大象传媒

To a six-year old, a war is something for the grown-ups to talk and fuss about. To me, it was (almost) exciting 鈥� I remember walking home from school three-or-so years into the war and thinking, 鈥淚t鈥檚 not much of a war; we haven鈥檛 had an air raid or anything for ages.鈥�
My earliest memory of the hostilities is being out in the street playing with neighbours鈥� kids while the Mums were gathered together chatting 鈥� no doubt about 鈥榯he war鈥�. Then, a whole bunch of airplanes flew over. We kids all cheered and waved; suddenly the air raid siren wailed its warning and the bombs began to fall on Croydon Aerodrome! There really was a war on!
I cannot remember whether my Dad got an allotment 鈥� his plot he called it 鈥� as part of 鈥淒ig for Victory鈥� or before the war. It was always 鈥榯here鈥� up at Grove Park by the Southern Railway tracks. It certainly sustained us through the war and after just the way the chicken house and the rabbit hutches at the bottom of the garden did.
Our allotment was one of many. How many 鈥榬ods鈥� long it was is long gone from my memory 鈥� it just seemed enormous to a kid who had been told to do some weeding. My Dad grew all kinds of stuff there but mainly vegetables and soft fruits. He did grow a few flowers 鈥� wall flowers and fox gloves come to mind; a bunch of these on a Sunday for Mum when he harvested that day鈥檚 and the coming week鈥檚 veggies. The big difference between then and now is that 鈥渢o everything there is a season鈥� was truly the way things were. No lettuce in January!
Among the varieties were potatoes, peas, pole and bush beans 鈥� but no broad beans because they got a 鈥榖light鈥� that killed other stuff 鈥� carrots, parsnips, onions, shallots (the finest thing for a real pickled onion), marrows, celery (he hilled it up to make the stalks white), salad stuff like lettuce, radishes, spring onions/scallions (tomatoes were grown in the front garden at home), cabbage, cauliflower (you tied up the leaves to make the 鈥榟ead鈥� nice and white) and Brussels sprouts. The sprouts, like the parsnips, were 鈥榖est鈥� when there鈥檇 been 鈥渁 bit of a frost鈥�. Dad even grew corn 鈥� pig food some of his neighbouring gardeners sarcily called it 鈥� we called it Indian corn. We liked to pick an ear and eat it raw 鈥� we were far from knowing the delights of corn-on-the-cob. It was so sweet and a welcome substitute for the candy/sweeties you couldn鈥檛 get without some coupons. Most of the corn was used to feed the chickens.
The fruit bushes were the source for many of our 鈥榓fters鈥� on Sunday. Black and Red berries, black and red currants (Mum turned these into a very passable sherry type wine), gooseberries, rhubarb, but no strawberries 鈥� Mum didn鈥檛 like them! Mind you, we did get a few from the 鈥榦ld lady鈥檚鈥� plot just across the way from Dad鈥檚. That鈥檚 all she grew there and we never saw her but the fruit disappeared, anyway. We had a couple of apple trees in the back garden at home 鈥� a 鈥榗ooker鈥� and an eating apple; we also scrumped the odd pear from St. Augustine鈥檚 orchard which was next to the allotment 鈥� you had to watch out for the priests though.
As each of them was harvested in its season, Mum was kept busy bottling, preserving, jam making 鈥� Kilner jars come to mind. Until sugar became to scarce, she made fruit and parsnip wine to be 鈥榤atured鈥� in 鈥渟tone ginger beer鈥� screw top bottles.
She also preserved eggs (Isinglass?) for those who were registered with her for their egg ration. This gave her an allocation of oatmeal and bran for the hens鈥� mash. Many a time in the winter or when the hens were not laying we delivered an egg or two to these folk while we had to go without.
My wife 鈥� a born-and-bred Canadian 鈥� recalls that here in Toronto, her paternal grandfather had a 鈥減lot鈥� 鈥� his 鈥淰ictory Garden鈥�. He had a beautiful back garden dedicated to his prize winning roses. His 鈥減lot鈥� was in an undeveloped (at that time) area of Toronto鈥檚 famous Mount Pleasant Cemetery. Her other grandfather was a butcher 鈥� vegetables had their place but it was adjacent to a fine piece of beef!

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