Ted The Shed, Chapter 1

When my Dad finally makes it to the top of the allotment waiting list, aged 87, he is offered an unpromising jungle of a plot. He tells me that I've always dreamed of having an allotment and a ten-year gardening relationship begins, full of resentment, disappointment, and potatoes that grow big enough to appear on the internet.

Ted the Shed tells the story of that relationship. In Chapter 1, we go to view the plot and after a week of waiting, are allowed to begin work on it. I do hope you enjoy it!

Transcript

Hello there,

My name's Mandy.

Welcome to Ted the Shed.

Ted the Shed tells the story of my dad and the allotment he got when he was aged 87.

The book was published in the summer of 2024 and tonight I'll be reading you chapter one which is called Quids In.

But before we start,

Please go right on ahead and make yourself really comfortable.

Are you sitting comfortably?

Then I'll begin.

Late April 2010,

Quids In.

It all begins the day dad rings me on the landline with shocking news.

He is the only person we know who still uses the landline,

So we keep it despite the expense.

We've been offered an allotment,

He shouts without saying hello.

I understand his surprise.

He put his name on the parish council's waiting list on his 80th birthday nearly seven years ago.

He had probably forgotten all about it.

It was just after he and mum moved north to be near me.

What do you mean we?

I say,

Glancing out of the kitchen window at the tiny backyard of the house I share with Mr Mandy Sutter.

It is spring and dandelions have come up in all my plant pots.

That is the level of gardening I am comfortable with.

He ignores my question.

There's only one snag,

He says.

It hasn't been cultivated for 10 years or more.

It's very overgrown.

That does sound like a snag,

I say,

Aiming for gentle discouragement.

Never mind the fact that he is now prone to funny turns,

Has a bad toe that makes it difficult to walk,

And has never had an allotment before,

Just a vegetable patch in his Cotswolds garden that brought him nothing but misery.

But the fervour of a possible new venture is on him.

Dad loves nothing more than a project.

We'll go and take a look at it,

Shall we?

The plot is in a newly reclaimed area next to a well-established allotment community on the edge of our small town.

It has been funded by lottery money to try and reduce the 180-strong waiting list.

Dad tells me this as we walk and stumble the maze of narrow uneven paths,

Passing impressive examples of recycling.

Ancient ceramic baths planted with potatoes,

A greenhouse made entirely of windows,

A shed made entirely of doors.

How do you know which one to open to go in?

Asks Dad.

Rotting planks standing,

Leaning and lying for no apparent reason at all.

There are animals.

Chickens cluck,

Geese squawk,

And goats stand silently chewing.

We reach our potential plot.

I stare at a chest-high thicket of nettles,

Two quite sizeable trees,

And something I will later find described on the Royal Horticultural Society's website as a major weed problem,

Himalayan balsam.

I am mildly horrified.

Faced with the reality,

Dad will decide to turn the offer down,

Surely.

He stands teetering slightly.

Looks like a lot of hard work,

I say.

He grins.

That's the beauty of it.

What?

It's in such a state,

They're letting us have it free for the first year.

It's a beautiful spot,

Isn't it?

The river is just on the other side of that fence,

And is that a blackcurrant bush in the middle?

I peer,

But see only the powdery green hue of flowering nettles.

Dad,

Taken out of school at 14 and set to work because his own father had lost his job,

Is thrifty to a fault,

And I am sure his appreciation of beauty is less to do with the river and more to do with the fact it isn't going to cost him a penny.

And there's that word,

Us,

Again.

He goes on,

Even if all we ever do is pick blackcurrants,

We'll still be quids in.

Now is the time to make my position clear.

I have neither the time nor the inclination to take on a project like this.

The only vegetables I recognise in growing form are potatoes and peas.

Mr Mandy Sutter has zero interest in becoming a man of the soil,

So we can't count on him for help.

But somehow these words,

Although perfectly formed in my mind,

Don't come out of my mouth.

The thing is,

I haven't seen Dad so enthusiastic about anything for ages.

Soon after making their new start up north,

Mum,

Disorientated in the unfamiliar flat,

Had a bad fall.

She was never the same and died two years later.

It was a terrible blow for Dad and me.

I have no siblings.

But today,

Dad looks almost happy.

And as for me,

A heady,

Reckless feeling is on me,

A known accompaniment to any doomed new project.

I'm in my fifties now and the last time Dad and I did anything horticultural together was at five when I made him garden salads from grass,

Leaves and flowers,

Insisting that he ate them and watching to make sure he swallowed.

Is it time this relationship moved on?

I find myself turning to him and smiling.

It is a beautiful spot.

A week later,

The council say we're welcome to start work on our new plot.

The first job is to see if there's anything of value on it,

Horticulturally speaking.

I slash through the nettle jungle with a scythe,

A vicious looking thing from the local tool shop.

My hands tingle and throb despite my new gardening gauntlets.

Even my stings have stings.

Dad and Mr Mandy Sutter look on.

They seem to be discussing the price of the scythe.

Ten quid for that,

Says Dad.

I wouldn't give you ninety nine pence for it.

He tells Mr MS that yesterday he made his own rake by hammering some spare four inch nails into a piece of wood and attaching it to an old broom handle.

Mr MS is clearly awestruck by the idea of anyone having spare four inch nails lying around,

Let alone doing anything with them.

But Dad,

Brilliant with his hands,

Lives for making things.

Soon after I was born,

He took a physics degree as a mature student and went on to become a geophysicist,

Troubleshooting on oil rigs all over the world.

Fired up by figuring out better ways of doing things,

He invented and patented several devices for the company he worked for.

In early retirement,

He and Mum bought a Cotswolds house with a tumble-down cottage in the garden,

And he restored it single-handedly,

Learning each skill,

Bricklaying,

Plastering,

As he went.

In old age,

Although his projects have been smaller scale,

They have been impressive in their own way.

A few months ago,

He made a reading lamp out of a baked bean tin,

And most recently,

When a front incisor fell out,

Decided not to consult the dentist,

But the local stationer.

He bought an eraser,

And with his scalpel,

Cut a rubber tooth to slot between his remaining ones.

He soaked it in tea and red wine for a week to get the colour right.

When family friends came to tea recently,

His main preoccupation was to stop it falling out.

He could only pretend to eat his biscuit and drink his tea.

I think I got away with that,

He said,

Almost before they were out of the door.

His triumph about his invention trumping everything,

In a way I found at once charming and chilling.

Back at the allotment,

I go on hacking,

While Dad and Mr.

M.

S.

Survey the two trees.

They are at the back of the plot,

Near the fence.

I could get those down in ten minutes if I could get hold of a good bowsaw,

Says Dad.

But all talk of tools is suddenly abandoned.

All talk of past glories and future triumphs is put aside,

As the last sentinel ring of nettles falls,

And a fragrant-leaved centre of fruit bushes is revealed,

Gooseberries and blackcurrants,

Which we recognise and love,

And redcurrants,

Which we identify later and could surely come to love,

If only we could find out what to do with them.

The berries are still green,

But their tight forms show among the leaves like pirate treasure.

Later,

A knowledgeable friend-adversary will tell me that the bushes are so old,

And the berry-to-bush ratio so pitifully small,

That I should dig them out.

But for the moment,

We all just turn to each other and grin.

Wow,

Says Mr.

M.

S.

Blackcurrant jam,

I coo.

Stewed fruit,

Replies Dad.

There's nothing like it,

With a dollop of Cornish ice cream on top.

Nice and soft.

Mr.

M.

S.

Slides me a look.

I know he's thinking that stewed blackcurrants and ice cream might be the one thing Dad can eat with his rubber tooth.

To be continued.

Reviews

What a delightful and inspiring story of your dad, you and the garden! I may need to listen in the daytime, as this story is so compelling. Many thanks Mandy.💞🕊️

I love your stories and your sense of humor. Thank you for sharing!

Having read and enjoyed the book, this audio version expertly and sensitively narrated brings a deeper resonance to this enchanting and thoughtful story … masterfully and bravely told Mandy

Fun story. I love that it’s based on your true life experiences with your dad. Thank you.
(I’ve been on retreat with a roommate, so I haven’t used my favorite Insight teachers to help me go to sleep for some time, but I’m back now!)

Oh how wonderful you said yes. Your Dad sounds like quite the adventure-seeker. And bless Mr MS for tagging along. Excitement is a hard won endeavor once one gets to the senior years. And Gooseberries !! I have them half a world away, sharing them with a population of winged visitors to my garden.
Can’t imagine using a scythe to clear the industrious nettle. You must be very strong.
Can’t wait to hear more. Thank you for sharing your adventures.

What a lovely storey! It brings my dad to mind. I'm eager for the next chapter. 😊

Oh your humor is dry and wicked, so delightful that even in a terrible night sleep, you had me giggling… can’t wait for more! 🙏🏽❤️

Utterly charming! I can’t wait to hear how this story develops! Thank you, Mandy, for sharing your tale! (love the writing!!)

Stories about dads are the best - I’m so looking forward to hearing yours!🙏

You have no idea how excited I am to finally hear you read something you’ve written. I loved this first instalment and can’t wait to follow your allotment journey! Thankyou for sharing xx

Oh Mandy, I am soo glad that you have both written this story AND decided to share it as a bedtime tale. I admit to falling asleep the first three times (blush) but have listened twice now to Ch 1. Your voice is filled with so much emotion, it is just a delight to hear in all of your stories. I cannot wait for “the rest of the story!” xx

Oh, my heart. This story, in its beginning, is utterly charming. Can't wait for more (but will wait forever, if need be).