A place in the sun

Our son's garden descends a Sheffield hill in a series of tiers, from an impressive and productive vegetable plot at the top, to wilder and wilder layers the closer one gets to the precipitous fall through ancient woodland to the brook below. At some point on the trek, the ownweship of the land switches from him to the city, but no-one seems very clear, or very concerned, about exactly where

One of today's jobs was to carry down the picnic table - recently rescued from a pub clear-out, complete with authentic chewing gum underneath. We positioned it far enough from the edge of the wylde that we considered it safe from predators patroling the forest margin. Then we stress-tested it with 5 adults, 2 grandsons, supper and a huge mug of our d-i-l's elderflower cordial. It passed

The guy-ropes and splash of red tell of another stress-test. Both boys are fitting their first Glastonbury festival into their first year of life. Both our children are seasoned campers, but not with a baby in the tent. The Birmingham baby is spending the night in a Sheffield garden as a dry run, just to, er, learn the ropes

So here’s two cheers for a place called England, sore abused but not yet dead;
A Mr Harding* sort of England hanging in there by a thread.
Here’s two cheers for the crazy diggers, now their hour shall come around;
We shall plant the seed they saved us, common wealth and common ground

From A Place Called England - Maggie Holland

*An inspiring childhood gardener friend of the author