| A
BLESSED PLOT
- an article
written by Chris Opperman about Wivenhoe's Allotments, published by Let's
Talk! magazine in April 2005 and reproduced by kind permission
of the Editor, Anne Gould. There's
an age-old sense of camaraderie, trust and rivalry on the great British
allotment.
The self-confessed lunatics
who are the Wivenhoe Allotment and Gardens Association have taken over the
asylum that is their site, off Rectory Road. So it's good to know the
secretary has been certified. "Here we are, look. Certified. All
proper." Diane Duffield is proud of the certificate that hangs on the
trading hut wall along with subscription slips, notices and price lists.
Mind you, closer examination shows it to be from Colchester Borough
Council giving Diane permission to run raffles. But I was beginning to feel at home. "You'd have to be mad to go allotmenteering on a day like this," I told myself, as I drove through snow flurries to meet Diane and her colleagues on the committee. "Yes, we are all a bit
crazy but we have a jolly good time together and the spirit of the
allotment allows you to relax and forget the cares of the world outside
these few acres." Well,
that was the gist of what chairman, David Darlington, had to say as he
banged the drum for the great British allotment. Not bad for someone who
doesn't have a plot. He's content with his garden. Diane bustled in to the
shop-cum-meeting place. A secretary from head to toe. Not to be taken
lightly. Woe betide any developer casting an opportunist eye over the
association's four acres. Her husband Peter
describes himself as the gofer. He's the link between a supportive
Wivenhoe council and the association, and he manages the site. "And I
run the trading hut. It's not a shop." Suitably chastened, I listen
to the team as we huddle round an electric stove. Vice chairman, David
Wright has joined us. Sixty-eight official plots,
divided into around 100. Five hundred members, with a waiting list for
plots of 16. Founded before the war but really got going in the 1950s to
keep the post-war developers away. Subs, £2 plus £1 for a partner;
senior citizens £1.50; joining fee £4. Enough facts and figures. The
trading hut is the place to be and to enjoy. It's the hub of operations
each and every Sunday morning for a couple of hours. It takes me back to
the old fashioned ironmongers' emporia. Benign chemical odours,
fertilisers, seeds, tools and the bits and pieces of basic gardening.
Jeyes Fluid and some seaweed-based liquid something-or-other are for sale
in old lemonade bottles. "Regulations have
stopped us doing that sort of thing with other products." There's a fading photograph
on the wall. "That's when we invited Gardeners' Question Time to
Wivenhoe, back in the 80s. There's old Clay Jones." The all-important seed
potatoes had arrived. "We
stock twenty-four varieties. We buy in two tons." The favourite spuds on this
well-drained, easily managed loam? "Desiree for the lates. Pentland
Javelin for the earlies." Disagreement brews. Let's change course. "Where would the
association be without the Duffields?" "I often wonder. It's certainly their life." "No it isn't. I've got
the Over 60s to sort out." I said Diane was 'that sort of woman. Other allotmenteers are on their plots. Time to get cold.
Most of the sites are
immaculate. Not much to see right now. Leeks, cabbages, brussels and the
like. Smart huts stand alongside wobbly affairs that say much for air
conditioning. Runner bean frames droop. Sagging fences fight a losing
battle with the rabbits. "We used to have many of our huts made from
doors. They turned up after the sandpit offices nearby closed down. And
another chap got hold of a load of railway carriage windows — for
cloches. Some still had 'First Class' and 'No Smoking' stuck on
them." "Still no sign
of a cricket ball tree." "Eh?" "Years ago we
used to have a spot of bother when the cricket club, just over there, used
to thump the ball into the allotments and the fielders weren't too careful
where they trod to get the ball back. "That's all behind us now.
We're great friends and have an annual match." "But what about
the cricket ball tree?" "-Ah, yes. If the ball landed near where
someone was digging, he'd heel the ball into the ground. It was never
found. And so far, none of the balls has taken root." Sam's taking a break, sitting in style in his cosy hut, receiving visitors. What's his speciality? A chum answers for
him. "Complaining. And lighting fires when the wind's in the wrong
direction." Is that a tiger among the
greens? "No, that's Tibby. Our four-legged rodent operative. She'll
kill anything. Does her best to keep the rabbits down."
"And this is Phil."
Much as they love him, I'm told he could talk for England, and people
start to move on, with a chuckle. At 81, Phil is a founder member of WAGA.
He sports a baseball cap with a Spitfire
fighter badge. I used to work on them in the war. In the desert. Damn
sight warmer there” Phil and Peter work
together to keep things in order. They make a good team. Diane's back. I'm told I must
mention the annual show. The second Saturday in September, at the William
Loveless Hall. I leave them as chairman David confirms who's doing what
that Sunday morning. "It's a mad
house with laughter, teasing, advice on pruning and setting, and
encouraging the youngsters." And not a white coat to be seen. Chris Opperman •
If you'd like to join the Wivenhoe Allotment and Gardens Association, call
Diane Duffield on 01206 825329 - and you don't have to live in Wivenhoe.
|
