Digging up Madeleine Moments On Rodborough Allotments

Rolled sleeve, break-back, pounding chest,

Up here, just below Butterrow West,

Where I plant and dig and study and sow,

While neighbours wander to and fro,

Past rusting barrows, ramshackle sheds,

Oil drums, baths, and compost beds,

With sticks and string to seed-space measure,

For next year’s crops to plot and treasure,

As rain drops drip on mouldering fruit,

And deep dug spade and couch grass root,

While I look down on canal and town,

Old Great Western cream and brown,

And hear the ghosts of gramp and dad:

‘Breathe the air ‘fore it’s breathed on lad’,

By the stretched-out cloth on tenterhook,

Old Stroud scarlet where the ghosts just stood,

And feel the past pulse through my veins,

Digging the future in mist and rain,

A time to come; and past, and present,

This is my harvest on Rodborough

allotment.

By Stuart Butler