It was a few weeks ago, when Coronavirus had replaced Brexit
as the sole topic of conversation. We were in the middle of an initial 3 week
period of lockdown imposed by the Government, when my thoughts turned to things I could do to keep busy
during my solitary confinement. The garden was tidier than it had ever been
since we arrived in Saham Toney, I had repainted both the summerhouse and shed,
and started an online German language course. So what else could I do….
The summerhouse
In a flash of inspiration I hit on an idea which would keep
me busy and ease some of our worries about future food shortages. I would
create a vegetable plot in the garden and become self sufficient in fresh veg.
There was a section of lawn alongside one fence which I could dig up and create
a 20ft by 6ft strip where I could grow courgettes, beans, peas, carrots, spring
onions and lettuce. I was suddenly full of excitement about the whole project
and went to discuss it with the PDG, who would surely share my enthusiasm.
Onions - I didn't grow these
“20ft by 6ft?” she said. “That’s far too much. 5ft by 4 ft
would be much more suitable.”
I was incredulous.
5ft by 4ft would be way too small. One pumpkin plant would fill the
entire space. It just wouldn’t be practical. We had a frank discussion and
eventually a compromise was reached. I went out to start digging a 5ft by 4ft
vegetable patch. I expected to be finished in a couple of hours, after all it
was a very small area.
One thing I had overlooked was the quality of the piece of
land I was digging up. The first time my spade went into the ground it hit
something solid. Whenever I dug holes in my garden, I have wondered whether I
might unearth some object from the past, a Victorian glass bottle, for
instance, or a medieval weapon. Well you never know, do you? Now we are in Norfolk,
I am mindful of the fact that King John’s lost treasure has never been found.
Maybe this obstruction beneath my lawn was a treasure chest. It wasn’t.
After some poking and prodding I realised a large lump of
hardcore was blocking my progress. With some effort I managed to dig it out. It
must have weighed half a hundredweight. “That’ll cost me £3 to dispose of at
the tip” I thought. But undeterred I got back to my digging. My intention was
to dig to double the depth of my spade, shovel in some home-made compost, of
which I have plenty, and then replace the soil, green side down.
The first lump of hardcore dug up
To my horror I discovered that the piece of rubble I had
found was just the tip of the iceberg. The ground beneath my lawn was
absolutely filled with hardcore, including builder’s rubble, tiles, bathroom
fittings, bricks and all manner of rubbish dumped and then covered by a thin
layer of turf. I know that builders have a reputation for such behaviour, but I
thought this was excessive. By the time I had dug a trench 2 ft by 4 ft (less
than half of the area to be dug) I had filled 10 sacks with rubble. There must
have been more than a ton. Furthermore, about 9 inches below the surface, I
came across an area of concrete which covered the bottom of the trench I had just
dug. The concrete must have been 6 inches thick, and I guess was originally a
pathway, or maybe hard standing for a shed or greenhouse.
2ft by 4ft hole with concrete base
I had a decision to make. Should I leave the concrete base
where it is, and grow my veg in the 9
inches or so between it and the top of the soil, or should I import a load of
topsoil and make it a raised bed? Those were probably the best options. But no,
I decided to take a third option, which was to dig out the concrete. After all,
I wasn’t exactly pushed for time. The lockdown was expected to last for weeks,
if not months.
10 bags of hardcore already
In carrying out this task It would have been nice to be in
possession of a pick-axe or sledgehammer, which might have dealt with the job more
efficiently. However I didn’t have either, and enquiries of my nearest
neighbours proved unsuccessful. Also hire shops are closed during the lockdown.
So I decided the job would have to be done with my club-hammer. It was back
breaking work, armed with a small, but lethal hammer, whacking away at a lump
of concrete below my feet. One false move and I could have shattered a leg.
My club hammer
Happily, I was careful, and after 4 strenuous days, I stood
in my small trench, with soil beneath my feet, and all traces of concrete gone.
All that now remained was to dig the remaining 3 feet, removing another 8 bags
of hardcore whilst doing so. I now have eighteen sacks each carrying about 50
lb of hardcore, and it’s going to cost a pretty penny to dispose of when the
local recycling centre opens again. Interestingly, when telling my brother-in-law
about my strenuous efforts, he said he had an electric chisel which I could
have borrowed, and it would have gone through the concrete like a knife through
butter. This seems to happen to me quite a lot. I struggle with some task or
other, then after the event somebody says ‘You should have asked me’. They
never seem to be around when I start.
The vegetable patch is now finished
I did keep a couple of pieces of tile, with the idea of
trying to convince visitors that they are of ancient Roman origin. Some people
will believe anything.
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