Handsome Harry
The day finally came: a tall dark stranger appeared at the allotments.
He had broad shoulders, a manly chest and an unflinching gaze. He struck one immediately as the strong, silent type, seeing all and saying nowt.
He wore a faded denim shirt with pockets, suggesting practicality. He had proper shoes. Furthermore, he was modest and played down his obvious attractions: despite the impressive girth of his chest, he kept his sleeves rolled down and his shirt buttoned up to the neck, even on the hottest of Spring days.
Alright, there was something strange about his trousers. But his hands compensated for that. Instead of the usual gloves that pass for fingers around here, he had – ladies and some gentlemen may want to sit down at this point – multicoloured windmills.
Oh, how they whirred in the stiff spring breeze! How they intimidated the birds! How they glittered as he loomed threateningly over the poly tunnels of broad beans, his hands full of rainbows!
I made discreet enquiries and discovered that his name was Harry.
Beaming in his general direction
On our plot, the Lady of Shallot could hardly contain herself. She beamed in his general direction and took to rotating her head, like Linda Blair in the Exorcist.
It all began to look so promising!
But why the past tense, I hear you wonder? Surely a man made of the stuff Harry seemed to be made of recognised an allotment as a long term commitment? Surely a man with such spectacular appendages couldn’t be a fly-by-night?
You are right. Harry is still there, keeping his stolid yet vaguely menacing vigil. And the Lady of Shallot still grins and spins. But the course of true love never did run smooth. The truth of their separation is a dark one.
Someone erected a dirty great plastic greenhouse betwen them.
Dirty great greenhouse
The all-important line of sight is now broken. Or rather, the Lady’s line of sight. For while she gazed hopefully for hours on end, Harry never did anything but stare fixedly, if thoughtfully, at the ground.
As anyone who has ever dealt with a strong silent type knows, there was undoutedly a torrent of emotions raging beneath Harry’s calm exterior. He may have looked uninterested but the Lady knew he was just playing it cool. He was treating ’em mean to keep ’em keen. Or perhaps, though tough in matters of scaring birds, he was shy when it came to love, and only dared sneak a look at her when her head was revolving the other way.
Now, of course, it’s obvious that his downcast gaze is the sign of a broken heart.
A lady has her pride
The sad thing is that the Lady will never really know for sure.
She could move to the front of our plot, where she could see Harry around the edge of the greenhouse.
But there are no crops there to protect, and a Lady has her pride.
She hasn’t said as much, but I reckon that, as Spring turns to Summer, she’s leaving it to Harry to make the next move.
She could be waiting an awfully long time.
The great thing about her is her obvious optimism. The great thing about him is that his posture is a resigned shrug. The great thing between them might symbolise so much… but there are great things no doubt growing inside it. Aha! A twist of plot!
Brilliant. The best yet, but surely your Lady of Shalot could manage something with a mirror.
Just as long as she doesn’t float off downstream any day soon!
BTW – I gave up trying to chit my fancy spuds and just bunged them in the containers. They are peeking through … The Red King Edwards are romping away. So are my pea shoots and I daresay my artichokes would be if I could remember the safe place into which I stowed the packet of seed …
absolutely LOVE the Lady of Shallot – esp her delightfully gormless expression…and her curlers (a genius touch!)
deeeelighted it is all going well on yr lottie.
much love, Char xx
Methinks the Lady Chatterley of Shallot should beware the new Gamekeeper, lest she bring ruin on the manor.
I like long-necked ladies. They often write poems but usually go for tuna salads at literary buffets.
I’ve done a deal with our garden centre – you might be interested in this new approach to muck and marketing.
This morning I managed to place copies of ‘Tom Fleck’ in our local garden centre. I’ve arranged to take payment not in cash but in bags of compost and fruit bushes. Now where else . . .?
The man in our village post-office is thinking about the matter.
Oh . . . and the story in now an eBook on Kindle.
That’s me doing a bit of marketing on your allotment site.
I’d just like you to know that yesterday I planted an apple tree – and some Maris Peer that were reduced to 50p for a bag of sets because of six inch shoots.
Another fab read, Mandy – thanks as ever for bringing that extra bit of sunshine to the day.
Am loving When Harry met Shally … my fingers are firmly crossed for their passions to blossom.
Handsful of rainbows – just gorgeous.
x
Lettuce Gather For the Sequel. Fab as always, girlfriend. Snow, frost, sun here today… Had to go cover things in the greenhouse – the PRETTY greenhouse Through Which Longing Gazes Can Be Exchanged – last night.
Our growing season is 39-120 days, depending. But never fear, Spring is coming – August is just around the corner!
Loved it!
Mandy –
Me and the girls absolutely loved this – especially as we now feel we know Harry and The Lady quite well….we hope love DOES blossom and, as we have to pass both of them to get to the water tap, if we can act as go-betweens do let us know! xxx
You could have a whole family. I think you secretly like making puppets and not growing veg!
HI Mandy
romance under the plastic tunnels,eh!
sent you some scarecrow wedding pics…to inspire the allotment cupidons.
love Liz
A resigned shrug is absolutely right, John! I suppose it’s fair enough: Harry has broad beans to supervise and a man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do.
Jim, that’s true, but imagine the embarrassment of being caught. It would be all around the allotments in no time.
Reb, are they globe artichokes? Mine are my absolute favourite seedlings, as they are glossy green and open and close their leaves according to whether it’s day or night! Who would have thought it?
Char, pink curlers mark the Lady out as a fashion icon at our allotments… mind you there ain’t much competition!
LOL, Lamar! Hmm, that greenhouse was looking a bit steamed up the other day…
Great news re Tom Fleck, Harry. Whatever will you exchange him for next? Keep us posted. And potatoes REDUCED because they were already chitted? Your luck must be in.
‘When Harry met Shally’ – genius, Glynis!
Thanks, Kathy. Yes, a glass greenhouse like yours would be much less of an impediment… that darn cloudy plastic is a real passion-killer.
Damaris:
A billet-doux is a great idea
I’ll have a word in the Lady’s ear
(I think she’s got one somewheer)
Rumbled, Otley totty!
And Liz – thank you SO much for those fab pix. I’ll try to incorporate some on a later blog.
Oh,oh,Antonio – she’s gone away.
She’s left you on your ownio,
All on your ownio.
I suppose being so far apart was the death knell that killed that romance, and ,unlike the Antonio in the song, the Botanic Garden Lothario did not have an “ice-cream cart”
As long as they both do a good job, good luck to the romance.
Hi Marion. Romance is tricky for these static beings, isn’t it? Just on my way down there now to see if there are any developments…
Lovely, how nice in these frantic, over-explicit times, to read of a real slow burning, understated, romance
Ah yes, Looby. Just like the old days intit? But still waters run deep: I haven’t given up hope of scarechildren.
Another great one I now look forward to your next adventure and read with enthusiasn
Jim
Thanks, Jim, much appreciated. The adventures seem to go on happening and as long as they do, I’ll write about ’em.