My Garden and Other Animals. Mike Dilger

On evaluating the problem, three options seemed immediately available – plant the tree in the smaller hole regardless of the block; move the tree to a different location; or keep the tree where we originally wanted it by removing the concrete. Option one was quickly discarded as we decided that planting the tree next to the block would have severely restricted its root system, and the second option soon proved equally untenable as moving the sapling would have placed it far too close to the other apple trees, ultimately giving them insufficient space in which to thrive. The only feasible option left was also the most exhausting one – the block would have to come out.

      Having taken Andy a mere 20 minutes to dig the initial hole, little did we know that it would then take a further 60 minutes to clear the soil sufficiently from around the block to allow for its removal. It was not until four of us had finally managed to lever the concrete cube out of the hole and onto the path that we could fully appreciate why Andy had struggled. Measuring close to a yard across, the huge unearthed lump of concrete would have perhaps been more useful as one of the foundation stones for a nuclear reactor rather than just the footing for a washing-line pole. The one plus side of forming a huge crater in the middle of the lawn was that it provided the perfect place to dispose of the wheelbarrow loads of excess soil that Jon and I had spent most of the morning generating whilst digging the hedge-line trench.

      With all four holes finally dug, the trench prepared and the trellis up, we stopped only briefly for an al fresco chicken stir-fry lunch, before I had to crack the whip again, as plenty more still had to be done before we lost the light. However, with most of the hard graft already completed, the second half of the work programme would be the fun part, as it was time to plant and prune.

      Following the tried-and-tested methodology for hedgerow planting, the trench Jon and I had dug was back-filled with a mixture of compost and the soil we had already dug out. The whips, which we had also purchased from the local nursery in a job lot with the fruit trees, were then planted in two rows, half a yard apart and in staggered fashion, creating a zigzag pattern. As by far the most whips we had purchased consisted of the cheaper hawthorn, with a smaller mix of field maple, blackthorn, spindle and alder buckthorn, Graham had the excellent idea of planting the back row with pure hawthorn and then alternating the front row with the other pricier species.

      It was inevitable during the morning’s work that one or two of the primroses just pushing their heads above the surface would be in the wrong place, but, wherever possible, any plants in the way were carefully dug up and then relocated to a safer place elsewhere in the meadow. It was not just the primroses that were flowering; in addition to at least half a dozen varieties of daffodils randomly cropping up all over the garden, small golden rafts of another of my favourite early spring wildflowers were in full bloom too. Overlooked by many as nothing more than a small and inconsequential early-flowering buttercup, the lesser celandine is anything but, figuring heavily as it does in the writings of surely one of our most celebrated poets, William Wordsworth. Probably best known for his ‘I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud’ poem, where he waxes lyrical about daffodils, his favourite plant was actually the lesser celandine, which he honoured with an entire poem that begins thus:

       There is a flower, the lesser celandine

       That shrinks, like many more, from cold and rain

       And, the first moment that the sun may shine

       Bright as the sun himself, ’tis out again!

      So adoring had Wordsworth been of this flower that it was decided after his death that the plant would be carved on his tombstone, but it seems the chap commissioned to carry out the work was no botanist and actually carved a greater celandine by mistake. To make matters worse, the greater celandine is not even related to its lesser namesake, but is a member of the poppy family instead – a grave mistake! In Wordsworth’s poem he is of course spot-on when describing how the lesser celandine tends to be a bit of a fair-weather creature, only bothering to unfurl its petals properly when the sun comes out. And today was such an example, with the gorgeous weather having encouraged the flowers to emerge from the massed ranks of kidney-shaped leaves, to create the most wonderful golden splashes in amongst a field of green. But for me personally, he missed out the most interesting quirky feature of this plant, which is how all the flowers operate like miniature satellite dishes as they faithfully track the progress of the sun across the sky – this plant is in essence a botanical representation of me, a dedicated sun worshipper!

      The planting of whips was of course kids’ play, and involved no more than using a spade to create a slit trench into which the roots of the sapling were carefully placed before a boot was delicately applied to bed the plant properly in. So with Jon starting at one end and me at the other, in less than half an hour we successfully managed to plant ten yards of mixed-species hedge between the rear of the garage and the wooded bank – all we needed to do then was to water the whips and wait another decade for the hedge to mature and it would be job done!

      Back over where Andy and Katy had been busy toiling away, the planned junction between formal garden and nature reserve had in the meantime been transformed into an orchard! Their last remaining job was to drive in the supporting stakes, at an angle of 45 degrees to avoid any damage to the root-balls, and also along a southwesterly orientation to give the trees the best possible support against the predominant prevailing wind direction.

      The formation of a mini-orchard was something that Christina and I had both been keen on. Due to a combination of there nowadays being little room for small orchards in modern farming and the fact that supermarkets have been reluctant to sell homegrown apples, more than half of all our British orchards have disappeared since 1970. This is particularly shameful when you consider what hugely important wildlife habitats they have become, as orchards will often be the best places to find a wide range of wildlife, from the lesser-spotted woodpecker to rare beetles and mistletoe. Probably as a result of the mild and wet climate found in the West Country there was also a strong tradition of growing apple trees in all the counties, spanning in an arc from Herefordshire and Worcestershire all the way to Somerset. This local long-standing regional association with the apple can also easily be verified by a visit to any public house within the area, as is this is probably the one region in the UK where cider drinkers outnumber ale-drinkers! With all this in mind it would have been criminal not to do our bit both to halt the decline of the orchard and to continue supporting a strong, local heritage. There would also hopefully be the small added benefit of a few apples for both us and the wildlife to share too!

      Continuing our theme of buying local wherever possible, Christina and I had selected the three apple trees from three different varieties with both a regional heritage and a similar pollination group. With luck, the garden would be graced with ‘Scrumptious’, ‘Cheddar Cross’ and ‘Discovery’ apples for decades to come, starting with this autumn.

      Last but not least, the technically adept pairing of Graham and Christina had done a marvellous job of erecting the trellis to hide huge sections of pebble-dashed garage wall. With something for the wisteria and clematis to be finally pegged back to, loppers and secateurs could at last be ruthlessly wielded to give them a radical short back and sides – with such unruly plants, you often have to be cruel to be kind!

      With all the tools stowed away, Christina then brought ice-creams for the workers out of nowhere as we wandered around admiring our efforts. Thanks to the willing posse and the clement weather it had been our most productive day so far, and the transformation to the garden nature reserve was at last well on its way.

      With Christina now back at work and my filming schedule of back-to-back trips still a month away, I was keen to capitalise on our good start by filling any spare time with garden chores, and the following Tuesday was one such opportunity to initiate phase two of the compost bin construction job. With my now trusty Workmate, Graham’s borrowed saw and in the most beautiful weather, I soon made short work of sawing up the last of the recycled wood ready for the planks to be nailed together. Suddenly realising that a trip to the DIY