We dug up some real treasures when we were going through our archives to produce the anniversary special.
The sad thing was having to leave behind so many lovely items we’d have loved to use. Thank goodness for the People’s Friend online, so we can share some of them with you here! I thought this little poem, “Pa’s Allotment”, was delightful.
Karlie has already explored the joys of allotments elsewhere. My family has never had one, but it has had its share of gardening fanatics. Once out in the garden, hours would pass before they’d reappear. And woe betide anyone who interrupted the digging for something as unimportant as calling them in for lunch! It was all worth it, though, for the delicious new potatoes, freshly dug for dinner.
Coming across the poem in one of our 1918 issues certainly made me smile. A gardener’s love of his or her hobby goes deep – and so does the appreciation of the family’s non-gardeners . . . mostly!
Our pa’s got an allotment,
It isn’t very big;
But he comes home quite worn and bent
When he’s been there to dig.
He views with pride the callouses
That deck his grimy paws;
Last week he burst his “galluses”
In digging for the cause.
He looks just quite as grubby
As we do after play;
Ma says her “idol” hubby
Has developed feet of clay.
She also says when he’s asleep
He gives her lots of prods;
P’raps he dreams he’s trenching deep,
Or turning over sods.
But we all wish him lots of luck
And pray his seeds aren’t “duds”
We know it must take lots of pluck
To make ‘lotments cough up spuds.