Ted The Shed, Chapter 3

Dad builds a shed on the allotment, single handedly. It is a tremendous feat for a man of 87 and puts a similar amount of years on the lives of Mr MS and me, who are present for every long hour, minute and second of the task, hovering nervously about, forbidden from helping.

Transcript

Hello there,

It's Mandy here.

Welcome back to Ted the Shed,

My memoir about my dad and his allotment,

Which he got at the age of 87.

Tonight's chapter,

Chapter three,

Is called Ted the Shed.

But before I begin,

Please go right ahead and make yourself really comfortable,

Whether you're sitting or lying.

That's great.

Then I'll begin.

We need somewhere to keep our tools,

Dad announces one morning on the phone.

Stop them getting pinched.

Somewhere for when it rains,

So we can sit and watch all the other devils get soaked.

His robust view of things startles me,

But a quick internet search reveals a shed for sale at B&Q for just £100.

I ring Dad back,

But suddenly he is cool.

Let's play it by ear.

There's no hurry.

I'm surprised then when he rings the next morning to tell me he spent yesterday afternoon driving around DIY warehouses and ended up ordering the B&Q shed.

He likes going out in his tiny new red Peugeot.

Ditching his old car was a wrench because he and Mum had driven as far as the moon together in it.

But a £2,

000 scrappage allowance swung it.

When he talks about his new car,

As he often does,

He says,

It's a pretty flimsy affair,

But what do you expect when you buy a vehicle for £5,

000?

And I must say,

At 87,

I never thought I'd be driving a car said to have cheeky looks.

Ready-made items rarely satisfy Dad.

He usually modifies the things he buys.

Cheeky looks is no exception.

He has jacked the driving seat up with a plank of wood,

Wired in an extra loud speaker and let half the air out of the tyres to create a softer ride.

But back to the shed,

Which I imagine will also be subject to modifications.

It's arriving at his flat tomorrow.

The only problem is how we get it to the allotment,

He says.

Some of the pieces are pretty big,

But they probably fit on your roof rack.

I reckon we can manage it between the three of us.

What do you think?

What I think is that our plot is a very long way from the road where we can park the car.

But guessing that Dad won't accept this objection,

Or indeed any objection,

I say nothing and hatch a plan to hire a man and a van,

Perhaps without telling anyone.

Before I can put this into action,

Mr.

Mandy Sutter takes charge.

He arranges for a local removal firm to shift the shed,

Giving Dad time to carry out a few reinforcements first.

Did he agree to that?

I asked Mr.

MS.

Of course,

Says Mr.

MS.

He also said the shed was a pretty flimsy affair,

But what else could you expect when you bought a shed for £100?

Council rules and regs state that huts on the new plots shall be constructed of timber and shall stand no bigger than four foot by six foot.

This rule will soon be flouted by an allotment neighbour's gargantuan pulley tunnel.

I didn't realise it was going to be that big,

He will say sheepishly.

And in the old part of the allotments,

Huts are made out of all sorts,

And the goat allotment shed is the size of a detached bungalow,

But I'm relieved there's an official limit.

The regs also say huts must be raised on bricks or blocks.

Apparently,

The allotments are prone to flooding.

Some plot holders have ignored this stipulation and raised their sheds on nothing but half-inch paving stones,

Though our neighbour has raised hers on two-foot stilts.

It looks like a tree house with no tree.

On the day,

The removal men manhandle the bits of shed down to the allotment,

And I follow with flask and flapjacks.

I see that Dad has built a solid wooden base about a foot high.

The guys leave,

And Dad proceeds to put the shed up single-handedly.

It takes hours,

But he just won't allow us to help,

No matter how anxiously we buzz around trying to.

I think about Mum.

It's the new kitchen scenario all over again.

Mr MS has to content himself with erecting a self-assembly bench,

But the result is a smashing little shed in the dappled shade of the witch elm.

Dad finally accepts a coffee and a sit-down,

Though he refuses a snack.

Mr MS,

Traumatised by watching an 87-year-old man put up a shed on his own,

Wolfs flapjacks silently.

As for me,

I hope it rains soon,

So we can sit inside and watch all the other devils get soaked.

The shed awakens something profound in Dad.

A chap could live in a hut like this,

He says,

One sunny morning,

When we manage to visit the plot at the same time.

He opens the shed door.

In all this lovely peace and quiet,

I dump my rucksack on the bench.

Dad has tied twine to an eyelet on the door,

And winds the other end in a figure of eight around a coat hook he has fixed onto the shed front.

All you'd need is a camp bed to doss down on.

Wouldn't you miss your Sky TV?

I ask.

Not really.

I'd have all my tools around me.

Could do something useful in the evenings,

Instead of sitting around getting brain rot.

I laugh nervously.

Much as I love the allotments,

There's an edgy feel to them after dark.

Having said that,

One of the bigger sheds near the entrance has a chimney,

And we often see smoke rising from it.

When Mum and Dad first moved up here,

I told them the story of the 18th century hermit associated with our town.

He lived in a hut up on the moors with no running water,

And he grew potatoes to feed himself.

He was a well-known figure,

And they named a local pub after him.

Mum was horrified.

And what about going to the toilet,

She asked,

And washing?

I couldn't have agreed more.

But Dad was nonchalant about such nice it is.

That chap had the right idea,

He said.

What about food,

I ask now.

Oh,

I don't need much these days,

Says Dad.

He gets his cut-off Tesco's orange juice bottle full of screws out of the shed and starts rummaging in it.

I sit on the bench,

Remembering a visit to Mum and Dad's Cotswolds home 25 years ago.

I hadn't visited for a couple of months,

And in that time Dad had been hard at work in the attic space.

He invited me up for a look.

I picked my way carefully up the very steep wooden steps and pulled myself up through the hatch.

Wow,

Was all I could say.

Under the sloping beams on one side,

All Dad's tools hung over an old workbench.

On the other side of the space stood an old toilet and a large fridge freezer.

How did you get those up here,

I asked.

With difficulty,

Said Dad,

Beaming.

He went over and opened the fridge door.

Inside,

I saw six bottles of his homemade orange wine.

Then he opened the freezer section to show three jumbo tubs of Cornish ice cream and two trays of ice cubes.

What more could anyone want,

He said.

Care for a tipple?

I usually avoided Dad's orange wine,

But on this occasion,

Even knowing it would put me out of action for the rest of the day,

I couldn't bring myself to refuse.

At lunchtime,

We went carefully back downstairs and into the kitchen,

Where Mum was busy putting food onto plates.

It's amazing what Dad's done up there in the attic,

Isn't it?

I said,

Or probably or probably slurred.

She pulled a face.

I don't know about that,

She said.

He can't hear me at all when he's up there,

No matter how loud I shout.

Poor Mum.

Because she could be a nag,

At the time I thought,

No wonder.

But now,

In a long-term relationship myself,

I have every sympathy.

Fast forward to the allotment again,

Where Dad has picked out four longish screws and laid them on the top step of the shed.

He looks over.

I'd have my air rifle,

Of course,

He says.

Of course,

I say.

It's so different now,

I think.

He lives alone,

So there's no one to get away from So there's no one to get away from anymore,

And certainly no shortage of privacy.

Yet he still contemplates shared life.

His desire for self-sufficiency,

For going back to the basics,

Obviously runs deep.

I can't help wishing that Mum had known that all those years ago.

To be continued.

Reviews

Utterly charming, human, and soothing. Just what we need in these troubled robes.

Loving these stories! But still fall asleep too fast even with the short ones. I will listen again and again until I hear it all! Thank you, Mandy!!

So witty and sweet!
Thanks for sharing your Dad with us🙏🏽❤️

I’m enjoying this story too. What a fun character your dad was! Full of energy and ideas! Thank you for sharing him with us, Mandy!!

Sweet, I fell asleep listening to this, such a gift! www.gratefulness.org, ahimsa

With each chapter I feel as tho I really do know your incredible dad. I wonder if his attitude and outlook aren’t what kept him going and so strong at his age. What a treasure. One of my fav lines is about how far he and mum drove the old car ❤️(And I have to say, I love how you include “Mr M S” in the story!)
Thank you Mandy! ❤️