Growing Vegetables

After living in the village for about five years, we were told that we should have a vegetable garden, and were encouraged to take over a garden that had become overgrown after abandonment 25 years earlier.

We took several weeks cleaning away weeds and then discovered that the garden was on two levels, that had been impossible to see before, because of the height of the weeds.

We also found that there was a well with an old watering system, that consisted of a channel built into the top of the stone walls that surrounded the garden. At regular intervals, along this wall there were round basins. By pumping water out of the well, the water ran along the wall in the channel and then into the basins. As each basin filled it over flowed into the next channel to fill the next basin and so on. When the basins were full, and with the aid of a spade, the gardener was able to water all parts of the garden, by scooping the water from the basin over the plants.

Our neighbour in the village, who also had the adjoining garden to ours, was our chief advisor. This man was a wonderful source of advice, as he had been either a gardener, or a wine farmer all his life.

He often told us a story of how he had been called up into the army at the start of WW11. Within a short time of his joining the army, he had been captured at Dunquerke. From there, together with many other prisoners, he was forced to walk to Essen in Germany. On arrival they were assembled in a train marshalling yard. At some stage a call was made by their captors for all gardeners to raise their hands. He raised his, and also encouraged the man next him, whom he had befriended during their march, to put his hand up. His friend said, “I’m a butcher not a gardener”. “Just do it said our neighbour” and so the butcher also put his hand up.

They were then both sent to a castle in the east of Germany and spent the rest of the war working in the castle grounds, and according to our neighbour lived a very civilized life.

The count, who owned the castle, treated them very well and even arranged for letters to be sent to our neighbour’s wife to inform her that he was well.

During the time we lived in the village the Count’s son arrived, looking for our neighbour to renew his acquaintance.

Our garden was a huge success. The climate, the soil, and the advice we were given, meant that everything we planted grew, with one notable exception, and that was broad beans or feve as the French call them.

The first time we planted FEVE (broad beans), they started sprouting shortly after, and looked very healthy. Then overnight, they disappeared. We assumed that snails had eaten them.

The following year we attempted to grow them again, and this time we spread out bait to trap the snails, but again the healthy shoots disappeared overnight. Calling on the assistance of our neighbour he quickly came up with the solution to our problem. It was a badger. Our garden was located next to a hill covered in scrub and apparently badgers who lived there, were very partial to our feve.

Each year after that, we planted our feve knowing that we were doing something for the wildlife of the area. I also provided some amusement for the villagers, who couldn’t understand why we would waste money feeding the badgers.