Thursday, 11 December 2008
The Gardener's Tale
The Gatekeeper leant on the handle of his spade and let out a deep sigh. These gardens were causing him no end of concern. He was busy enough with his normal duties; all this digging, planting and weeding was too much.
It wasn't as if he could see any result for his labours. The gardens were unkempt. Leaves were strewn across an unruly lawn. There were plants in the borders he certainly hadn't remembered putting there. And it wasn't as if he wasn't busy enough with his normal job. Keeping the Register up to date was work enough.
"Gatekeeper," enquired the Master when they met later that day, "can you tell me why our garden looks as it does?"
"I'm sorry Sir. I try, I really do. But I can't summon enough enthusiasm for it. And I've been so busy recently, what with manning the Gate and everything. We've had a lot of people coming through, so the garden has fallen by the wayside."
The Master was thinking.
"Your problem," he said, "is that you don't have enough love for the garden. You can either do it, or not. There is no in-between"
"What do you suggest we do, Master?"
"You mentioned you'd had plenty of people through the Gate in recent days. I've been looking closely at them." It seemed the Master had someone in mind.
Six months later and the garden was perfection. The neatly edged lawns practically glowed emerald. The borders were a riot; a symphony of chrysanthemums, dahlia and begonia. The heady scent of roses wafted gently on the breeze. The Passion flowers were a nice touch, thought the Gatekeeper.
The Gardener stepped back from his wheelbarrow and straightened his tie. A smile broke across his features. It had been some years since he'd felt like this. "What do you think, then?" he asked.
"This is truly wonderful, " said the Gatekeeper. "Well done. The Master chose well. What's your secret?"
"You must love what you do. I must say, Gatekeeper, this takes me back. I never thought I'd be able to do all this again. It's like I'm young again."
"This place does that to you. If you want to, you can look after this garden as long as you want."
The Gardener's smile broadened: "Well, thank you. If you don't mind, I think I will. This place is like heaven."
Now it was time for the Gatekeeper to smile.
In loving memory of Alfred Sawyer, 1911-2008. Happy gardening, Granddad.
Sunday, 16 September 2012
The Gardener's Tale, part two
The Gardener leant on the handle of his fork and drew a hand across his brow. He liked the fact that he was busy these days. It was a good thing; the results of his labours were clear to see. But he couldn't help thinking that something was missing.
The sound of footsteps on the gravel path made him look up. The Gatekeeper was approaching.
"Good morning, Gatekeeper. I hope you like the garden. I'm just planning some bulbs for the spring. Should be a blaze of colour."
The Gatekeeper seemed pre-occupied."Gardener, I need to talk to you," he said, the beginnings of a stern expression forming on his face.
"Is there something wrong?"
"No. Well, not really. The garden is beautiful. It's much better than I could have hoped. How long have you been here?"
"It's difficult to tell, Gatekeeper. But this will be fifth time I've done a winter planting-out, if that helps."
"You've truly put your heart and soul into this. But I can tell that there is something you're missing."
The Gardener looked down at the neatly-mowed lawn. His words came slowly."You're right, Gatekeeper. I love this little patch, and you've been very generous. But sometimes I wish I could share all of this..."
"I think I know what you mean," said the Gatekeeper. He was thinking. Then he raised his head and looked the Gardener in the eyes. He spoke softly, almost a whisper. "I think it's time, you know."
Months later and the garden was a blaze of colour. Each bed was planned to perfection, every pot a riot of colour. The Gatekeeper was unsurprised; this was another triumph for the Gardener. But he could tell that there was something extra at play.
The Gardener's dwelling, now that was a different matter altogether. The Gatekeeper hadn't really noticed this place before, but he found himself drawn to it now. It had been somehow transformed. He couldn't really put his finger on it, but it was a home now, not just a place for living in.
The Gatekeeper was sitting on a long sofa. French windows opened out into the garden, a gentle breeze moving the apple tree branches to and fro. He could hear the trickling of a water-course, while the smell of baking wafted in from the kitchen. It was almost as if the garden and the house complemented each other. He looked around. There was an armchair next to the fireplace, knitting patterns and balls of wool strewn across it. Quite the largest aspidistra he had ever seen nestled in a blue and white pot in the corner, while a herd of small china hedgehogs marched steadily across the mantelpiece.
"Another cup of tea, Gatekeeper?" asked the Gardener's wife from the small kitchen.
"No thank you madam." Secretly he was hoping that another jar of pickled onions was coming his way, but he didn't want to press matters. "Are you settling in well?"
She bustled in through the doorway, drying her hands on a small towel."Oh yes," she said, "I've never been so busy." She motioned to the garden. "He thinks he knows it all, but every now and then he needs a little supervision. Plus his cardigans were were getting a little worn at the elbows. There's always something that needs doing." She chuckled to herself.
"The garden does look lovely."
"Oh, I know. All the colours. Reds, blues, yellows. I never thought I'd be able to see them like this again. It's been wonderful, you know. Just how I remembered it."
The Gatekeeper leant back and regarded the Gardener's wife. "You know, madam, in my line of work I get to meet lots of people. Scientists, mathematicians, people of logic. If you were to ask them what one plus one comes to, they'd say it was two. But seeing you and the Gardener together, I'm not so sure any more."
Her eyes shone brightly as she replied. "Yes. Sometimes, one and one are worth more than that."
"Just one question, though. Why have you got the number 198 on the front door?"
She grinned. "Ah. I can explain that. You might think you know everything there is to know about paradise, Gatekeeper. But me and Alf, we'd been perfecting this for quite a while."
"That makes sense," said the Gatekeeper. He noticed her looking intently at him. "What's the matter?"
"Oh, nothing. I'm just trying to figure out if you're a 42-inch waist or a 44-inch. I've got this spare wool, you see, Gatekeeper. I think you'd look quite smashing in a nice cable-knit."
In loving memory of Edith Sawyer, 1917-2012. Enjoy the colours, Nan. Hope you and Granddad are planning the spring bulbs together once again.
Last, from myself:
Yellow was the last colour to go as sight faded.
Spring flowers were always the best.
Yellow daffodils unfurling quickly from green.
Autumn with yellow and gold chrysanthemums.
Yellow summer sun bringing light and warmth
through the window.
But life has been long,
and lately the journey was hard.
Flowers always helped.
