HARVEST ON OUR ALLOTMENTS.
" Whence have they this mettle ? Is not their climate foggy, raw and dull, on whom, as in despite, the sun looks pale, killing their fruits with frowns ? "—SHAKESPEARE.
HARVEST on the allotments means, of course, a Show, and we have just had—to quote our programme—" A Grand Exhibition of Vegetables." The quotation above, in which apparently Shakespeare is commenting on allotment-holders, was not found by me, but by our enterprising and imaginative Committee, and printed, together with several other very apt lines, on the said programme. Shakespeare is perhaps a little libellous on our climate, difficult as it is ; but the eulogy by inference of " allottees " is most invigorating. As I read the words and looked round at the display I remarked to J. how inspiring it was to be one of the gallant band who showed each mettle, and that I never thought I should feel so excited about potatoes and carrots. J. did not exhibit anything. We discussed the possibility once, but only to laugh at it. We had nothing to exhibit. Our produce, though excellent for our own table, seemed, alas ! merely mediocre when judged by Exhibition standards. Not even our marrows had anything distinctive about them. If we had possessed one like that grown by a neighbour, which was of a gorgeous golden striped with green, I should have begged J. to send it in as a thing of beauty ; but marks were not given, I noticed, for colour effects. Afterwards, however, we rather wished we had sent in something. It was not that we felt that we could in the least have approached the level of moat of the exhibits, for that was extraordinarily high ; but here and there was a plate of humble potatoes or a collection of well-intentioned runner beans that J. said he thought he might have equalled. We should then at any rate have had some share in the gallant competition. Our neighbour, the Family Man, was more adventurous and sent in " a bit of spinach " and also a marrow, which, after the way of marrows, had hidden itself till it had grown to mammoth proportions and was as wide as it was long. The " bit of spinach " I looked for at the Show in vain, but there was the F.M.'s marrow in all its dark-green glory, bulging among its fellows. The prize for marrows was given for the best two. This had a curious result, for, as all the entries were as nearly matched as possible, it gave the impression that marrows went about in pairs—like boots or kippers ! The winning pair were a perfect match in size and colour. I was glad to notice that but little value was placed by the judges on the abnormal in size. After all, if you think of it, there is little credit due to the grower of such monstrosities. Leave any marrow alone for a week in wet weather and it will run into the next allotment! To my mind, the credit is due to the man who has sufficient self-control to keep his marrow small. A propos of marrows, a certain "allottee " told me one day proudly that he and a friend had cut forty-four from their ground. " What on earth do you do with them ? " I asked. He replied that when nine people sat down to the table every day, even forty-four would not last long, and that in any case they could always be made into marrow jam. "It's nice for Christmas," he added, with quite a knowing wink ; " merry and bright—that's what I like ! " But what is the connexion between marrow jam and a state of being "merry and bright" 1 I have not the least idea, neither has J., and we did not like to ask, as the cheerful one seemed to think we knew all about it.
But marrows, bulbous as they are, took anything but a prominent part in our Exhibition. The chief place was reserved for the potatoes. They were arranged just under the platform, and the band seemed to be playing especially in their honour. They were certainly worth it, for they would have done credit to the squire at a Devonshire Agricultural Show—blushing King Edwards, British Queens smooth and creamy, Duke of Yorks hardy and rough- jacketed. As one " allottee " mot another the question was put, " Have you seen the potatoes?" in tones of the greatest excitement. Next to the potatoes, the carrots came in for most admiration. The Committee—or some one else—had washed and brushed them till they glowed in their gorgeous colouring. I have always thought carrots comfortable, contented creatures, and as they lay at our Show in groups of six, each group perfect in size, tips pointing to the centre, they were the personification of ruddy cheerfulness— like a row of well-scrubbed little boys at a prize distribution. Parsnips, despite a tendency to break into little knobs here and there, made a worthy display ; the onions were as succesaful as could he expected in a trying season—at any rate, as we agreed, as good as those grown by ordinary growers—and the cabbages as free from the ravages of caterpillars as was possible in a year when caterpillars were rampant. Not many " allottees " from our particular section took prizes, but J. and I came across one exhibitor from our ground who was studying turnips with much interest, and who, on being asked if he had taken a prize for them, said modestly that he had " taken a first in beets and a first in carrots, and couldn't hope to do more." He went on to explain that his success with the beets and carrots was all the more wonderful in that he had only been able to give Sundays to them. I felt aggrieved that our Landscape Gardener, who I may remind readers had fringed his seedlings bed with pansies and grown nasturtiums round his pick de Terre tool-house, was only " Highly Commended." I was told by " allottees," however, that the prize-winner had been on his allotment at dawn and worked by moonlight and spent every Saturday afternoon and all day Sunday on the ground, and, said they with resignation, what could any one do against such a super-allottee ! But whether we took prizes or not, whether we exhibited or not, we all radiated a certain pride and satisfaction as we stood surrounded by all this pleasant moult of many months' effort. The Committee had been so moved by it that it burst forth into quotation:- " Can virtue hide itself Is it a world to hide virtues in ? "
And the band played, and we all felt very patriotic and worthy citizens.
Nominally tip harvest is reaped, but actually it is not so. J. and I are still very busy digging our potatoes. At first when we began on the Duke of Yorks we were a little disappointed, for, compared with a man who mid he had had forty potatoes to the root, our results were small. We have come to the conclusion, however, that is some respects " allottees " are like fishermen. We now think be meant forty potatoes to a row. So far, the King Edwards have given the best results. As a grower J. is bound to be proud of the sacks of pink smooth-faced potatoes, but as a devotee of the rough-skinned floury variety he is a little depressed. With all the fervour of the searcher for the Ideal, he is now planning to plant Arran Chief next year, which, he seems to think, has a leas waxy reputation than King Edward. In spite of the appalling rumour that the Blight was marching on London with a rapidity worthy of Kluck in his brilliant past, we have found no sign of disease among our crop, nor have we heard of it in the crops of our neighbours. Digging potatoes is very exciting. You never know what a root will bring forth—perhaps four, perhaps fourteen, perhaps the mythical forty ! As J. remarked the other day, it is like digging for treasure, and as we start on a new row I am inclined to shout with Stevenson :—
" Fifteen men on the Dead Man's Chest, Yo.ho-ho. and a bottle of rum ! "
Or again, it is like a game of cards, with the delightful uncertainty of what the next hand will prove to be. " Nap ! " say I, as J. hovers with a fork over a fine upstanding plant—and it proves a " Dlisre" ! We had an agitating experience with our turnips. A friend who inspected them some weeks ago pronounced them, to our dismay, not to ho turnips at all. What, then, were they ? The friend did not know, could not even hazard a guess. I suggested swedes or mangel-vrursols. I took some home and cooked them—they were pale yellow and tasted like a mild swede. Nobody seems to Irnow what they really are, but J. continues to plant them out and I cook them, end both of us oat them, and the name we leave unsettled. We give some to our friends and ask them to guess what they aro. It is quite an amusing game. There was a delightfully smooth cream-coloured thing at the Show which seemed to be a yellow turnip, but ours is not like that. Our great disappointment has been the onions. J. bestowed such oaro on the planting of them that we felt that, even in a bad year for onions, ours might be expected to make some show, but they have been our disgrace. The F.:11., who took much lees trouble, has had quite a fair crop. Ours had each charming names, too—Bedford- shire Champions and White Tripoli. Our Committee certainly showed wonderfully sympathetic insight when quoting Emerson's aphorism " The virtue is in the struggle, and not in the prize." It is extremely d propos in the case of our onions, and we hug our virtue if we cannot hug our Champions. Our carrots are rather feeble, but they were put In late, and not even the most cheerful carrot can be expected to flourish with such a handicap. J.'s greatest glory has been the beans and peas, which in all varieties have been a great success. I cannot induce J. to take much interest in my artichokes, but I weed them and encourage them and they promise well_ When we have—to use what is I believe the technical expression—lifted the potatoes, the allotment will be tidied up for the winter. The cabbages and Brussels sprouts are coming on well, and J.'s seedlings aro growing sturdily. The parsnips and winter spinach have been planted out, and the endive, regarded somewhat as a freak by our neighbours, looks hardy. We still have a little turf to lift ; then the bank at the end, at present but a sorry sight, will be made symmetrical—at least so I gather from J.—the rubbish burnt, and our allotment developed into a thing of beauty as of utility. With the shortening days comes the close of the idyllic side of our labours. No more will the F.M. drink cocoa as he sits on his turf bank ; no more will the Super-Fork Man sit in his bean bower with his wife ; no more will the Landscape Gardener pensively pace his pansy-bordered onion beds.
What the contribution of the allotments to the nation's larder has been statisticians alone can tell us. But no Report by the Board of Agriculture can ever set forth the ardour, the keen interest, the delight that went to make the statistics possible. The " allottees " have obeyed Carlyle's precept, so aptly quoted by our Exhibition programme : " Produce, Produce, though it be only an infinitesimal part, produce it," and with whatever self- denial the work was started, it has become a labour of loco.
E. B.
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