Run, Rabbit, Run!

My father retired in the spring of 1981 to live in a house with a tiny garden in the small British seaside town of Birchington. Since he always loved working with soil, he was able to rent an allotment to nurture from the local council.

Most days he would drive over to his plot and tend to his carrots, beans, tomatoes and radishes with great enthusiasm. He had a small shed situated on the edge of his allotment and this contained his well-worn garden tools and an old wicker chair that he would sit on to gaze at the results of his hard work.

Unfortunately, by the early 1990s, his strength was diminishing. Although the other gardeners were sympathetic at first, they complained to the council when his previously immaculate allotment began to show signs of decay, and he received a notice to vacate the land.

He brought all his tools back home, left the shed and wicker chair for the new gardener and never returned to his allotment again. His health deteriorated after that and he sadly passed away not long after.

But at the time of his passing, an unusual event occurred in this coastal town. Birchington had apparently never seen mass sightings of rabbits or hares before. However, on this particular evening, several hundred rabbits arrived en masse and ate their way through every vegetable, flower and leaf in the 50-plus allotments.

When the gardeners arrived the following day, there was nothing left except stubble. The council decided to close the allotments. Although people searched for the rabbits to euthanise them, none were ever found.

Perhaps these rabbits sympathised with my dad. Some people believed that since he was such an animal lover, he sent a message from beyond the grave. ‘Run, Rabbit, Run’ was one of his favourite wartime songs.