Memories of Childhood
by John Appleby

~ 18 ~

A little bit now about this much talked of allotment. We boys spent many happy hours there. It was not all a pleasure trip mind you, we had our jobs allocated. His plot was on the previously mentioned slope down to the little burn, where in summer we had to walk and bring up water for his newly planted cabbages etc. Harvesting was the exciting time, when we gathered the fruits of the earth. The potato crop would be carried in a big sack a few hundred meters to home across the frame of Dad's bike, and gently tumbled on to the cement surface of the back yard to dry.

There were blackcurrants for jam, onions to be pickled, and the autumn air would be redolent with the pungent smells of sauces, chutneys and pickles issuing from the kitchens from one end of the street to the other. We were not allowed to stand idle or play, we had to follow Dad along a trench he was digging, scatter in the manure, and place the seed potatoes, then he would come along the row and cover them with soil. We were taught how to recognise and pull out weeds, pop open a pea pod to savour the contents, cut the dahlias and chrysanthemums and, best of all, to gather the eggs. Dad kept several hens, whose gentle cooing and croaking sounds as they goose stepped amongst the chickweed and corn we threw to them, I grew to associate with nature at its most contented - a soothing sound.

© 2003 John Appleby, New Zealand

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