My gardening heroes

When we think about our gardening heroes and influences we naturally tend to consider those in the public eye. The first television gardener I can remember, not only as a presenter of Gardeners’ World but also as resident Blue Peter gardener was Percy Thrower. I was quite young in those days and although my wife occasionally refers to me as Percy I can’t remember him well enough to put him on my heroes list.

More influential to me was Geoff Hamilton. He was a keen advocate of organic gardening and in an era when there was a spray or treatment readily available for almost every garden gremlin Geoff was ahead of his time. He had a parsimonious approach too, never buying what he could make himself and reusing anything he could - true allotment gardening spirit in my opinion. Geoff was like a gardening friend and made Gardeners’ World a must watch for me.

I’m a fan of Monty Don too, not only for his gardening knowledge but because he often talks openly about the link between gardening and mental health, again, in his own quiet way, a trailblazer. His garden at Longmeadow sometimes looks like it’s on the verge of getting out of control, I find this quite reassuring.

Bob Flowerdew, a regular on BBC Radio 4’s Gardeners’ Question Time is another gardener I like to listen to. Another organic gardener, he has a common sense approach, a tolerance of weeds, a wonderful plaited ponytail and a surname that seems to rule out any other profession, what’s not to love?

Another character that has made an impression on me is no-dig gardener Charles Dowding. I watched him give a lecture at a gardening show a few years ago. It was really interesting and his presentation style was so relaxed that it felt more like a chat over a drink than a lecture. I’ve been following much of his advice since, but confess that I still have to get the fork or spade out from time to time.

But enough of the celebrities, what about real life?

I had a teacher at secondary school called Mr Harrison. He was a really lovely man who encouraged my enjoyment of gardening and nature and said I had the makings of a good gardener. I was in his class until I was about thirteen I think. When I did my ‘O’ level options inexplicably I dropped rural science (is there still such a subject?), one of my best and favourite subjects in favour of metalwork. Mr Harrison, forgive me for that, and for annoyingly, deliberately and consistently referring to soil as dirt. I know you hated that.

Then there’s old Dave up the allotment. Dave is over eighty, I know this because he tells me every time I see him, but regardless of his age he can be found at the allotment every day. He can be quite feisty too. The first time I met him he challenged me for ‘trespassing’ on the allotments. There had been a spate of thefts on the site and as a newbie old Dave didn’t recognise me. I was able to justify myself and escaped unscathed. There’s a story that on a previous occasion a hapless intruder received a fork in the rear end so I was fortunate. Putting that to one side though, you can always rely on Dave if you want to borrow a barrow, or need gardening advice and he’ll never let you leave his plot without a lettuce, courgette or a bunch of carrots, no matter how much you explain you have plenty of your own!

My number one gardening hero is my dad. A self taught gardener he’s successful with flowers as well as vegetables. He has the gift of green fingers, anything he tries seems to be a success. There’s no science behind it as far as I can see. ‘Just plant it, it’ll grow’ he says. And it does. If I’m behind on my sowing or planting his advice will be, ‘Don’t worry, it’ll catch up’. Invariably he’s right.

My Dad, legend, amongst the dahlias. Taken last year when he was ninety. Photograph by Stephanie Johns.

As a father of five, often working six twelve hour shifts a week, I have no idea how he found the energy for gardening in his ‘spare’ time, but there was always a bountiful supply of home grown vegetables on our dinner plates. It was delicious. One of my children wouldn’t eat carrots unless they were gramp’s. My dad is now ninety-one years old. Not only does he still look after his garden but he cares for my mum with even more tenderness and dedication. A true, real life hero.