Thursday, 31 July 2008


I always think that the best gardeners are the methodical ones who do a little bit in the garden every day. That way the weeds never get a hold and the garden is always neat and tidy and open for visitors.
My father was what I like to call an 'Armchair Gardener'. Every Winter he would sit with all his gardening books round him and sketch on to numerous bits of paper possible new designs for our garden. Come the Summer it took him all his time to keep the lawns mowed and the weeds down. He spent a lot of his spare time on the bowling green at Heighington near Lincoln (I wonder if that bowling green is still there) and his garden plans were always put on hold until the next year. I have written this poem in his memory
The Armchair Gardener:

Swathes of poppies;
banks of delphiniums;
frondy ferns, and a
cascade of pools.

He planned it all from the
comfort of his armchair.
the golden dandelions
and a rash of purple thistles
painted their own canvas


Dominic Rivron said...

I enjoyed your poem and can relate to your father's approach to gardening. Heighington Bowls Club is alive and well, according to their website. The club "was originally formed in the early 1930's by local members of the British Legion...The green is located at Station Road, Heighington." Presumably this is the same green.

The Solitary Walker said...

I particularly like the last line - and the word 'rash' which suggests something natural and lawless.