The Allotment

This Blog is about an event that happened to me a few months ago, just before we were about to start back at school. The back story was that i was on my way too town to buy a book, and i was on the 82 bus. This story may not fit in to what you'd expect from me and this blog, especially after my last blog, but it was an awesome day. Awesome, but terribly sad. This is the story of the allotment... go!

so there I was, sitting on the 82 bus, which was unusually full for the time of day, sitting next too an old man with a bag bursting full of vegetables. His grand daughter was behind us, and she was speaking with the grand pa, talking about an allotment. The old man, who's name was George, spotted me looking at the bag of produce, and started to talk to me. He said, “ son, do you like fresh veg?” I didn't answer straight away, I looked from George, too his beautiful granddaughter, and I answered, 'yea, I'm known to have a carrot or two, why?' at this point, charlotte smiled, and said softly, 'wanna see our allotment? Its by the next stop.' she must of sensed my hesitance, because she continued in a less pressing manner, “ me, my grandpa and my mates are going, we won't be long, but you don't have to...' I looked over her shoulder and saw a gaggle of 5 girls, and one guy, on the back row, craning their necks too nose in on our conversation, so I smiled, and replied ' yea, why not?'
So we got off, and me and the band of hippies set off down a road I'd never been down before. It was old, but reassuringly strong, huge oaks caressing the sky, and unkempt grass verges swayed in the slight breeze of the early morning. We walked through a kissing gate, and down a narrow ally in single file, one of the hippies running a stick across the railings as she walked, the sound echoing down the passage. Charlotte was taking the lead, just a head of me, and she glanced back smiling a toothy grin from ear to ear, and winking.
As the ally peeled off, the group bunched around a huge metal railing gate which encompassed a huge plot of land. George unlocked the padlock, and everybody crammed in, me bringing up the rear. I was astounded by this suburban oasis, this thoroughly out of place pasture, brimming with life. Cats scampered about, chasing flocks of starlings, the ground swelled with fruit and vegetables; carrot stalks broke the ground by the paths, potato bushels domineered great clumps of the garden , cabbage heads swelled visibly in the fresh morning sun and great stalks of sweetcorn casted shade over metal bins full of cultivating mushrooms. The perimeter was lined with trees, groaning under the weight of the late autumn fruit; apples and pears of all kinds hid among the browning leaves.
Charlotte walked over to me, hugged me and whispered in my ear, 'welcome to paradise'. And she was right, the place was magical. I walked over to a shed, by which George was standing breathing deeply but contentedly. 'I asked the old man, is there anything at all I can do?'
And there was. In fact there was a lot to do; Weeding, harvesting, hoeing and making friends. It was 2 o'clock in the afternoon before we knew it, but non of us were worried, we had crates full of produce, and a fantastic lunch! We sat around a makeshift camp-fire, talking for at least an hour. George told me some amazing stories. He was dyeing, slowly, and even the slightest movement pained him dreadfully, but still, everyday he went down to that allotment to busy himself, to immerse himself in a life of which he loved. Without it the allotment, he would of given up years ago, when his wife died. This was her legacy, and he was determined to keep it alive, for her sake. And so he had. After all, he said, 'through sickness and health.' that man. that group of people. They were legendary.