Allotments aren't what they were. Or if they are, no doubt someone will sound off about them. Long, long ago, it used to be the duty of a small boy now and then to trek about a mile, on foot, to a group of allotments, there to get fresher, more palatable vegetables than could be had in any of the shops. Not only that, but Mr B., a retired policeman, would come around the lettuces, say, with you and allow you to choose. There was method in this customer service, for you would then be asked to help gather the peas your mother wanted, or the beans, though he didn't insist on making you dig the potatoes. Wouldn't let you, rather, in case you'd slice some of them. He didn't mind you sampling the wares, where appropriate, as with peas, say. And when you had staggered off with your full basket, would sit back in his small hut, and puff at his pipe until the next customer came along.
This was long before supermarkets, of course, and before suburban shops learned to make a good display of their wares, as some of the more up-market city stores did. His fertiliser was horse manure. And there were a couple of watertaps on the group of allotments. He obviously made a certain amount to supplement his pension, but it was also like joining a club, for there were several retired people on the same piece of land, and engaged in the same business. No wire or fencing between them.
A couple now in their Forties started this reminiscence off, when they volunteered a memory of their own allotment days. They had one child of three years and twins who were about six months when the allotment was acquired. (At a rent of £5 per year, they think.) The twins had to be carried, most of the time, on the back of either parent, sort of Chinese style, they said recently, as the digging and hoeing and planting and gathering went on. The allotment was at Clondalkin; they lived near the Dodder, Firhouse direction. They grew a most adventurous lot of vegetables - Jerusalem artichokes, courgettes, as well as lettuce, peas, beans and potatoes.
The big snag was water. They had to go to the canal to get it; about a mile. So they needed large containers. They commuted evening after evening and weekend after weekend and still look back on the experience with pleasure. Their own garden being too small, they made an adventurous and enjoyable choice. After two or three years, they moved house and the journey would have been too much. They missed their veggies.