Room is now tidier, but at a brutal cost

THERE WAS every chance it would end in tears, and if not, in an untimely departure. The elder daughter, in residence at the moment, has a passion for tidying up and cleaning rooms. More of a purge than a gentle assessment of what should be retained and what not.

She descended one day last week on what is quaintly labelled the boot room – home to shoes, wellingtons, outdoor jackets, waterproofs, thick socks, gloves and associated elements of our family sartorial history.

There is also a footbath, a fully stocked bookcase in transit, dog leads and a dog cage, temporary home to a 10-month-old pup recovering from minor surgery.

The elder daughter was adamant the room required a major clean up.

An old Barbour jacket – the fourth I have owned – had a few items in the inside pockets. And why not? It is a working jacket.

Some garden twine; an old cloth with a smear of oil for cleaning tools; some empty seed packets; a few nails, and white labels – all vital parts of the gardener’s armoury.

And yes, the stitching had been better, and admittedly one of the pockets was partly dislodged from the mother jacket. But that is not a reason for throwing it out and bringing a long and fulfilled career to an abrupt end.

The answer was yes – it had to go. And so too the orange boiler suit just because the left leg turn up was a bit frayed. After all it was never for wearing at a graduation or a funeral.

“And why,” she demanded, “do you have so many pairs of wellingtons? You can’t possibly wear them all!”

“You can’t condemn a keen gardener and walker who lives on a farm for wanting a change of footwear. Different outdoor tasks require a range of appropriate footwear,” I said.

More fell in the onslaught. Questions were asked about a pair of black brogues without laces. “Because the pup has forensically removed them and I haven’t replaced them. Anyway I got married in those shoes.”

“But that was twenty eight years ago,” came the unsympathetic reply.

That’s the trouble with younger folk, they are easily seduced by the ephemeral, and they don’t buy shoes and clothing to last.

Boots, wellingtons and Barbour jackets (before the current fad) are part of my history. They have a story to tell and they reflect journeys in life that deserve understanding and respect.

I could tell I was losing the battle. Ghastly black bags were packed with the dispossessed. A couple of good, if tight, quilted body warmers were out – great gardening companions on snell February days expelled.

I was accused of being a sentimental, illdisciplined hoarder, encouraging clutter and disregarding good housekeeping.

To be fair the elder daughter keeps her own room in an ordered fashion. But some items are jettisoned for no other reason than they are no longer acceptable in a crazy, fashion-driven world.

The boot room is now tidier. But at a brutal cost. Memory, time lines, sentiment and association all gone. What a price to pay for harmlessly filling a little space.