Tales from Titchmarsh
To escape the big, bad world, Alan retreats to his garden and, with the help of Mr Dickens, reflects that life isn’t so bad after all
Alan has a Dickens of a Christmas
At a time when things seem so volatile, the gardener can remind him or herself that, with a little care on our part, the world will outlast the tragedies that loom large every day
A Good-Humoured Christmas Chapter…’ so begins chapter 28 of Charles Dickens’ novel The Pickwick Papers, which, traditionalist that I am, I take down from my shelves every year at the beginning of December and sit in a comfortable chair to disappear into an altogether more comfortable world. It is comfortable because it remains at a safe distance, and while earnest realists might tell me there was nothing cosy and safe about Charles Dickens’ England when it came to the poor, the malnourished, the criminal, and the divide between the haves and have-nots, you will allow me, I hope, my Victorian Christmas escapism. The Pickwick Papers
puts me in the right mood for the festivities because it sets the scene so perfectly, and reminds me that the ancient oaks and beech trees that tower above us in the countryside, and the louring clouds of yew and mountains of red-berried holly in churchyards are, like as not, the same plants that populated that Victorian world. They are a reassuring constant presence in a life that moves at a greater pace than ever before. Surely, at least once a year I can indulge myself with a little escapism, rather than having to read the tweets of assorted personalities whose intimate revelations wouldn’t have quite the same reassuring effect. You could argue from this confession that I am a dinosaur, but that would be to overlook the pleasures that mankind has endured since time immemorial. To regard them as dispensable now that the age of phone and internet technology has taken over would be ludicrous. They become, if anything, even more meaningful and treasured as the years go by, which is why, at Christmas, I remind myself of the simple delights of gathering holly and other evergreens to decorate our Christmas table or, as Mr Dickens would have it, ‘the Christmas board’. ‘Dad’s table setting’ has become something of a joke in our house, but I get such pleasure out of arranging – down the middle of our long kitchen table – a river of nuts and satsumas, ribbontied bundles of cinnamon and sprigs of holly, through which erupt candlesticks and pine cones. “We’ll never eat them all!” is the plaintive cry, and while that may be true of the nuts, there are satsuma skins to clear up after every meal, and my snaking river has to be tidied up and replenished so that it is welcoming at the next repast. I like to prowl the garden in dew-laden wellies to count the plants that are in flower, and these will invariably include an unseasonal rose or two, as well as sarcococca – the Christmas box with its whiskery, talcum powder-scented flowers – a clutch of hardy cyclamen, and other bits and bobs that shrug off the worst of the weather. I love no moment in the year more than that stroll on Christmas Day, whatever the weather, when for one day – and one day only – the world has stopped, the air is silent, the shops have shut and most folk are tucked up indoors sleeping off their overindulgence. It is a moment to savour, when the wintry world says, “Look at me and what I have to offer”, and it lasts only until Boxing Day morning, and the rough and tumble of the Christmas sales. It is a moment to plan, scheme and dream, to look at the bits of my garden that don’t work. For the next few months – the only time when I can move faster than nature – I will try to get ahead. I won’t, of course, but being a gardener, I am blessed with that eternal optimism that tells me next year will be better than the last. It is comforting to believe that. Comforting – that word again. But then at a time when things seem so volatile and challenging in the big, wide world, the gardener can remind him or herself of the true reality: the world that, with a little care on our part, will outlast the political tumult and the global tragedies that loom large every day. The garden provides us with proportion and perspective. In your garden this December, pause for a while, and remember that growing things and leaving your patch of earth in better health than it was when you arrived are ample rent for your stay. Happy Christmas!