Southend U3A

July 2024

The Garden Shed - Pete Norman.

Woman’s Hour had finished and Marjorie eased herself out of her chair. What she needed right now was a nice cup of tea. She flicked the button on the kettle and dropped a Yorkshire Tea bag into her cup. While she waited, she scanned the kitchen for something nice to go with it. There were some Rich Teas in a little box on the table and some lovely chocolate biscuits in the fridge that she had only bought yesterday. That was a really nice choice of two she thought . . . but . . . she smiled, a choice of three would be so much nicer, especially if the boys ‘just happened to drop by’. Like their father, their absolute favourites were buttered, jammy scones with fresh cream. She started to collect the ingredients together.

An hour later the doorbell rang.

As she opened the door, Russell sniffed and then smiled. ‘You’ve been baking . . .’

Marjorie threw up her hands. ‘You clever boy, you must have second sense.’

As William finished mashing the tea, Russell helped his mum to dress the scones to perfection and there followed a short period of joyous munching.

When the plates were clean, she turned to her boys. ‘Two of you at once is a little unusual. I am sure that you haven’t both come round on the vague possibility that there might be scones . . . so, what are you two up to?’

She was proved right with her hunch, because they glanced guiltily at each other as if each was trying to prompt the other to start the explanation. In the end, it was Russell – the older of the two – by 4 whole minutes – who opened up.

‘Well, you see mum, Will and I want to have a look in the garden shed . . .’ Then he faltered. Marjorie smiled. Something was definitely afoot and she was beginning to enjoy this. ‘What precisely are hoping to find in the shed then, sweetheart?’

Russell glanced at his twin as if seeking guidance but he was most definitely on his own. ‘Well, you see, that shed is old now and if we get more of these gale force winds and stuff that they keep threatening, then it could get blown away, so it’s probably better if we take it down now . . . after all, no one has used it since dad . . .’

In a slightly firmer tone, Marjorie interrupted, ‘But your dad did use it, didn’t he and he did build it, didn’t he and it was not some of your old Ikea flat packed rubbish – he designed it and built it properly and strong and it has survived right there, in the corner of the garden, since before you were born and I’m certain that it will outlive me.’

Russell glanced at his brother and nodded. ‘Alright, Mum, you win . . . only you’ve got a birthday coming up, don’t you – a very big birthday . . .’

Marjorie added, ‘Yes, indeed – three score years and twenty – I think even I might be able to remember that, thank you very much.’

Russell tried again, ‘Only William and me wanted to give you a special present – which was supposed to be a surprise – a present to celebrate your birthday.’

William added, ‘We were going to do up your garden so you’ve got somewhere nice to sit out when the weather is nice.’

Marjorie smiled. ‘What a lovely thought, boys. That would be really sweet . . . except that neither of you know which end of a spade to hold and you don’t know a daisy from a daffodil. Apart from that . . .’

Russell looked to William helplessly. There was a resigned shrug of his shoulders – they both knew that they had never been able to pull one over on their mum when she was determined. ‘Ok then, mum, we are getting someone in to do the garden for you and the shed would . . . the shed would be sort of in the way . . . and we thought that as you never used it, then . . .’

‘So, you thought that you could take away my shed without asking . . .’

‘But we were asking . . .’ However, they both knew they were beaten.

Marjorie smiled. ‘I know you are trying to do something really nice but you must let me have a few days to go through this myself – your dad used that shed for years and I have no idea what’s in there. I do know that there’s piles of magazines – not the sort that I would want to read, mind you – but they might be someone out there who’d want them.’

She soaked up their horrified expressions for a few seconds before adding, ‘You know, things like Angling Times, Course Fishing . . .’

William laughed. ‘Ok, mum, you’ve always managed to get one over on us, but your birthday is only a couple of weeks away, so help us out, please and do it soon.’

She nodded. ‘I’ll have a nosey tomorrow. Now who would like another scone?’

The following morning, with some trepidation, she walked over to the shed. She hadn’t been near it for several months, ever since . . . She paused for a moment as she pulled out the key. The only times that she ever used to go anyway near the shed was to take Frank a cup of tea while he was working on something. He seemed to be always working on something.

She opened the door and there was a smell so familiar, so personal, so Frank that she reeled back. After she had regained her composure, she pushed her way inside, through the mountain of fishing magazines, past boxes containing every tool known to man and a collection of weird bits that she had no idea what they were for.

At the very back of the shed was a large wooden cabinet. For some reason she wasn’t quite comfortable opening the door to this one. She plucked up the courage. Inside was something wrapped up in brown paper. As she touched the paper a strange, electric feeling swept over her. She took a deep breath and pulled the package out.

It was heavy.

She carefully unwrapped the paper . . . and then sobbed her heart out.

When she had recovered a little, she wrapped it and up, carried the package back to the house and put it beside her chair.

The following day the boys returned and were greeted with chocolate brownies. They chatted throughout the tea and the delicious chocolaty feast but eventually the elephant in the room drew them back to reality.

William broke the deadlock, ‘Well, mum, have you managed to have a look at the shed?’

Marjorie bent down and picked up the package. She pulled off the brown paper and laid it carefully on the table in front of them.

The boys stared in amazement at the beautifully carved wooden heart, polished to a shine, with the number 8 carved in the centre alongside an almost complete zero next to it.

With tears in her eyes she said, ‘You can tell that Charlie Dimock or whoever else you are going to get to do it, that they can do whatever they like with the garden but if anyone so much as lays a finger on my wonderful, talented, adorable husband’s workshop then they will have me to reckon with.’