Tales from Titchmarsh
Why is working with one’s hands, from woodcraft to gardening, so often under-valued? Alan celebrates the joy dexterity can bring
It saddens me that we place so little value on practical skills compared with those of a cerebral nature
Ever since I can remember, I’ve derived great satisfaction from working with my hands. I was, as a child, practical rather than academic, and while I like to think I’ve been a late developer when it comes to the latter, the former has never deserted me. It saddens me that we place so little value on practical skills compared with those of a cerebral nature – unless the loo or the fridge goes wrong and we’re desperate for a knight in shining armour in the form of a plumber or an electrician. And then all we do is complain about the price! While intellectual pursuits might keep our brains sharp, there’s something wonderfully fulfilling about achievements accomplished with dexterity. At this year’s Chatsworth Country Fair, I met a man who had been an engineer with the RAC. In itself, this is a commendable choice of career, but he found the pressure of the job hard to bear, and after two heart attacks he decided to chuck it in and earn a living doing what he had always loved doing – working with wood. His stand at the show contained variations on a simple theme: he made chopping boards – long, thin ones for tapas, antipasti and cheeses, and shorter ones for food preparation. They were made from oak, wych elm and other wonderfully grained woods, each one still betraying something of its woodland origin by way of a wavy edge or a knot or two, but beautifully finished – sanded and sealed with coconut oil. They were tactile in the extreme – it was impossible to resist stroking them and running your fingers over their crafted contours. The chopping boards weren’t expensive – between £20 and £45 – and some of them were great chunks of tree that gave pleasure simply by being there. Once you had placed them on your kitchen worktop, you wouldn’t want to move them very often. The man himself was bearlike in physique with a bushy beard and a bushman’s hat, and his face revealed the personality of a man who has a job he loves and who is frequently approached by his customers with the words: “Do you think you could…?” or “Would it be possible to make…?”. He was, said his partner, never happier than when in his shed with his wood. Lucky, lucky man, to have found his true niche in life. There are those, of course, who claim not to have a practical bone in their body – who need assistance even to change a light bulb. How I pity them, for they are deprived of those simple satisfactions that come from a job well done and with something to show for their efforts. This is why gardening is such a joy – even from such simple and repetitive jobs as mowing the lawn, digging a patch of ground or clipping a topiary specimen, there is pleasure to be had and satisfaction to be gained. Whether that satisfaction comes from growing our own food or simply from beautifying a patch of ground, it can give rise to an inner peace with more depth than that achieved by academic pursuits. The fact that some of us are born with a natural ability to be ‘good with our hands’ is a state of affairs worth celebrating. It’s also something that should be encouraged whenever it’s spotted in a child. Manual workers may not be paid as much as those who earn their living by intellectual means, but without them our world – and our lives – would fall apart. When I’ve spent too long in front of a television camera or a laptop crafting words, I take myself out into the garden or off into the potting shed to work with my hands. I’ll take a few cuttings, plant a few perennials, sow a few seeds or clip some topiary, and if I really need to let my mind switch off, I’ll mow the lawn and concentrate on creating the stripes. The inner strength, solace and satisfaction that these practical pursuits provide gives my life a sense of balance and keeps me in touch with reality. My dexterity, such as it is, reminds me that when mind and body work together they provide me with a far greater sense of fulfilment than thought processes alone. Perhaps that’s why I’ve always treasured my grandfather’s spade – as a symbol of where I truly belong.