraction.

As a result of the current Covid virus has perception of allotments changed?

One thing is very clear is that the profile of allotments and the benefits they offer has been raised. It may be increased column inches in the weekend broadsheets, or even the five-minute sound bite on TV but six months ago there would have been none.

Perhaps two things have helped to raise the profile. The first was the supermarket queues and the awakening that we as a society had become too dependent on the one stop shop, the perfect all year-round fresh food that knows no seasonality. When you start to add up the air miles and extended supply chains and things done to preserve freshness maybe you realise that there is fresh and there is fresh. The second profile raiser was the fact that allotments remained open all hours and even government ministers classed them as exercise. Later they were lauded as providing both mental well-being as well as physical exercise.

In areas of dense housing and where the shift from houses to flats often in the sky prevails, the loss of growing space or even meaningful open space is acute. Here in London’s Docklands we have the highest density of residential housing in Western Europe and everything new reaches into the sky in little boxes piled on top of each other. There is some open space but that is often managed by the estate to provide the lowest maintenance option and community gardening is rarely encouraged or provided.

It is ironic that allotments as we know them today are only some 100 to 150 years old. They were developed to provide, along with parks and libraries, a release from the industrial sprawl and to give householders a piece of land to grow on. Today the industrial sprawl has been replaced by concrete, glass and commercial and residential sprawl and yet we have less space than we did a 100 years ago or even 50 years ago. Some would suggest that we now have longer waiting lists and latent demand than at any time in the history of allotments.

I was once told by a Mayor of a borough that his colleagues were the problem and that they viewed allotments ‘as the lowest of the low.’ Well if there was ever a reason to change perception that was it.  Today even the hardest councils have had to keep allotments open and respect the benefits they give. Folk who thought gardening was something their parents and grandparents did have started to discover its many benefits and the closure of garden centres has in fact help raise awareness even further.

But perception must be changed and allotments have to continue to help that change happen. Allotments are integral to the community. They are environmental standard bearers, centres of both mental and physical well-being, educational stimulants, ethnic and social melting pots.

I often state to doubting eyes that only 28% of our plot holders are retired, only a minority are English origin and so on. These are small facts, but perception changes.

We do not judge the longest bean, the fattest leek, the straightest carrot. In fact, we celebrate the community outreach program we have and embrace environmental initiatives and projects.

Finally, I strongly believe that allotments do not stop at the fence and these physical barriers do not stop the allotments fully integrating into the community in many ways. Children may learn some basic gardening at school but where do we expect them to continue this after leaving school? Where do the disabled or long term sick go who are unable to physically manage a garden? How do we ensure social housing also has social gardening?

The city planners need to think holistically about the city-scapes they are responsible for developing and ensure that the various green and welfare needs highlighted by the current situation are not a lost opportunity. We can change not just perceptions but reality.   

ReBuilding After the Gales

Have you ever received a call or message where you wish you had not picked it up as you were powerless to do anything?

The message read ‘All plots are bearing up in storm. Just a couple of bits of damage.’

Great, as I was out of the country, it was nice to know the there was little damage.

However, an hour later ‘One polytunnel blown off frame and one of small greenhouses is damaged. Trying to see if we can fix or secure it.’

Not so good news but still manageable.

Then I received the photo from my plot neighbour of my greenhouse lying flattened. I rang the Site Manager who said, ‘It was ok when we left, I’ll check tomorrow and secure it.’

Three days later I returned to the wreckage and stood with Brian our Site Manager. wondering what to do.

‘I don’t think you’ll be able to put that back together,’ he said.

‘I doubt if the Repair Shop would do it on TV,’ I joked.

‘You could put some emotion into it and claim it was an heirloom.’

‘An heirloom from B&Q?’ I replied with a chuckle.

I agreed it was beyond sticky tape and plaster and as I looked at the twisted aluminium frame. I was at least heartened that all but a couple of the plastic panels appeared ok and the roof appeared in one piece albeit out of shape. We laid it to rest under some tarpaulin and I set off to plan what I was going to do.  

They say, ‘once bitten, twice shy’ and having had two previous disasters with polytunnels versus the wind they were never going to be an option again. The problem is my plot sits on top of a steep bank and a strong gale in the wrong direction can cause havoc.

I could ill afford another greenhouse, nor did I feel it would be a wise decision. I had done an inventory of what was salvageable and apart from a couple of side panels and some of the frame supports, all appeared reclaimable. I took the brave decision to repair and rebuild but with a stronger timber framed base and sides.

Brian offered to help and without any plan we went in search of what timbers we had. The Farm also gave us some of their spare old timbers and these pieces of 4x4 help establish a new base, which had to be of a size to replicate the dimensions of the old greenhouse. After all it would be stupid to build a frame, panel it and then find the roof did not fit. The new greenhouse also was going to reuse the old door.

I then worked out how much timber I had to buy and planned in my head how I was going to do it. Perhaps I should have done a detailed engineering drawing, but there again that wouldn’t have allowed me to improvise, would it?

Then our ex Chair Paula offered me a complete end panel she had surplus from her new shed. It was half glass and although a different height the lower frame was perfect and saved me having to replace the damaged panels I had. So, improvisation number one.

Brian kept popping along and supervised me and helping fix the frame. He likes to saw and hammer things in and it was a two-man job.

The frame soon was up and even the door fitted perfectly.

The apex end pieces to support the roof had to be bespoke and match each other and the acid test was to put the roof on and ‘top out’. It is a fantastic feeling when the final piece of the jigsaw fits like a glove and you are only left with the tidying up, painting and inside flooring.

Blow as you might, you’ll not blow this greenhouse down……      

Gardening is in the DNA

I was once asked, ‘How did you get into gardening?’

My answer was simple, ‘It’s in my DNA.’

I was brought up by generations of gardeners, all of whom were dedicated to their gardens and some who won accolades and prizes for their efforts.

The family originates for Birmingham and the Black Country. I have seen photos of my Great Granddad’s garden overflowing with plants and laid out to impress. My Granddad won awards for his garden and I still have the mantelpiece clock he was awarded in the 30s for his ‘Best Garden in Birmingham’. The clock no longer works but the inscription still stands proud. i recently was told that that gardening in our family goes even further back to the Victorian days and we even had a Head Gardener in our linage. 

Above is a waterclour painting I did of my Granddad debudding (www.martyndaniels.com)  

When my Granddad moved to Sheffield in the 50s, he set about establishing his garden. Borders were soon stocked, there was a chrysanthemum bed and vegetable bed, a dahlia bed and of course a shed and greenhouse. His lawn was like a snooker table and with pockets could have hosted ‘Pot Black’.

Being the youngest of three and with my dad having died when i was very young, I spent lots of time with my granddad and inevitably in the garden. I think I was his little helper although at the time I

probably didn’t realise the impact his lessons would have on me.

I remember the ritual dusting down and splitting of the Dahlias, the dis-budding of the chrysanthemum and the endless mowing of the lawn. His tomatoes and cucumbers were never ending during the summer. He swore by his John Innes 2 and 3 and at the time it just looked like soil to me. There was also that pungent smell of the greenhouse winter wash down with Jeyes fluid. All this was done with a cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth and Grandma just looking on.

Right is a portrait i painted of my Grandma in the garden (www.martyndaniels.com)

He also looked after my Mum’s garden whilst she went back to work. I remember well the rockery he built across the front of the house and the many admires and comments it got from neighbours and passes by. No one ever asked where he got the rocks but I bet a quarry in Derbyshire is missing some.

Later my mum finally got time to tend her garden and show that she too had picked up the art of gardening. She taught me about growing fruit and vegetables. After all and with three kids to feed, she had to be practical. She could grow crops in the smallest of space and wasn’t into giving too much room for Granddad's chrysanthemums.

The only habit both had was to take cuttings and strong belief in ‘plants for free’. I think all keen gardeners love to split and divide, sow their own seeds and take hard and soft wood cuttings, but mum went that extra mile and always had a small plastic bag in her handbag when she went anywhere near a garden. When she got home out popped along the bag full of cuttings she appears to have acquired on her journey. The windowsills were permanently full of her 'experiments'.

Granddad helped me with my first garden. Of course, I did everything wrong, but he still encouraged me and I would find little parcels of plants by the back door together with instructions.

As I moved around the country and changed jobs and homes I always created a new garden, Aberdeen, Glasgow, Hampshire, Bath. I wonder what the are like now and how much remains. Some plants travelled with me and I still have some today that have lived either inside or outside multiple homes.

When I first came to London it was a shock to not have a garden. I still had Bath, but it wasn’t the same.

My daughter then got an allotment in Leyton and asked for help. One look at the plot and she needed it! I think the rubbish tip over the back had over spilled onto her plot and the previous tenant obviously like burning anything and everything and that was without the jungle that occupied the rest of the plot. Looking back, it was a great experience and hard work especially given the water trough was a good 100 yards from the plot. We learnt about poly tunnels and grew some great fruit, but it was a trek for both of us. She got married and I got my plot 10 minutes’ walk from home.

She now has a small back garden and raids my allotment at peak season but still grows lots in two small areas. Me, well I am spoilt and enjoying being Lost in the Plot.