The Battle Of Netall's Plot

“We shall fight amongst amongst the carrots, we shall fight in the cabbage patch and in the turnip beds, we shall fight on the paths, we shall never surrender.”

Before the Battle

 I don't wish to disparage Churchill’s famous speech in any way, but if he’d been an allotment holder, faced with the invasion of weeds that I have this year, he might well have said that.

As already mentioned, the house move and taming of a new garden has meant some neglect of the plot, and a few weeks back I decided to tackle it.

My plan for this year was to leave a large area fallow, and skim off the weeds as they appeared, but that idea soon went belly up as the more invasive weeds took hold, so I decided to strim it.

“It’s easy”, said the Son in law, as he handed me the machine he’d lent me, “ just press that and pull this, and Bob’s your uncle”.

I asked my  neighbour Bob if we were related when I got down to the plot, but he just looked blank and watched with mounting interest as I tackled the strimmer.

I followed the instructions religiously, checked petrol, set choke, and  pressed knob three times as instructed (stop giggling at the back there), but when I pulled the string, nothing happened. So I pulled again, more vigorously and prolonged this time, but still nothing. After about ten minutes of pulling and swearing, I gave up exhausted and sat on the bench.

All the while I could feel Bob’s eyes on me, and eventually he muttered, “If it’s owt like mine you’ve got to flick that red switch on’t top, to ON”.

What red switch ? The Son in Law never mentioned any red switch !  But he was right, on inspection there was one and it was in the OFF position !

Having now started at the first pull, it stalled straight away as it got hold of my trouser leg and worried it like a demented terrier, but eventually I was on my way.

After about an hour of attacking everything in sight I took stock, and although there was some effect it was not as much as I’d expected. There were weeds in that patch that would have withstood a flame thrower, never mind a strimmer.  The stalks of thistles stood laughing at my attempt to mow them down,  and I could see the couch grass re-growing as I stood there.

The enemy, Couch grass.

Also, I was covered from head to foot in flayed vegetable matter, and stinging from the pebble shrapnel being thrown up, that even had Bob ducking 20 yards away.

So I gave up and dug it all over instead, which took quite a few days.

The dead and dying

It was a long hard battle, but surveying the dead and dying enemy baking in the midday sun, I knew it was worth it in the end.

The Victor

A sad realisation.

Having a break from weeding the other day, my allotment neighbour Bob and I were discussing the quality of the manure he'd just had delivered, when our conversation was interrupted by another nearby plot holder sounding a bit irate.

It was Joan, who was brandishing her mobile phone and ranting something indecipherable, as she came briskly through my plot gate towards us. All I could make out was, “Bloody Farmers”!!!  She was reading what turned out to be a text from her daughter.

To put a bit flesh on the bones of this, fields of commercially grown potatoes surround our allotment site at the moment, and the Farmer has been spraying them regularly with a chemical against blight.

Joan it transpired, had found out what it was and after inhaling a lung full one day, which she swears has taken a decade off her life, had asked her daughter to look the substance up on the internet.

When she reached us, she read out a long list of ailments that you could expect to get if you came into contact with it, which was quite alarming. To a rising crescendo she finally told us in all seriousness that, “ it can also affect your fertility, you know “!

Now, at one stage in my life I would have been concerned about that, but seeing as all of us present were well past our sell by dates, with a combined age of about 190, it just seemed funny.

Bob sniggered, “Well that won’t bother any of us old buggers then, will it”. I sniggered along with him and Joan followed eventually as the penny dropped.

But as our laughter subsided, there was a bit of a silence for a while.

Then Joan replied sadly, “No, I don’t suppose it will anymore", and we all just sighed and went back to our weeding again.

  

Cotone-dis-aster

In my quest to tame our new garden, I decided to thin out an old Cotoneaster bush that had gone rampant and was restricting the light through the patio doors

It soon became clear that secateurs where inadequate for the job, and so I quickly progressed on to branch cutter, then  handsaw, finally  resorting to an electric fret-saw, such was the job.

As you can probably tell from this progression, in my enthusiasm, what had started as a simple thinning out exercise ended up being a full extraction.

However, I had an uneasy feeling whilst taking out this old bush, almost a premonition that something was going to happen. Was it going to get it’s own back on me for being so ruthless, another Karma experience. Also, doesn’t coton-e-aster rhyme with disaster, surely an omen? Yes I know some pronounce it coton-easter as in egg, but please allow me a little artistic licence.

All was going well until I came to deal with one particular branch that was thick and awkward, a bit like me according Mrs Netall, where the fret saw blade kept sticking. I found however, that if I used the fret-saw with one hand, not to be recommended by the way, whilst pressing down on the branch with the other, then the blade would cut freely.

There are times when you know you shouldn’t be doing something the way you are, and this was one of them.  Unexpectedly the branch suddenly gave, and as it travelled to the floor, I followed it, proving the laws of gravity.

“Oh Flipping Heck" (or words to that effect), I muttered as I fell, landing not on the nice soft lawn, oh no, but on the concrete patio to the side.

Let’s just say, I’m now of an age when I don’t bounce anymore and so fell quite heavily. Lying there, I had time to reflect on my stupidity, and wondered what I’d managed to chop off, but luckily the fret-saw had fallen away from me.

Eventually the revolving stars dissipated and I was about to shout for Mrs N to help me up, when I remembered  she was away for the day.

It was a bit of a struggle to get to my feet unaided admittedly, but at least her absence saved me from the usual ear bashing I get in similar circumstances, and those familiar words of hers “ So, just remind me what job you used to do”. Yes folks, I used to be a Health & Safety Manager !

Rambling On

I’m back, no excuses, so as Led Zeppelin would say let’s Ramble On !

Having moved house during the blog’s hiatus, I now have the responsibility for the upkeep of a fair sized garden as well as the allotment, and being more of a farmer than a gardener (as I explained here), it’s taking some coming to terms with.

I suppose you could call it a cottage garden, in that there are many beds of  “herbacious perennials”, as they say on Gardeners World, which I really don’t know much about. Here's a couple of shots from earlier in the year.

My inner control freak is telling me to just dig them up and replace them with something more manageable, like turf ! However I am resisting the urge, and just letting things be for this season, whilst I at least learn what things are.

As a consequence, the allotment, which has been a little neglected this past year, is getting a spring clean, in summer, to within an inch of its life. You can almost see the weeds cowering as I march down the plot with freshly sharpened hoe at the ready, passing my trusty leeks standing proudly to attention.     

As for the snails, that have been having a field day with the wet weather and my laziness of late,  weapons of molluscular destruction have had to be deployed, yes slug pellets. I’m reluctant to use them, but however many lettuce munchers I chuck into next doors plot, they never seem to diminish.

Talking to one of the old fellas, he tells me that they actually return home to the plot, “you know, like pigeons”, he said,  and that he’d actually done an experiment where he’d marked one with some nail varnish , took it a good distance from his plot, and within a day it had returned. 

Now that’s just weird, I mean, what the heck’s he doing with nail varnish down at the allotments !