Page 28 - ALG Issue 4 2024

COMMUNITY
THE
ACCESSIBILITY GAP
Allotments for disabled gardeners
A Cornish allotment holder asks:‘What would it be like to garden an allotment as a disabled person?’
If you’ve ever pondered this question,
I’d hazard a guess that either you or someone close to you is disabled. If I’m honest, I don’t think it had ever crossed my mind. But then, I had no idea I was going to become disabled.Two bouts
with colorectal cancer, chemotherapy, radiotherapy and total pelvic exenteration surgery, which left me paralysed in my right foot and barely able to walk, all mean that I’ve had cause to think again.
Until recently, my wife Katie and I were allotment holders on the north coast of Cornwall. Plot 41 is as far from the car park as possible, and it sits in a slight depression in the lee of a substantial hedge.This
gives a smidgen of shelter from the bitter northerlies and some protection from the rage of the south westerly gales. Stuff grows well enough but keeping it in one piece can be a challenge.
In the three years since my initial cancer diagnosis, this challenge had become a burden. Our allotment, a place where we’d spent happy hours absorbed in horticultural endeavours, had become a source of
stress and anxiety. With chickens to tend and brambles to keep at bay, almost all of the work fell to Katie. Even as I became stronger, the walk to plot 41 was enough to exhaust me.
Then there were the parish council’s missives. Improvements must be made. Eviction was on the cards.
I think it was the second letter of this nature which tipped the balance. Our chickens were attracting rats and there had been a complaint. As it happens, our chickens (Nollie and Tallulah), had recently been rehomed by a kind neighbour. So as to rats: not guilty. Brambles on the other
hand: guilty as charged.
We decided enough was enough.
We gave up our plot along with its three-year-old polytunnel, shed, fruit beds and apple trees. Leaving our allotment felt like a punch in the solar plexus, but it had to be done. In the car park, we said farewell to our lovely neighbour Vicky, who suggested: why not ask about the raised beds?
I’d seen the raised beds beside the car park and guessed that they were intended for someone with accessibility needs.The beds had been unused since being made a couple of years ago.Vicky was infectiously enthusiastic and so we made enquiries.
Yes: we could have that plot. Actually no, it was not a plot.We could have the beds, but we were not allowed to do anything else, because it was not a plot. On second thoughts, we could only have one bed,
or perhaps we could have both – but if someone else wanted the second bed
we would have to give it up. No: we most certainly could not have a shed to keep tools in. Not even a little one. Other stuff in pots? No. A greenhouse? No. Nevertheless, we took a closer look at the raised bed on offer. It was a third full of something that might have been topsoil and surrounded
by tussock grass growing on top of rucked and ragged weed suppressant. For a man with a paralysed foot and distinctly dodgy proprioception, the only thing going to get planted in this place was my face. It didn’t take long for our initial enthusiasm to be
washed away in the incessant rains of the wettest winter in years.
I decided to raise the matter with
the parish council in the hope that we could work together to make some improvements. I was delighted when I got
a response inviting me to meet the council clerk the following Thursday. On arrival
I was shown through to the somewhat dilapidated council chamber. It looked
like some plaster had recently fallen from the ceiling.Times were clearly tough.The clerk asked me, rather pointedly, if I knew where the parish council got its money.
I wasn’t sure but I imagined it was from
the county council. No? No, it was not.
Did I understand that the parish council raised its own taxes, and what’s more, did I understand that this meant that the council had to be accountable to taxpayers; people like me? Now that the fiscal constraints had been clarified for me, what did I suggest the council do?
I suggested a slightly more personal approach with allotment holders going through difficulties. Even some leeway
28 | Issue 4 2024 | Allotment and Leisure Gardener
“For a man with a paralysed foot and distinctly dodgy proprioception, the only thing going to get planted in this place was my face”