Gone to Pot ..... Winter 2011

Walking up the garden path on a frosty December morning contemplating the bejewelled cobwebs festooned over the skeletal remains of the herbaceous borders, glistening in the lowering winter sun, reminds me of a Christmas past spent in South Africa. In my mind's eye I can picture the webs of the Button Spider, deadly poisonous, strung across the prickly pears emblazoned with early morning dew. We were living in a thatched farm house surrounded by vineyards in the shelter of the Helderberg Mountain, with Table Mountain in the distance to the west. The garden was a profusion of colour, undreamed of in an English garden. Exotic plants which remained outside and in bloom all through the year, freesias growing wild in the grass, banana trees in profusion, flame trees, canna lilies, gardenias and many others which I did not recognise, not being interested in gardening at the time! Even the odd Jersey cow was to be seen grazing on the lawn.

Ex-pats tend to congregate together for festivals and this particular Christmas was no exception - in all, eighteen of us assembled for an unseasonable gathering - one couple camping in the garage as there was "no room" for them in the house! The irrigation dam was scrubbed out to become a swimming pool, filled from our bore hole over flow. A dear friend, no longer with us, had the bright idea of keeping the wine cool by putting the crates in the dam. When swimming round and plucking ripe figs from an overhanging tree, our guests noticed wine labels floating to the surface. It was pot luck when having a drink.

Our Christmas tree, eighteen feet tall, was dragged to the house just before Christmas by one of the youngsters on the farm, but we later learnt that he had lopped the top off a fir tree growing in someone else's plantation! I think he had quite a little business going on the quiet. The local farm children came carol singing and, although we were unprepared for this visitation, were happy with sweets and bars of soap in exchange for their choral renditions.

By contrast, a Christmas spent in Scotland, when we were cut off from the town by snow drifts, caused great amusement as we skied down to Church so that our "Kings" could perform in the nativity play. The scenery was absolutely stunning, cloaked as it was in a mantle of snow. The carol Good King Wenceslas came to mind - deep and crisp and even. It was downhill all the way there, but quite another thing returning home. However, the Scots are very hospitable and taking pity on us as we trudged back, we were plied with several "wee drams"!

The Ghost of Christmas past has wrought his magic with memories of bygone days. I hope the Ghost of Christmas future can conjure up bounty for all those in the world who are not as fortunate as us.

Floreat Hortus