COMPOST

COMPOST

Thelma Stevens had been widowed for ten years before she met Jack.
During that time she had at first grieved, then accepted , and finally settled contentedly into widowhood. She had continued working for the Local Government Office until it was time to retire, and then did so, gladly.
Thelma had a daughter, Jess, and on one of her monthly visits she said: “Mother, you really ought to get out more, meet new people. Ted and I are worried about you. ”
Thelma had protested. “I am perfectly happy as I am, and I don’t want to meet new people. I like being on my own. “
“Try something different. What sort of groups are there in the Village?”
“Well, there’s the Drama Society…”
“No, definitely not. They’re always cliquey and end up having affairs with each other.”
“The Writing Group? .” suggested Thelma.
“Well, that’s a possibility I suppose.” Jess considered this option for a moment. Then she said “No, I don’t think so, somehow. You don’t even like writing letters!”
What about “French Conversation?” Thelma suggested. Jess laughed, “Not really a linguist are you Mother. I remember those holidays in France as a child…. ”
“Well, there is The Gardening Society.” Thelma said.
“Ah, just the thing. You might learn a lot. And Ted and I haven’t time to help you. With both of us working full time, and the children, and Ted’s Choir … And you must agree the garden is a mess. You really have let it go ”
“I like it wild anyway, “ said Thelma.
Jess snorted. “You’ll end up like the Sleeping Beauty. We ‘ll have to hack our way through the undergrowth to get to the front door if you don’t do something about it. ”
So Thelma, thinking “anything for a quiet life”, joined the Gardening Society. And found that she quite enjoyed the meetings, , though her own garden still remained wild because that was how she liked it.
At the first meeting of the Spring Term, Jack Bruce joined the Society. He had recently moved to the village, and introduced himself as a keen gardener. And possibly because they were the two newest members of the group, the soon became quite friendly.
One pleasant Spring evening, walking back from the meeting, Thelma invited him in for a drink.
“Dear me!” he said, walking up the garden path and elbowing his way past a giant fuchsia bush. “This has all got a bit out of hand hasn’t it?”
“I rather like it that way.”
“Oh well, each to his own!”
“I would be grateful for a hand with the hedges, though.”
“Gladly, dear lady. I’ll come round tomorrow and get started.”
But once the hedges were trimmed, Jack started making suggestions about the rest of the garden.” That hebe is in quite the wrong place, you know. Far too near the lilac. It really ought to come out.”
“I like them close together.”
“Oh well, as you please. While I’m here I’ll just trim that philadelphus”.
“Oh but –“ She was too late; he had already made off to attack the “blue tits paradise” as Thelma called it . And in no time at all it was reduced to exactly the same height as the neighbouring hedge.
The weeks went by. Jack came almost every day and imposed his will on Thelma’s garden. It gradually became tidier and tidier, its lawns mown to billiard-table perfection; its borders trimmed; its bedding plants and roses dead-headed and the hanging baskets regularly turned for all-round exposure to the sun.
“I’ll get you a few sacks of well-rotted manure from the stables” he said one day. “There’s nothing like plenty of compost. Some of the soil has become quite poor you know.”
Thelma said nothing.
On her next visit, Jess was enthusiastic. “The garden looks great, Mother. You see, joining the Gardening Society was a good idea of mine. Look how beautifully neat and tidy it is.”
Thelma looked at the manicured lawn, the well-shaped apple tree, the hedges, each exactly the same height, she sighed. “I really preferred it as it was before.” Jess just smiled indulgently.
Autumn approached The contents of the garden shed, ( four different kinds of weed-killer, lawn food, compost enhancer, wood preservative etc.) were ranged on shelves with regimental precision. The compost heap was demolished and a new plastic container (with plenty of “well-rotted” in it) was put in its place.
“But what about the hedgehogs that live there?” Thelma cried. “Where will they go now?”
Jack remained undisturbed. “Oh, they’ll find somewhere to live. “
“Poor little things!”
“ Nasty little things, full of fleas.”
“But they’re good for the garden. They eat slugs!”
“Nothing wrong with slug pellets! And these have got to come out!” He wrenched the nasturtiums from the rockery.
“But they’re still flowering!” Thelma was close to tears.
“Untidy! Got to go!”
Thelma said nothing, but went indoors to make some tea. Later she asked “Do you think I might have a vegetable plot, Jack?”
“Why not? There’s plenty of room behind the fruit trees you know.”
“Yes, I think that would be good. Would you help?”
“Of course, my dear. Must get it well prepared before the frosts come. I’ll dig in plenty of compost and then we can get planting in the Spring.”
Thelma just smiled sweetly.

The weeks passed. At the Garden Society Meeting, Thelma asked Peggy, the Secretary, if she had any news of Jack, as she hadn’t seen him for some time.
“I was going to ask you the same question.” said Peggy.
“He isn’t answering his phone, or his doorbell.”
“Perhaps he’s visiting friends, or family.”
“I’m sure he would have told me.”
Peggy patted Thelma’s hand. “I’ll send my husband round,” “Don’t worry, I’m sure there’s a simple explanation.”
But Jack seemed to have vanished. His central heating was still on timer, his clothes were still in the wardrobe, his toothpaste and shaving gear tidily arranged on the bathroom shelf. The police were called in. They questioned Thelma closely, as it seemed she was the last person to have seen him. But she was unable to help them, and after some weeks they confessed themselves baffled.

Meanwhile, Thelma’s garden began to restore itself to its pleasantly unkempt state.
“I see the garden’s going wild again Mother.” remarked Jess.
“Yes. Lovely isn’t it?” Thelma dared Jess to disagree. But shejust sniffed. “That pampas grass in the new bed is shooting up.”
“Yes,” said Thelma, smiling. “It was well composted you see .”

the end