Had it been another time of war, I would have lifted the flagstones that almost cover our four paces by 16 pace London garden and turned it into an allotment. But at the present time of virus it will stay as it is. With this virus that no one seems to know much about, I might well have to make it more productive.
As the soil beneath the flagstones must be much the same as a 1' wide strip of soil up to one side that I first encountered 30 years ago, it would take even more compost from our excellent bin to get it into a condition that would grow anything at all. Thirty years ago this strip of soil was black and dead from absorbing years of coal-smoke-laden pollution. Now, thanks to our compost, it is light and friable. So I would have to work hard, possibly turning the recovered soil into a potato patch at first, to be able to use it productively.
As it is, I continue to grow flowers and trees in pots, some stacked high on occuloni and ironstone bricks once used to store heat, but culinarily unproductive.
On the north-facing wall, where a flowering quince is doing well in a space where a flagstone has been lifted, I have now planted shallots and garlic - in the hope that they will survive and grow without sunshine.
Some rocket that lasted the winter is our only green leaf vegetable. Its leaves are barely enough for a very small salad, but its simple four petalled flowers are a delight to the eye and insect life. For herbs we grow the flavourings of mint, rosemary and bay leaves to enhance the repertoire of our cooking.
Our lemon tree would not contribute much in a pandemic emergency, but the fruit, when harvested and freshly sliced, exude the most wonderful aroma and taste, and then become just an ordinary sliced lemon by the next day.
Above all, and of most importance to us, are runner beans. We make much of them as they climb up vertical bamboos and over a "roof" of the same material. I grow them from seed gathered the previous year in pots on the kitchen windowsill, and then plant them out when they are able to climb unaided.
We eat their large crop initially as 4" beans, only top and tailing them before giving them five minutes in boiling water. They are usually served with butter and garlic, and are a real treat.
Each year we purposefully miss picking some of the runners that would normally need stringing and chopping. We let them rip. As long pods containing large fat beans, we harvest them before they start to rot on the vine, and then dry them on racks in the kitchen. When crispy dry they are podded.
These dried beans are eaten in the winter after an overnight soak and 35 minutes in the pressure cooker. Eaten as a first course with, perhaps chopped shallot and vinaigrette, they also find their way into stews and soup. As for taste and texture they are as good as beans get.
And what do we drink with our produce? Red wine, of course, and from our own vines.
In an emergency I would return to the configuration of our predominately Triomphe d'Alsace vine that covered our arbour and garden walls. We once made 66 bottles from this arrangement. But now, because of age, I fear I have reduced coverage to just the arbour, and make but a dozen or two bottles of red from it. But it is excellent wine, known by others as Hammersmith red, but to us - just our red wine. If the virus takes over, we have plans.
As the soil beneath the flagstones must be much the same as a 1' wide strip of soil up to one side that I first encountered 30 years ago, it would take even more compost from our excellent bin to get it into a condition that would grow anything at all. Thirty years ago this strip of soil was black and dead from absorbing years of coal-smoke-laden pollution. Now, thanks to our compost, it is light and friable. So I would have to work hard, possibly turning the recovered soil into a potato patch at first, to be able to use it productively.
As it is, I continue to grow flowers and trees in pots, some stacked high on occuloni and ironstone bricks once used to store heat, but culinarily unproductive.
On the north-facing wall, where a flowering quince is doing well in a space where a flagstone has been lifted, I have now planted shallots and garlic - in the hope that they will survive and grow without sunshine.
Some rocket that lasted the winter is our only green leaf vegetable. Its leaves are barely enough for a very small salad, but its simple four petalled flowers are a delight to the eye and insect life. For herbs we grow the flavourings of mint, rosemary and bay leaves to enhance the repertoire of our cooking.
Our lemon tree would not contribute much in a pandemic emergency, but the fruit, when harvested and freshly sliced, exude the most wonderful aroma and taste, and then become just an ordinary sliced lemon by the next day.
Above all, and of most importance to us, are runner beans. We make much of them as they climb up vertical bamboos and over a "roof" of the same material. I grow them from seed gathered the previous year in pots on the kitchen windowsill, and then plant them out when they are able to climb unaided.
We eat their large crop initially as 4" beans, only top and tailing them before giving them five minutes in boiling water. They are usually served with butter and garlic, and are a real treat.
Each year we purposefully miss picking some of the runners that would normally need stringing and chopping. We let them rip. As long pods containing large fat beans, we harvest them before they start to rot on the vine, and then dry them on racks in the kitchen. When crispy dry they are podded.
These dried beans are eaten in the winter after an overnight soak and 35 minutes in the pressure cooker. Eaten as a first course with, perhaps chopped shallot and vinaigrette, they also find their way into stews and soup. As for taste and texture they are as good as beans get.
And what do we drink with our produce? Red wine, of course, and from our own vines.
In an emergency I would return to the configuration of our predominately Triomphe d'Alsace vine that covered our arbour and garden walls. We once made 66 bottles from this arrangement. But now, because of age, I fear I have reduced coverage to just the arbour, and make but a dozen or two bottles of red from it. But it is excellent wine, known by others as Hammersmith red, but to us - just our red wine. If the virus takes over, we have plans.
