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The Garden

When Mrs O'Connor moved into the Parkvale Estate, there was no speculation about her plans for the property. After all, the Property Agreement laid down materials and colours and sizes of everything from houses to garages, trees and even pets. So it was with some surprise that Mrs Cumming at number sixteen and Mr MacIntosh at number twenty two observed the arrival of a rotary hoe and the subequent destruction of the front lawn. The Beadles at number twenty didn't notice, but they were of an age when they weren't expected to notice much.

Over coffee in The Village Cafe Mr MacIntosh asked with a smile if anyone knew Mrs O'Connor's plans. There were various answers; genetically engineered grass seed, a petanque court, further landscaping. Mr MacIntosh smiled again and told them what he knew. Knew because he'd seen it himself. Mrs O'Connor was creating a garden. A vegetable garden.

There was a hushed silence. Surely ... surely vegetables weren't permitted under the Property Agreement?

"They'll be untidy," someone said.

"I do like artichokes," remarked Miss Beadle, but no-one noticed.

"People will think this is a Common Suburb," blurted Mrs Cumming in shock.

Over the next few weeks the neighbours watched Mrs O'Connor plant out winter vegetables (it was that time of year). All very neat and tidy, but not - simply not - Normal. Mrs Cumming was a strong advocate for Normal, especially since Mr Cumming had left.

One morning a handbill appeared in everyone's letterbox. "Property Agreement meeting at The Village Cafe. William Balance from Nieper, Tuck and Balance attending. 7.00pm Wednesday."

Everyone was there. Everyone except Mrs O'Connor and Miss Beadle, although her brother shuffled in and sat in the corner. It transpired that vegetables weren't excluded by the Property Agreement, unless they were over two metres tall.

"This is quite unacceptable," stated Mrs Cumming in her most severe voice, "It is not Normal to grow vegetables on a street frontage. Not here. We must send a deputation. Who will come with me?"

The general murmur clearly said "not me." Then a thin voice from the back said "I'll come."

It was Mr Beadle. He was joined by Mr MacIntosh who, to Mrs Cumming's dismay, appeared to find the whole thing amusing.

The next morning the trio skirted tubs of seedlings and rang Mrs O'Connor's front doorbell.

"Around the back!" came a distant response. They found Mrs O'Connor thinning carrots.

"Aren't they doing well?" she inquired brightly, "Another few weeks ... but how can I help my neighbours today?"

"We're here to talk about your garden," snapped Mrs Cumming.

"Oh good." Mrs O'Connor smiled. "It's a shame there isn't more space. Have you seen my potatoes? Hardly enough to feed myself, let alone any for the shelter."

"The shelter?" asked Mr MacIntosh.

"The night shelter in the Square. I give them most of what I grow. But there are a lot of carrot thinnings - would you like some?"

Mrs Cumming mouth framed an angry "no" just as Mr Beadle surprised everyone with an enthusiastic "yes please". She stared aghast as Mrs O'Connor wrapped freshly dug carrots in wet newspaper.

"There you are. Gardening is such a community thing - it brings people together, don't you think?"

Mr MacIntosh then insisted on a garden tour which Mr Beadle joined eagerly. Mrs Cumming stamped off home alone and furious.

The days passed. Had she been more observant, Mrs Cumming would have noted the frequent traffic between the Beadle and O'Connor homes. And had she noticed, it wouldn't have been such a shock when, one morning, a rotary hoe arrived at number twenty.