A gardener’s word
hen I work in my garden I can’t help but think of my grandmother. She raised me alongside my mum, who was just out of her teens when I was born. She spent her weeks taking care of the house (a 1920s bungalow filled with the mid-century furniture bought new when she married Grandad in 1956) and the weekends in the garden. I often spent the weekends there, so I was drafted in to help. It wasn’t a big plot, but it was
