I recently went with my family to visit a friend of a friends allotment which I had never visited before. It is hidden away with 15 others in a triangle shaped plot and the only way to get to and from it is through a tunnel which has locked gates at either end. Going there was magical, it was like being transported to a whole other world, one which sits alongside the hustle and bustle of the real world; a place in which time stands still and you can listen to the colours of your dreams.
When I was a little girl, I used to love going to allotments like this one. Walking hand in hand with my Mum's dear friend Mrs Bogusz who was my Godfather's Mother felt right. I loved her, she was like the granny I never knew, and she would tell me stories and explain about the plants. Whilst at her allotment, I would play in the soil, dig it up, trawl through it looking for gems or dinosaur bones and then retire to play houses in her shed which was her playhouse too. It was a home away from home and it felt safe.
Growing vegetables was something that my parents generation just did, not only for sustenance but for pleasure and a sense of security and reassurance. They loved watching their hard work pay off with a huge abundance of food which they could provide for their family and loved ones all year round. They felt sorrow and frustration when things were destroyed or didn't grow, but it never stopped them from fighting and making sure that their next crop overcame whatever adversity had killed the last one. Nothing was wasted, it was somehow given back to the land or preserved to provide food through the winter.
My parents and her friends were all Polish, religious and had survived WW2. Looking back, I wonder whether growing crops in their allotments was more than just putting food on the table. I wonder if it was a coping mechanism for dealing with lives tragedies and cultivating the land was somehow an unspoken light at the end of a long and enduring tunnel.
Gardening was war and peace and they knew that eventually all their faith, nurturing and love would win out even if it was tinged with sorrow.
When the solution is simple, God is answering. Albert Einstein
