Ted The Shed, Chapter 16 - Big Veg

Dad now talks about nothing except his operation, in gory detail. He is only briefly diverted from the topic by mention of the Home Guard seed potatoes he planted. Sure enough, it is soon time for him to sit on the bench down at the plot, supervising the digging up of the hopefully glorious crop.

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Transcript

Hello there,

It's Mandy here.

Welcome back to Ted the Shed,

My memoir about my dad's allotment.

We've reached August 2011 and tonight's chapter is called Big Veg.

But before I begin,

Please go right ahead and make yourself really comfortable.

Sink down into your bed or your chair.

Relax your hands.

Release your shoulders and soften your jaw.

You might like to close your eyes.

That's lovely.

And if you're ready,

I'll begin.

Big Veg.

Over the next couple of weeks,

It is wonderful to go back to normal.

Dad has no further pre-syncopes or any whatever he understands by the terms either.

The topic of the op still dominates our conversations though.

How about a visit to the plot later,

I say,

As he stops for breath one morning.

It's August and the leaves on the treetops outside his first floor window are scattered with yellows and reds.

Maybe,

He says,

In a few days time.

He pours the coffee.

The thing is,

I reckon that chap did a pretty decent job.

Do you know,

I asked him if at 88 I was his oldest patient.

Guess what he said?

I sigh inwardly.

What?

He said last week he'd installed a pacemaker in a man of 98.

That takes a bit of skill,

Doesn't it?

Yes,

It must do,

I say.

He passes me an orange club biscuit.

Something strange has happened to the wrapper.

It looks greasy.

When did you buy these biscuits,

Dad?

I ask.

Oh,

I forget.

Some time ago,

He says,

Unwrapping his.

Its chocolate covering has white tide marks.

He takes a bite anyway.

If it had been left to that ruddy woman at the health clinic,

He says,

Mouthful,

I'd be dead by now.

Trying to fob me off with tablets.

I'm thinking of putting in a complaint about her to the surgery.

I sigh out loud this time.

Really?

It's about time somebody did.

He screws his biscuit wrapper up and lobs it hard into the waste paper basket.

If Mr.

M.

S.

Were here,

He would pretend to agree with Dad.

It is what he generally does.

A,

For the sake of a quiet life and B,

Because Dad doesn't listen to him if he does disagree.

If I go along with Dad too much though,

I feel as if I'm perjuring my soul.

Do you really want to do that,

Dad?

I ask now.

It'll be a load of hassle and you probably won't get anywhere.

What I really mean is,

You've been given a new lease of life.

Why not try and enjoy it?

Maybe,

He says.

Maybe not.

You see,

What those doctors really want is to kill all us old folks off.

Get us off their books.

Having friends who are GPs,

I am annoyed on their behalf and decide it's best not to reply.

I sip my coffee and try to switch off a bit to see Chantazan.

He mentions medical negligence and the General Medical Council.

It sounds as if he has already done some research on his computer.

I see long months of barbed letters and furious phone calls ahead and there's nothing I can do to stop it.

As I sit there trying not to listen,

It strikes me that having barnies with people he regards as half-wits is at the very heart and soul of the man.

Then he surprises me.

Oh well,

He says in a different tone.

I don't suppose any of it matters very much.

I'm struck by the sadness in his voice but I know he's finally giving me permission to change the subject.

Permission,

Almost,

To cheer him up.

I waste no time.

No,

I don't suppose it does,

I say.

And anyway,

We should be able to dig up some of your Home Guard spuds soon from last year.

Really,

He says.

Do you think they'll be ready?

Yes,

I say.

I fertiled for them yesterday.

You did what?

Fertiled.

Dug my hand down near one of the plants and felt around.

I remember the white-haired old chap at the allotment who instructed me and his smirk when I glanced at my fingernails suddenly split and grimy with Yorkshire clay which would prove nigh on impossible to completely remove.

It was worth it though to feel the cool hard subterranean forms of the potatoes.

I've never heard of fertiling,

Says Dad.

Me neither but it's going to be a good crop.

I knew it was a good idea to leave those taters in,

He says.

He flourishes an imaginary cigar,

Takes a puff on it,

Then taps imaginary ash onto the ground.

I laugh.

It is a gesture I've seen a million times before but I'm very pleased to see it now.

Over the next few days,

I dig out plenty of big healthy spuds while Dad supervises from the bench.

No,

No,

No,

You're going at it all wrong.

Dig further away from the plant or you'll put the fork through them,

He shouts.

I grit my teeth.

His pacemaker seems to be giving him a new lease of impatience as well as a new lease of life but I'm happy he's out and about and also happy that my hip bursitis has largely gone even though little itises are following the big one like pilot fish in a whale's wake.

I unearth an enormous spud which will weigh in later at two pounds.

Dad,

Who has decided to wear two pairs of one pound reading specs,

One on top of the other,

Rather than forking out 300 quid at the opticians,

Can hardly believe the evidence of his six eyes.

Now that's a potato among potatoes,

He says.

It'll keep me going for a month.

And the spuds aren't the only oversized triumphs at the allotments.

This second year is proving more fruitful than the first for all of us newbies.

One couple who have been on holiday come back to find their cabbages big enough to appear on road maps.

I imagined that having an allotment would make us immune from vegetable gifts but I notice that innocent observations like cracking courgettes or beautiful beans bring hope to other allotmenteers eyes.

Please take a few,

They plead.

It is an unfeeling person who looks into those desperate faces and says no.

And so it is with the cabbage couple.

I take delivery of a huge head of savoy.

There is method in my madness.

I'm about to go away for a few days with work.

Before that though,

I have to carry the cabbage to the car.

I struggle with its weight and bulk.

Perhaps it is already developing its own gravity system.

Mr MS and I have a spacious kitchen but the arrival of the gargantuan green makes it look small.

The legs of the kitchen table tremble and Mr MS backs away across the kitchen saying no,

No,

No.

I ignore this.

I know how much you like cabbage,

I say cruelly.

And as you know,

I'm away from tomorrow.

So this is your project.

Luckily one of Mr MS's friends is coming to stay in my absence.

He's a vegetarian which may help.

I leave for Northampton and phone home a few days later.

Mr MS and I manage to talk pleasantly for a while but we both know where the conversation is headed.

The thing is we haven't made much of an impact on the savoy yet,

He says.

I tut and I'm about to launch into a ticking off when a memory from primary school surfaces.

I am sitting over a bowl of tapioca in the school canteen.

My friends have gone back to the playground.

Under Miss Borman's hard gaze,

I put a large spoonful of the foul spawn into my mouth where it goes round and round.

I try to swallow but there is a volcanic eruption from within.

My head jerks forwards and the tapioca descends in a vile stinging stream from my nose.

Don't worry about it,

I say to Mr MS now.

It's awful being made to eat something you dislike.

Having read it himself for a ticking off,

He is astonished.

What?

I didn't say I didn't like it.

Listen,

We'll try and break through the outer atmosphere tonight,

I promise.

When I return home,

He swears they have eaten 10 leaves but the cabbage looks undiminished.

Perhaps it is evolving,

Learning how to replenish itself from thin air.

I ring Dad.

Remember that website you found with all those turnip recipes,

I say.

Mr Neep.

Did I,

He says.

Well,

If you say so.

Well,

Now we need Mrs Brassica.

Now that's something I can do.

Leave it with me,

Love,

He says.

Later in the evening,

He rings back.

Good news,

I found a site with 200 recipes all involving cabbage.

Great,

I say.

We may have to try them all.

To be continued.

Reviews

So glad your Dad made it through… and I hope you make it through the giant cabbage! 😀😆

The glasses image really made me smile! I’m really enjoying getting to know your dad, and I side with Mr MS - agree to keep the peace. A lovely episode thanks Mandy xx

omg, another of my fav chapters! it will be on Repeat for a reliable giggle and a breath of fresh air, thank you again Mandy 🥰

..."can hardly believe the evidence of his 6 eyes!" had me rolling on the floor with laughter! You're such a great writer Mandy, and your reading voice is the best! Thank you for sharing!

I was giggling too hard to go to sleep! You deal very well with your men folk! You reminded me that I have a big cabbage 🥬 in my fridge, needing to be tackled! 🙏🏻😆❤️

The manage solar system! So funny! Looking forward to more!

Oh my goodness— truly massive potatoes and cabbage! I’m a farmer and never get them quite That big!😅 and the tapioca story… a real giggler, thank you! Love this story so much, thank you!