Ted The Shed, Chapter 23 - Rustic Woodwork

The allotment bench is looking rather the worse for wear these days, having lived outdoors in all weathers for quite a few years. Rather than simply buy another, I decide to enrol on a woodwork course and make one.

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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 October 2017 and the next chapter is called Rustic Woodwork.

But before I begin,

Please go right ahead and make yourself really comfortable.

Settle down into your chair or your bed.

Relax your hands.

Loosen your shoulders.

And drop your jaw.

That's great.

So if you're comfortable,

Then I'll begin.

Rustic Woodwork.

Another year passes.

How they fly.

Dad limps on but begins to drive less.

I am heartily relieved and also glad that he doesn't dwell on the loss,

Preferring to imagine that he's going to get back behind the wheel when his leg gets better.

We are all getting on a bit now.

Mr.

MS and I seem to be talking more about aging in ourselves.

I can't carry more than three things out to the car without dropping one of them,

Mr.

MS reveals one day.

But even more in Dad,

Now 94,

And in Dog MS,

Now 10.

Likewise,

The cheap bench that Mr.

MS assembled once upon a time and Dad mended has put in a lot of outdoor years and is looking ropey.

Rather than make another uninspiring purchase at B&Q,

I decide I'd like to make a new bench myself.

Making furniture is in my blood,

Of course.

Dad and his dad before him made all the tables,

Chairs and monstrous sideboards in their respective homes.

I mean,

How hard can it be?

I find a beginner's woodwork course running locally in November and December.

On the first day,

I'm alarmed to see that the other participants are all male and at least 30 years younger than me.

Some have care workers with them,

And from the way the organiser talks to me in a loud,

Slow voice,

She obviously thinks I have learning difficulties.

I should have smelled a rat when the application form asked me if the course would help me cope better with daily life.

But writers are compelled to craft careful replies to all questionnaires,

So I described in detail with examples how gardening and other practical hobbies helped me deal with stress.

There was supposed to be a waiting list for the course,

But I was offered a place immediately.

I survived the first day,

Despite discovering a sobering fact.

When people treat you as though you have learning difficulties,

You start having learning difficulties.

I commit a ridiculous number of what the French term bêtises.

The drill wobbles in my grasp and screws go in a slant.

I gouge ugly chunks out of my project with the chisel.

I try to use the plane upside down and wonder why no wood shavings come out.

Lovely Tom,

Roofer turned tutor,

Corrects me gently.

He is a gifted,

Patient teacher with a sense of humour and a knack of being there just before someone lops their fingers off with the circular saw or gets dragged across the workshop floor by the belt sander.

I catch myself hoping he sees me as normal,

Whatever that means,

But in the end the question of who has issues and who hasn't is irrelevant.

All the group are better at woodwork than me and they are all fatherly despite their youth.

They steady planks while I saw wonkily and hold my project while I try to hammer nails in straight.

One even tries to give me the bedside cabinet he has spent five weeks making.

Tom gently discourages him.

My bench turns out well,

It is only a basic one and I have time to make an allotment gate out of old pallet wood.

Back at home the weekend after the course finishes,

I even knock up some cross supports for the raspberry canes I planted last year and install them.

They make the plot look like a site of religious pilgrimage.

We cut some chicken wire away between two of dad's uprights and Mr MS helps me hang the new gate in the gap.

Then I paint it in yellow preservative and screw a brass number two into the top.

We have a gate at last and it looks fantastic.

I feel mightily chuffed to have made some of our allotment accoutrements with my own hand and I photograph everything with plenty of close-ups to show dad the following morning.

Once the coffee has come in safely to land on the coffee table,

He scrolls through the shots on my phone.

This gate he says,

Jabbing his finger on the screen in a way that makes the picture zoom in,

Zoom out and then disappear.

I extract the phone from his grip and reinstate the picture.

Yes,

I say,

Readying myself for a compliment,

But he is scowling.

You've used far too many screws,

Have you got money to burn?

I am taken aback.

Well,

No,

But the screws were the only cost.

The wood came from an old pallet and cost nothing.

He isn't mollified,

So why spend everything you've saved on screws,

Especially when nails would have done the job just as well.

They only cost a few quid,

I say.

Yes,

But it's the principle of the thing,

He says.

What about the principle of your daughter wanting to follow in your footsteps,

I almost say.

Now that his approval is being withheld,

I realise that I've been hoping to impress him.

I could have done that,

He mutters and switches the BBC news channel on,

Something to which he seems increasingly addicted.

All through the loud drumbeats and potentiously spoken headlines,

My cheeks burn with injustice and disappointment.

It strikes me that Dad is viewing my woodworking efforts as an attempt to usurp his role and a poor attempt at that.

I wonder too if he feels I've defied him by installing the gate.

There is nothing to do but drink my coffee.

For a change,

I actually eat my Jacob's Club orange biscuit instead of pretending to.

I'm in luck,

It's only slightly stale.

As the news rumbles heavily on,

Doing its best to bludgeon us into despair,

I can even see that Dad is right about one thing.

My attitude is not that of a master craftswoman.

My slogan is,

That'll do.

I'm happy if people can sit on my rustic bench without getting a splinter up their backside.

By the time news gives way to weather,

I have also realised that although this is a lowly goal,

It's enough for me.

If my gate falls apart in a year,

I will make another one.

In fact,

I will enjoy making another one.

I may decide to do it slightly differently,

Though there's no way I'm going to use nails instead of screws.

Dad always makes enough coffee for me to have a second cup,

Even though he only ever drinks one himself.

I get up to fetch the cafetiere.

He sits on,

Riveted to the screen.

I enjoy a calming potter in his kitchen,

Free of the grim force field in the next room.

Then I take a few deep breaths and go back to my chair to face whatever comes next.

On the way,

I pass the sideboard that Dad made himself.

On it,

He keeps nine little blocks of different woods,

Planed and polished to show the grain.

He often stands as best he can at 93 and turns them over in his hands and smiles.

I think I am beginning to understand why.

To be continued.

Reviews

I loved hearing about your carpentry adventure! How satisfying to make a functional bench and a gate. It sounds like you have a great understanding of your Dad. Again, he was lucky to have you ❤️

I can relate to this chapter more than I wish i could! You go girl!

I love this story so much and I am totally going to buy a physical version of it. 🩵💛💜

How wonderful to find another reading awaiting me today. As I listen to your reading my mind wonders to a young child having a stick of gum torn in 4 and sometimes 5 pieces to share amongst us while being reminded of the depression. Thus I totally get the nails. You description of class is so on I can relate to though I couldn’t ever describe the process as you did. Oh just a beautiful story of life being shared when things come together and fall apart only to come together again. My heart is full spending time with your stories and all the insight you share … priceless 💝Much happiness your way💞🐕

A bench and a gate: You built them yourself! Brava!! And they are functional! Even better! Good for you Mandy!!

You should feel “chuffed “ (love it!) in general, for all the reasons: hilarious writing, great daughter, wise commentary (more right than ever in the news department right now😣🤯🤡)
You save me… but really, we need saving over here!!

Wonderful, as always. I'm dreading the day when this book ends.