/4 The Allotment YearsI was the one who spent most time on the plot, but I didn't let myself get resentful when I was working alone, because I knew that when Wolf got there everything would get done ten times as fast. He was limited in what he could do, since he couldn't see much he was no good at seed-sowing or weeding - digging and construction work were his thing. Even though he could not see or draw plans, he worked it all out in his head, and when he began a project he knew exactly what he was doing. He built an entire greenhouse out of pallets given him by Ray Sykes. We thought it a generous gift, until Wolf tried knocking nails in them - the wood was so hard they bent. I had to buy a hand drill (no electricity on t'plot, and no battery drills in those days)
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and he drilled a hole for every nail he put in. Instead of admiring his dedication and expertise, the only comments from other gardeners were on the steeply sloping roof - "Are you building a cathedral?" "Is the bishop coming to open it?" Of course he had built it like a Black Forest house! Later, he built a second greenhouse, and at the top of the plot he laid a splendid series of patios, with walls, seating, raised and sunken areas - using broken pieces of paving and cementing everything in with bare hands, since he could not see, but he could feel when they were straight.
Sometimes I used to think, when we were hard at it down on the plot, that it would be nice to see a bit more of the world - even Barnoldswick was an adventure, on the few occasions we managed to get out on our bikes and ride there. But a Voice inside was telling me, "There is a time for everything. Now is your time for gardening, Other things will come later." And so it did, for in 1995 we cycled to Germany . . .
Sometimes I used to think, when we were hard at it down on the plot, that it would be nice to see a bit more of the world - even Barnoldswick was an adventure, on the few occasions we managed to get out on our bikes and ride there. But a Voice inside was telling me, "There is a time for everything. Now is your time for gardening, Other things will come later." And so it did, for in 1995 we cycled to Germany . . .
The Cycling Years
The idea was a tremendous one, it came from Wolf, and it needed a lot of planning and preparation. The Tory Government had us all scared to death of thieves, and we felt we could not leave without installing an alarm system, which had to be saved for, as it cost a tremendous amount of money. Then we had to pay off the debts to catalogues. Wolf wanted us to 'head for the nearest exit' as he said cycling on the continent was so much better, but I wanted to show him something of England on the way down. So we took a train to Leeds and set off into the wilds of East Yorkshire, making our way down through Lincolnshire, across the fens and into Norfolk and Suffolk, camping on the way. Wolf was absolutely right that we should have gone to Hull and
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got on a boat, the journey to Felixstowe took six days and we had to cheat on the last bit, and get a train from Ipswich, as I had booked the ferry to Zeebrugge before leaving home and we were running out of time.
The story of that trip was told on the Real Holiday Show that autumn, but it was not the story I wanted. When Wolf first had the idea, I thought he should get some recognition for what he was doing, and contacted someone in tv. We were put in touch with this travesty of a programme which neither of us had ever watched, so we did not know what to expect. A girl, Louise, was supposed to come with us, but she was in a camper van, on her own, and expected us to turn up at a prearranged venue every evening to be interviewed. Of course it is impossible for any cyclist, and particularly a blind one, to say how far they can travel in any one day. She had to take her chances, and on the few occasions she managed to find us, we were too tired and bloody-minded to talk to her. We were bitten to death by the oil-seed-rape beetles, looking like survivors of the Plague. We managed to lose her before arriving in Felixstowe, and she never turned up on the boat.
In spite of the not inconsiderable difficulties, and maps that were fifteen years out of date (the last time I had used them) we had a great time and great comradeship. I looked forward to that trip as something that would restore balance in our relationship - Wolf relied a great deal on me, but I sometimes felt I was too bossy and too much in charge. On the road I would have to trust in his strength and protection and take a back seat. He was a wonderful person to travel with. He had so much natural knowledge - he knew what the weather was going to do, which direction the wind was coming from, and whether we were heading in the right direction. We both had strongly developed instincts, and we were mature and sensible enough to be able to make decisions without either of us ever feeling the other was the 'leader'. Wolf always trusted my psychic sense, and if I said we should not go that way, or turn back, he immediately did.
The story of that trip was told on the Real Holiday Show that autumn, but it was not the story I wanted. When Wolf first had the idea, I thought he should get some recognition for what he was doing, and contacted someone in tv. We were put in touch with this travesty of a programme which neither of us had ever watched, so we did not know what to expect. A girl, Louise, was supposed to come with us, but she was in a camper van, on her own, and expected us to turn up at a prearranged venue every evening to be interviewed. Of course it is impossible for any cyclist, and particularly a blind one, to say how far they can travel in any one day. She had to take her chances, and on the few occasions she managed to find us, we were too tired and bloody-minded to talk to her. We were bitten to death by the oil-seed-rape beetles, looking like survivors of the Plague. We managed to lose her before arriving in Felixstowe, and she never turned up on the boat.
In spite of the not inconsiderable difficulties, and maps that were fifteen years out of date (the last time I had used them) we had a great time and great comradeship. I looked forward to that trip as something that would restore balance in our relationship - Wolf relied a great deal on me, but I sometimes felt I was too bossy and too much in charge. On the road I would have to trust in his strength and protection and take a back seat. He was a wonderful person to travel with. He had so much natural knowledge - he knew what the weather was going to do, which direction the wind was coming from, and whether we were heading in the right direction. We both had strongly developed instincts, and we were mature and sensible enough to be able to make decisions without either of us ever feeling the other was the 'leader'. Wolf always trusted my psychic sense, and if I said we should not go that way, or turn back, he immediately did.
That trip gave us the taste for more, and all our adventures will be told in my forthcoming book, Part 2 of my autobiography, to be called ‘A Walk on the Blind Side’. In subsequent years we went with Bolero Bus to Como in Italy, to Narbonne in France, Le Senequet in Normandy, and then in 2001 I said to Wolf that it was a pity we never saw the Black Forest proper - one visit to his mother had been enough, so we did not want to go there - and I found a holiday flat in a little village called Neukirch in the High Forest, with Erika and Max Romberg, who became our firm friends.
Once I had experienced the Forest, I never wanted to go anywhere else. You cannot fault the Black Forest on anything - pure air, pure locally raised food, their own water, wonderful beer, invigorating climate, miles and miles of just trees and meadows - it is paradise. There are two Gasthofs, one each end of the village, both with exquisite food. But we felt most at home in the Ochsen. We returned there as often as we could. I still visit Erika and her friend Irma, and their welcome is as warm as it ever was. |
THE 'BIG GIRL' OF PEYRIAC DE MER. Wolf at Peyriac de Mer, near Narbonne, in 1998. By the whistles and hoots from cars, I was sure they thought we were two girls, and they obviously preferred Wolfram. This was confirmed one day when a motorist slowed down, murmuring "Bonjour mesdames!" The look of horror on his face in the rearview mirror as he got a full view of Wolfram's beard was something to see!