Country comes to city

Press, 25 February 1988, Page 10

Country comes to city

Your Garden

Thelma Strongman

Mary Matson’s cosy weatherboard cottage dates from the last century. The origins of the tiny dwelling are obscure, but it is thought that it was once part of an old stable block. One of the previous owners was an old gentleman of great charm called George, who extended the rooms to make maximum use of minimal space. Mary’s garden lies on only one side of the house. Its other three walls form part of the boundaries of other gardens. Although the section is a miniature 8 perches, Mary manages to combine a long vista, herbaceous borders, and to grow some of her own vegetables and fruit. Her garden is essentially a passageway running between other properties, which opens up in front of the house in a small courtyard area. There is no garage, so Mary uses her bike to get around parts of Christchurch which are too far to travel on foot. The access path to the cottage cannot be permanently paved as all the service pipes lie underneath. When Mary first went to live there the outdoor passageway consisted of impenetrable rubble. All her flowers and plants grow in a thin layer of

soil, gleaned here and there from road sweepings and forgotten corners, and brought back to the garden in a selection of bags and boxes. Mary Matson considers her garden is at its best in late November when the poppies, daisies, and other flowers are blooming. Visitors to the cottage then wade waist-high through a mass of flowery colour, reminiscent of an old English cottage garden. Most of the trees which overhang the path are apricots and peaches, which have been grown

from fruit sent by friends in the country. Mary simply pressed the stones into the soil here and there, and the trees which grew were the fittest survivors. Other plants have been cuttings given by friends, and from packets of scattered seeds. The wind has brought a large echium with spires of brilliant blue, and a banana passion fruit which scrambles up into a neighbour’s tree.

There is a fragrance in the form of a honeysuckle and piercingly-sweet philadelphus, and there are shasta daisies, marigolds,

sweet peas, foxgloves and many others. The courtyard in front of the cottage was paved some years ago by young student friends of Mary, and in it she sunbathes and relaxes. There is an early warning system for visitors in the shape of a note propped up against an upturned flowerpot on the path, inviting the visitor to cough loudly before turning the corner of the courtyard. In one corner, close to the house, is a hidden door in the fence which leads to the neighbour’s garden. A clucking and

scratching announces the appearance of a clutch of fluffy-legged bantams, presided over by a slightly harassed cockerel called Charlie.

Mary finds herself looking after Charlie and his harem in summer while her neighbour resumes charge during the winter. Charlie directs his team to respond by producing eggs for both of them. As both Mary’s garden and that of the bantam’s owner are shady, and alternative space is available, both have a vegetable patch in a third neighbour’s garden on the other side of Mary’s cottage. The washing line in this garden is also shared.

Tucked away within a very small area of the inner city, Mary Matson’s friends, her garden, and the neighbouring animals show that there can be a very civilised life-style to be lived — and one of genuine quality — amongst the hustle, the vacuous mirror glass, and electronically-sealed sterile apartment blocks of alternative, inner-city living.