My Mum won a garden competition in 1948. She was a widow and lived in a prefab which backed onto the Rochester Way (A2 I think)
This is the poem my brother wrote about the garden so I am proud of them both.
RIDGEBROOK TERRACE
Michelmas daisies brushed the windows
And fell through the open back door,
As the sparrows, cheeky chirpy chaps,
Black bibs bobbing cleaned the floor.
A small pond built of red bricks,
Resting on the surrounding pavement,
With two gold fish, shark size,
When light refraction bent.
The level lawn, handkerchief square,
Had hedges of heather and blue,
And rustic archway over the path,
Was drenched with roses of pinky hue.
Beyong this heavenly haven
Of bright eyed spiders domain,
Vegetables of every colour,
And underground, round sugar cane.
Purple gooseberry, the size of egg,
Between succulent strawberry and apple
That shine in the shade, in dark brown earth,
Where birch leaves gently dapple.
This plantation, with no straight lines
Or ruled edges, that shocks
The natural scheme of growing garden,
Ends finally in hillihocks.
This magnificent backdrop
Higher than stretched finger tips,
Would ever open travellers eyes,
And round astonished disbelieving lips.
Those palm tree tall sodium lights
That edged that road side oasis,
Though reduced now to memory
Their sight and perfume I’ll never miss,
For they are printed on my heart,
And will return at my slightest wish.
Sylviaann
