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Yinka IloriWhy everyone wants a brilliant piece by ‘the colour guy’—DESIGNPAGES 8 & 9
in rows. Actually, two inches deep, and
nine inches apart, to be precise: I goog-
led the Royal Horticultural Society web-
site, which told me how. We are hobby
gardeners, and we learn from our mis-
takes, of which we make many.
Now, the allotment could come to be
more than just a hobby. I am not nurtur-
ing some fantasy of post-apocalyptic
self-sufficiency — like Tom and Barbara
fromThe Good Lifetransplanted into
Cormac McCarthy’sThe Road. But it
could be a serious refuge.
The allotment is a green lung of the
city. Here, for my family and thousands
of others all over the country, is a place to
potter in the sunshine, away from the
much-touched metal and plastic sur-
faces of which we are becoming uncom-
fortably hyper-aware.
This is a place where — since your plot
is your sovereign territory, and it is rigid
etiquette to ask permission to step on to
anyone else’s — social distancing is auto-
matic. Nobody here is wearing surgical
face masks and latex gloves to give you
the fear. At least for the moment, the
allotment is what it always was: green
space, muddy fingers, bent-tined forks,
tangled twine and worn-out clothes.
Even in ordinary times, there is more
than just anecdotal evidence that gar-
dening helps mental health. Studies
suggest it reduces anxiety, alleviatesContinued on page 2J
ust before the panic set in, we
walked up the high street to our
allotment, the children weaving
behind and around us on their
bicycles. The weather was start-
ing to break — spring sunshine; the air
clear and chilly, but getting warmer.
We unlocked the heavy padlock on
the main gates and walked down to our
plot, for the first time in months. The
grass between the beds was lank, damp
and winter-shaggy: in need of a haircut.
The standpipes were still off. And in the
front bed, where we had planted a row of
bulbs just before we abandoned the
allotment to overwinter at the end of
last year, yellow daffodils had pushed
through, and behind them the foliage of
tulips, yet to flower.
Now, as we settle into lockdown, the
allotment remains blessedly
untouched. Afer a fleeting period of
uncertainty when orders to stay at
home first landed, the UK government
clarified that allotment-holders wouldThat refuge may be more than figu-
rative this year. As I stood there sur-
veying the site in its winter’s neglect, I
felt just a little blessed to have it. As I
say, this was just before the panic set
in — that startlingly brief moment
between coronavirus being a routine
news item and the understanding that
it had the makings of a once-in-a-life-My ramshackle refuge
Sam Leith’s allotment — his family’s ‘happy place’
— is sustaining him and others through the
pandemic, with more than just fruit and veg
Sam Leith:
‘This is a place
where — since
your plot is
your sovereign
territory, and
it is rigid
etiquette to ask
permission to
step on to
anyone else’s —
social distancing
is automatic’
LucyRansonfortheFTstill be allowed to go to their plots —
though whether such visits fell under
the exercise exemption or errands for
provisions was ambiguous. At the time
of writing, that has held — and at least
one of us is here for an hour or two most
days. The atmosphere is unchanged.
Though, of course, we wear gloves when
we unlock the gates.
The allotment is where, in summer,
we grill sausages on a rusty little bar-
becue and eat early evening meals
with warm ketchup off plastic plates
at a broken-legged table. This is where
we fill bags with gluts of figs, with
bruised and sticky plums; where the
kids gorge on raspberries from the
cane and truffle under low foliage for
strawberries; where last year’s pump-
kins ripened and swelled before Hal-
loween; where, one year in two, the
tomatoes run riot and where my
sweetcorn is routinely slightly disap-
pointing. It is our ramshackle happy
place — a place of refuge.time catastrophe. But the vibe was
there. The first anxious “What if?”
was tickling in the back of the mind.
Grass had crept over the edges of most
of the beds, and dandelions and other
weeds constellated the rough ground.
But the broccoli — a hardy plant that
pushes up through the winter and gives
its crop just as spring begins — hadstarted to do its thing. We cut as much of
it as we reckoned we could reasonably
cook in the next week or so, leaving
plenty to later. Then, with a trowel in
the damp earth, I dug and plucked and
shook clods off tussocks and lobbed
them into the weed bag.
I turned over the soil and then pushed
broad beans down an inch or two into itAPRIL 4 2020 Section:Weekend Time: 1/4/2020 - 17: 14 User: rosalind.sykes Page Name: RES1, Part,Page,Edition: RES, 1, 1