My dear Alan, my love, it’s so good to sit with you again at last, even if the ground feels a long way down. I haven’t been here nearly as much as I would have liked, but it’s been a beast of a winter, as you’ll know. I’m glad I got those bulbs in last autumn – the purple of the crocuses is just lovely growing over you as they are. Not just pushing up daisies, but other beauties too! I still think of how much you loved the spring when I see the new growth. Can’t wait for the tulips to emerge. Though Alan, I must confess there’s a reason I came to talk to you now – there’s been such strange goings on over at the allotments and I felt I wanted to talk to you about it all, check if I’m doing the right thing, you know.

You see, there was this young man who’ve had a plot on the site for some time. Strange looking lad, to the minds of ordinary folk, anyway. A whole lot of extras – loops from his ears and nose, funny pictures across his dark skin. Hard to tell if he was white or not. Not that it matters, of course. I didn’t mind him there, but others had thoughts not all that positive. Didn’t like the lack of neat rows, they said. Still, having done the site rep job for as long as I have, I knows how you sees some strange folks come and go. And the Council officer didn’t seem to mind his plot being as it was, so I left him be.

I showed him the site in the beginning – had some nice seeming young woman with him – Caterina, her name was – who put her name down on the lease and added him as her co-worker. I can’t say I’ve hardly seen her since, but the young man – name of summat a bit unheard of – Zakia, never was sure how to pronounce it – anyway, he seemed to be there an awful lot. Kept funny hours – though I keep funny hours too, of course, so that’s how I knew. It struck me that he was always busying away, and that he rarely said much. Whenever I went down to the site at the crack of dawn, he’d be there already, digging about and such. His patch didn’t look too bad – if you didn’t mind the unconventional. A lot of fruit trees and fruit bushes – barely a vegetable in sight. I’d think to myself, what on earth is he going to do with all that fruit? I wondered if I should remind him of the rules – can’t sell your produce, non-commercial purposes only. But I never felt quite comfortable enough to properly say hello. He’d raise his bushy eyebrows in my direction by way of acknowledgement when he saw me, and I’d give him a little wave. Could never really tell his expression beneath all that facial hair.

I did receive some grief for leaving him be. But bless their souls, they was always giving grief one way or another. It goes with the territory. You know Alan, I still likes my role as site rep, even though it do take up quite a bit of time, but it puts you at the heart of things, it does, especially being retired, and well, you know – without you around Alan, I feel I need it. They’ve mostly been happy with how I does everything. You know I’ve always been practical, but other people never guess. They must just think ‘drab older woman,’ if they think anything at all. To be expected really. I do miss how you and me would do all those things together over the years; tinker about with the car and the pipes and the carpentry and what have you. Down on the site, all the bits and pieces that need doing, well, they keep my hand in – gate locks rusted up, water butts dripping, bits of fence broken down by the wind or the bloody local vandals. The sorts of things that nobody else ever has in mind to do, everyone being so busy on their own plot.

It was Valerie what started the gossip – as you well know, it always seems to come from her first. Yes, she’s still there, must be going on twenty five years now she’s been striding around with her big bosom and booming voice, making it seem like she owns the place, always time for a yarn about who’s doing what, and still even more of a stickler for the rules than I am. I know she were never your favourite, but she’s a good sort really and she still always shares out her prime produce. Those lovely big carrots and parsnips – still the best root veg I’ve seen.

Anyway, I do digress as usual, but the point is, I was down on my knees one morning, fiddling about with this filter on the compost toilet – some newfangled folk built it and then of course they disappeared off – nice to have a toilet on site but that blinking urine filter – well you’d never think it could be so fiddly but it’s always coming off and flopping about and getting clogged up with sawdust and muck. Sure those folk didn’t think about that when they put it in. Then suddenly, as I’m wrangling best I can with the thing, Valerie’s voice comes straight clean rasping into my ear like a dart; “He’s up to something!” Couldn’t think who she was talking about at first, but I soon realised it was the young fella. Said he was digging some great big area on his plot. We went over so I could take a look and he weren’t nowhere to be seen, but she were right; it was in quite a state, with clods and earth lumped up all over the place. Was summat to be struck by. Valerie’s words were clattering away I do recall, but I couldn’t take them in much, trying to get my head round it. There was nothing much to be done at that point though, so I told Valerie I’d keep an eye and went back to scraping sawdust out the toilet filter.

Next thing we knew, the young man had a kind of work party on the plot, not just one but several. Surprised me that he had all those friends, I have to say. They made quite a clamour, but reticent they were when I tried to talk to them. Brought all sorts there too, pallets and planks and cladding – turned out they was helping him build a shed pretty much out of old tat – looked like it had been hauled out of a skip! Quite the mess it looked when it was all strewn about all over, and Valerie and co mumbled many times more than once that it couldn’t be right, but when I took it up with him about needing permission for a shed, he said that Caterina – the one who signed the lease int first place and hadn’t seen almost nothing of her since – well, she’d already got permission from the main Allotments Office, and I checked it out and he were right, so not much I could do about it really.

Have to say though, by the time it was finished, it looked alright really – I was actually quite impressed what can be done with what’s been chucked out, and they painted the cladding, made a reasonable roof that looked to keep out the rain, nice little porch, even hung some baskets of flowers from the beams. Good fit on the guttering and downpipes, fitted up with some fine water butts – you would’ve approved Alan, but nobody else was keen in the slightest. They’d tut away when they went by with their barrows and watering cans, stop and shake their heads, say it was quite the eyesore, have a bit of of a natter about it. Tried to pull me into it sometimes, they did. They’d say, “What do you think about this then Marge?” and such things, but I’d just reply, “Long as the plot rules are being followed, I’ve no mind to interfere.”

Thing was though, as time went on, I saw the young man less and less. His plot did start to get quite wild at times, bit of a tall tangle, lots of weeds and grass. I know how hard it can be – it’s not easy keeping a plot going – nature won’t stay neat for long, so I give the tenants some leeway. Though a few times I was right on the verge of issuing a ‘Notice to Remedy,’ but he seemed to turn up in the nick of time, give it a good tidy up – cut the grass and haul out the worst of the weeds, pick whatever had grown – herbs and berries mostly, some apples and pears from later in the season. Then I wouldn’t see him again for a good stretch, maybe months, though I didn’t think to keep track.

I hadn’t caught sight of him since the autumn just gone, but that was usual, being that you don’t see hide nor hair of a lot of the plot-holders during the winter months. Then a couple of weeks back, just when there was a few hints of sunshine at long last, I see Valerie flapping towards me, headscarf and wax jacket and wellies and all, waving a newspaper my way. And she says, “I knew it Marge! I knew he was a wrong sort.” His mugshot was right there, with maybe a dozen others, together called, ‘The Ringleaders,’ and the headline says, ‘Ecoterrorists jailed for leaving thousands in the dark and in danger of loss of life.’ Somehow they’d managed to shut down a power station by breaking in and occupying the chimney flue.

The case they gave to the court was they was doing it for the climate, and the article made it sound like some Tory MP had got right up their nose with his climate denial, ’cause they figured which power station was sending electric to the region his house were in and shut it down. The court weren’t hearing none of their justifications about the state of the planet and such, and seems the judge made an example of them and sent them down for a good five years.

I weren’t sure what to think when I saw the article, so I didn’t say much to Valerie except, “Well I never.” But afterwards, I started to thinking, might be an idea to take a look in that shed. I waited till Valerie weren’t about no more, nor no-one else. I’d never really looked at the door to his shed before and couldn’t quite believe it when I saw it – great big metal chain, and a bit of a peculiar sticker on the door – said, ‘Dare to dream’ with a flower growing through some cracks. I gave it a go prising off the hinge with an old crow bar I had kicking about, but did no good. So I thought to myself, who could give me a hand that wouldn’t get too over-involved? And I called Maria, even though I know she’s still mighty hurt by what happened down on the allotment site.

You’ll recall she was the one from Uganda – strong as an ox and could grow five times as much as anyone else, so when a couple of plots came up and there happened to be no waiting list, and no one who already had a plot showed much interest, Maria snapped them up. She never did nothing wrong; them’s the rules, but trouble was, the other plot-holders got jealous or thought it was unfair and made all sorts of remarks in Maria’s direction about immigrants taking the best of things and such. I kept telling them it were all fair and square, but it did carry on and in the end Maria said she was leaving. I tried to get her to stay, but she’d had enough – thought they was being racist to her, which I don’t know if they was or if they was just being unreasonable. 

Anyway, I don’t think I never told you about what happened after Maria left the site, but it all turned out well in the end, because Maria got together with her own lawyer, Alvita, lovely woman, Carribean, managed to win Maria’s immigration case, which was why Maria came over in the first place, due to her proclivities as it were, and now she’s got status as a refugee. Alvita done mighty well for herself in life and’s got this big house and huge garden, so Maria was like a pig in muck, growing all sorts, lemons and grapes in the conservatory and all.

Goodness, listen to me going off track all over the place again; point is, as you know, Maria and me, we have managed to keep our friendship up, and knowing her as I do, I thought she’d have some discretion if I called her about the shed. We went over at first light one morning, and Maria cracked open that door like she was snapping a wishbone. We was both gobsmacked when we looked inside; I saw Maria’s eyes pop out like they was fried eggs, and mine must’ve done the same. Didn’t know what it all was – all sorts of locks and chains, sledgehammers, funny looking cans of chemicals, great big pile of fertilizer bags and god knows what else. What had that strange young man got in mind to do with all of that?

I don’t know what my thinking was Alan, but next thing I do is slam that door shut and say, “Maria, is it okay if we keep this just between you and me?” and Maria looks at me all solemn and says, “Whatever you think best, Marge,” and we set to fixing the lock up again. Thing is, nobody till now – not the police, nor the courts nor no-one else, has taken no interest in who that shed belongs to – I mean, it’s only a shed after all, and the Allotment Office at the Council ain’t bothered about who the co-worker is on someone’s plot. Something about the whole thing Alan – I mean, I know I do like to follow the rules, but I just felt the young man wasn’t completely wrong, and I didn’t want to land him in a whole lot more trouble than he was in already. So I’m leaving it for now till I think what’s to be done. I’ve written to the young man’s Caterina, told her she needs to come and speak to me urgently, but haven’t heard back as yet.

Funny thing is, the other day there was a power cut – went on for hours it did – and left me without any means to cook, only having electric in the house and all, and suddenly I thinks to myself, being practical minded as I am, there’s something in that shed I do believe can be used as a stove, and I goes over and sneaks in. I started to realise what some of the other things might be when I saw them – I could see one could be used for cooking in the sun, something that looked like could be used for cleaning water to make it okay to drink – things for if we ain’t got supplies to our own homes, I suppose. I thought no-one was about and so I takes the stove out and onto my own plot, started a fire in it seeing as it’s the season when fires are still permitted on site, and cooked up some leeks and chard from me plot that survived the winter along with a load of sausages from the freezer that I had some concern were going to defrost before the power came on again. I have to say, Alan, it gave me quite a thrill! Then I jumps out of my skin when I hear, “Nice rocket stove, Marge!” Was only the young chap from the plot next to mine, and he didn’t seem to suspect nothing, so I gave him some of what I’d cooked up and we sat down and had a nice chat. 

So Alan, I think I must be going crazy, don’t you? Not really like me at all, but there you have it. My dearest, how much I’d love to hear your thoughts… 

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Image credit: http://www.activedistribution.org (the image is from a sticker I found blowing about in the street).

Thanks to Sue Creasey and Rachael Goddard-Ribstein for valuable editing help