Memories, once again. This is the garden of our childhood house, which appears as 5 Disraeli Crescent in my books. Captain B is there with the young me, the young Nute, and the very young Alex. Alex is now a dad with two children of his own - one of them a teenager, who has, apparently, been superglued to her phone.
The garden was daddy's pride and joy. He kept it up very well, and grew a lot of fruit and veg for us all as dads did back then I guess. I think the memory of his garden was triggered by the travellers' horses who were recently on our Green, as one of my siblings pointed out that back in the day - the 1950s - food rationing and grow your own - those horse droppings would have been greatly prized and not left lying around. Every father in town would have been out with a bucket and spade. "For the roses!" was the cry.
They usually chased after the horse and cart of the Rag and Bone man, with his strange cry of AAAANNYOLDIRON. In my granny's village, milk was delivered to the jug you left on your front doorstep via horse and cart. I suppose that back in the early Fifties all the local fathers must have chased after the cart too - but I don't remember.
Maybe manure was more readily available in the countryside? Though just about everything was in short supply back then, apart from bombsites.
And, as we, the human family, have learnt nothing from our past, not even from two World Wars, there is still no shortage of bombsites.
So let me finish this blog with a comforting promise from our loving Creator who has not abandoned us to the tragic decision our first parents made.
Psalm 37:11: But the meek will possess the earth, and they will find exquisite delight in the abundance of peace.
Under the loving, perfect rule of the Kingdom of God there will be peace in abundance. Forever.
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