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The Plot So Far
The Plot So Far
The Plot So Far
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The Plot So Far

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Mat Coward has been writing a monthly gardening column for the Morning Star newspaper since 1993, mostly concentrating on the organic cultivation of fruit and vegetables. This collection gathers around 100 of his favourite columns from the last two decades.

LanguageEnglish
PublisherMat Coward
Release dateJul 28, 2014
ISBN9781311648815
The Plot So Far
Author

Mat Coward

Mat Coward is a British writer of crime fiction, SF, humour and children's fiction. He is also gardening columnist on the Morning Star newspaper. His short stories have been nominated for the Edgar and shortlisted for the Dagger, published on four continents, translated into several languages, and broadcast on BBC Radio. Over the years he has also published novels, books about radio comedy, and collections of funny press cuttings, and written columns for dozens of magazines and newspapers.

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    Book preview

    The Plot So Far - Mat Coward

    The Plot So Far

    by Mat Coward

    Published by Alia Mondo Press at Smashwords

    Copyright 2014 Mat Coward

    This ebook is licensed for your personal use only. It may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please buy an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not buy it, or it was not bought for your use only, then please go to Smashwords.com and buy your own copy.

    All proceeds from this ebook will go to the People's Press Fighting Fund, which supports the Morning Star, the world's only English-language, socialist, daily newspaper, and the UK's only co-operatively-owned daily.

    The articles reprinted here originally appeared in the Morning Star between 1994 and 2014.

    ***

    Table of Contents

    Introduction

    January: Shallots; Seakale; Celeriac; Parsley; Broad beans; Turmeric.

    February: Extra early potatoes; Field beans; Leafmould; Jerusalem artichokes; Pigeons; Leaf celery; Parsnips; Globe artichokes.

    March: Horseradish; Saffron; Brussels sprouts; Ramsons; Red cabbage; Blackcurrants; Crop rotation.

    April: Achocha; Cloches; Weeding; Chickpeas; Cut-and-come-again salads; Cardboard boxes; Cucumber climbing frames; Chicory; Salsify; Kohl rabi.

    May: Asparagus peas; Mashua; Pumpkins; Peaches; Alexanders; Chinese artichokes; Ginger; Sweetcorn; Mangelwurzels.

    June: Asparagus; Summer purslane; Sugar snaps & mangetout; The hungry gap; Courgettes; Green bags; Rootball soaking; Carrots.

    July: Barrel pond; Chinese cabbage; Late summer sowings; Florence fennel; Swiss chard; Winter radishes; Alpine strawberries; Corn salad.

    August: Spring cabbage; Frogs; Compost; Maincrop onions (harvesting); Sorrel; Sweet onions; Flea beetle.

    September: Horticultural fleece; Celery; Green manures; Lawns; Nasturtiums; Elephant garlic; Garlic; Chop suey greens.

    October: Crystal apple cucumbers; Wallflowers; Autumn jobs; Mexican sour gherkins & Chillies; Rhubarb; Burdock; Lemon grass; Dandelion.

    November: Food dehydrators & Mock quince; New allotments; Raspberries; Pears.

    December: Popcorn; Tiger nuts; Christmas trees; Maincrop onion (sowing); Amaranth; Oca & ulluco; Hazel; Pea shoots; Walking-stick cabbage; Yacon.

    About the author

    Other books by Mat Coward

    About the Morning Star

    Introduction

    In 1993 I started writing a monthly column on gardening for the Morning Star (a unique newspaper, which you can read more about at the end of this book).

    At that time, growing your own was far from fashionable, and on many allotment sites there were more empty plots than occupied ones. One of my allotment neighbours successfully grew barrow-loads of fruit and veg, and then had the problem of disposing of them all. His wife wouldn't allow his vegetables in the house, partly because They've got mud on them, but mostly because she feared people would think she and her husband were poor if it became known that they grew their own produce instead of buying it from the supermarket.

    Newspaper gardening columns rarely covered vegetables, let alone allotmenteering. By running a column about how to cultivate a vegetable patch organically, the Morning Star was, as it has so often been over the decades, in many areas, well ahead of the trend.

    I was not an expert gardener; in 1993 I was an enthusiastic amateur with a very few years of experience, and in 2014 I'm an enthusiastic amateur with a few more years of experience.

    So, in the beginning, the idea was that it was a column written by someone who was learning as he went along, and sharing what he was learning. I still see it that way, but the trouble is I've been doing it for so long now, that many readers think I must be an expert and therefore ask me questions to which the only answer I can honestly offer is I'm sorry, I've no experience of that. In my gardening column I write about things I've tried, which have either worked, or failed, or, sometimes, a bit of both.

    Of course, personal experience will only take you so far, because there is so little of it available per human lifetime. Gardening, here in Britain, is seasonal; supposing you started gardening when you were 10, and finished when you were 80 - that would be a good, long gardening life, but you would still only have planted your potatoes 70 times. Seventy repetitions is nowhere near enough to gain mastery of anything, as a bricklayer, a piano player, a spin bowler or a potato grower. It's a tiny fund of experience on which to draw, even when it's complete (and therefore of no further use to you).

    All useful human activity is collective. This is even true of apparently solitary activity; any poet is only the end of a chain of previous poets (and then, of course, she's not the end of it, because other links are added after her). Poetry is a collective act, no matter how solitary the poet. A group of gardeners on an allotment site, or leaning over neighbours' fences, might collectively have personal experience of five hundred potato-planting seasons, or a thousand; now that is more like a workable sample. The ambition of my column, then, is to add one more voice to the collective on which each of its readers draws.

    Two more things I want to mention, briefly; I'm going to apologise once (and then let the matter drop) for using the word pests. It seems to me an unscientific, even anthropomorphic term, but I've never been able to think of a better one. Pests are just animals going through their life cycle, the same as the rest of us, and in the process causing damage to the interests of other animals - in this case, gardeners. A human who kills a slug in the garden is every bit as much a pest (to slugs, and, for instance, to the birds that eat them) as is the slug to us when it eats our lettuces.

    And I really should explain why I use so-called Imperial Measurements, in Britain's only anti-imperialist daily newspaper. Frankly, one reason is that they're what I'm used to, but I also think that those are still the measurements that most people tend to use in gardening, no matter what they were taught at school, or what they might use in other parts of their lives. I've met people who were born in the 1980s or even 90s who, when gardening, will sow seeds an inch or so apart, or set plants out at a distance of about a foot. I've never encountered, in real life, a gardener who puts his garlic cloves in 17.780 centimetres apart. If such people do exist, and they find my terminology confusing, I can only apologise.

    It's also worth mentioning that distances given in gardening are invariably round numbers; this on its own should remind us that they are not to be taken too literally. The numbers we choose are round because they suit us, rather than because they suit the plants.

    January 2008: Shallots

    If your Christmas was rendered an unbearable, joyless parody of festivity by the terrible spectre of shop-bought pickled onions - with their artificial taste, their lack of crunch, and their miserable uniformity of shape, size and colour - then it's time we had a serious talk about shallots.

    Multiplier onions - a class which includes shallots, potato onions and various others - are those which produce a clump of small bulbs from every individual bulb (or set) planted. As well as making by far the best pickles, they're ideal for dishes such as stews and casseroles, as the onions can remain whole when cooked. They're also far easier to grow than normal onions. If your soil's too poor for maincrop onions, you should still be able to get a worthwhile crop of shallots.

    They can be planted from late autumn to mid-winter, and then again from late winter until early spring. Traditionally, shallots went in on the shortest day of the year for harvesting on the longest day, but ground conditions are a better guide than tradition. Like any other vegetable, they won't benefit from sitting in cold, wet soil. It's worth covering the shallot patch with glass or plastic cloches for a couple of weeks before planting, so that it warms up a little and becomes easier to work. If there's no decent weather in prospect at all, you can put the bulbs singly in four inch pots of compost for transplanting later.

    Choose, if possible, a piece of ground which has been well-manured or composted for a previous crop, or dig in plenty of compost a few weeks before planting. Space the shallots about nine inches apart in each direction, so there's enough space for a hoe to get between them.

    It's important not to push the sets into the ground, as this might damage them. Instead, make shallow holes with a dibber or trowel, and cover each shallot with soil to leave just the tip showing above ground.

    At this stage, birds are a nuisance - they grab the dry brown skin at the top of the set and tug the whole thing out of the ground. Use chicken wire or horticultural fleece to frustrate them.

    Shallots can also be grown from seed. This method is, I find, less reliable, but seed-grown shallots are said to be immune to many of the diseases which can - if only rarely - infect sets.

    In summer, when the foliage begins to yellow, gently lift the clumps and let them dry outside in the sun. If it rains, put them under cover. Once thoroughly dry, separate the bulbs, remove any lingering mud, and store somewhere cool and dry with good air circulation. Put aside enough healthy bulbs - smaller ones are best - to use as next year's sets. That's another great thing about shallots: once you've got them in your vegetable plot, with average luck you should never need to buy them again.

    January 2010: Seakale

    Seakale used to be a popular vegetable, in the good old days when child labour was plentiful, cheap and obedient. I'm afraid those ghastly trade union commies ruined all that, and if you want seakale nowadays, you'll probably have to grow it yourself. It's not an easy crop, but if you're willing to suffer some self-imposed super-exploitation it does make a tasty and unusual treat for eating raw or cooked in winter or spring.

    If you've already got seakale growing on your plot, about now is a good time to force it so as to produce tender, twisted, blanched shoots which will be ready to cut in March or April when they're around six inches long.

    The aim here is to exclude absolutely all light, and to provide a bit of insulation so as to raise the temperature a little. The simplest method is to cover the whole plant with a plastic bucket or small bin. A large pot will serve, if you remember to cover the drainage holes with some form of blackout such as gaffer tape. In the absence of all such aids, a ten inch mound of soil should do the trick, provided it doesn't wash away in the rain or get disturbed by animals.

    You can buy clay forcing pots specially made for seakale, but they cost a small fortune so I fear I'll be sticking with the black bucket for the foreseeable future.

    Ideally, you should first cover the crown of the seakale with a few inches of dry leaves, and finally surround the pot with manure, which will create some heat. In late spring, stop harvesting, uncover the plants, and leave them to grow again.

    Alternatively, for a crop at Christmastime, seakale roots can be dug up in autumn, once frost has killed the foliage, and blanched indoors at about 50 degrees F, in much the same way as chicory. This will kill the plant, but will provide cuttings from which to grow new ones.

    Seakale (Crambe maritima) is a very attractive perennial, with striking foliage, which people often grow in flower beds. If you're raising it for food, you should remove the flower heads, but if you leave them you'll have a mass of small, sweetly scented, white blooms which will attract many beneficial insects.

    One word of warning: seakale can be subject to brassica diseases, including clubroot. It usually grows without trouble in this country, though, being one of the few vegetables which is considered native to Britain. Indeed, since it's a seaside plant, you might find it the ideal crop to try, when most others fail, if your garden is very sandy or subject to salty winds and drought.

    It can be started from seed, but root cuttings, called thongs, are faster and more reliable, albeit more expensive. Most mail order seed catalogues stock them - order now, for planting in early spring, in a well-manured spot.

    January 2004: Celeriac

    For the first time in my life, I had a really good crop of celeriac last year. In fact, it was superb - honestly, if you'd seen it, you'd have felt like saluting it!

    As is so often the case, it's not possible to say precisely why this personal breakthrough happened when it did, after years of failure. Celeriac is a notoriously thirsty plant, and although I watered it throughout the long summer, I'm still surprised it didn't suffer from the lack of rain. Perhaps the plentiful spring rain was more influential than the summer drought. Certainly, my other winter root crops also did well in 2003.

    I grew a modern variety which I hadn't tried before, called Mars. I sowed the seeds in multi-purpose compost, in a small seed tray, which I put in an unheated greenhouse. A bright (but not too hot) windowsill would do as well, as would a cold frame.

    The seedlings germinated uniformly, and by the third week of May they were growing strongly enough to be pricked out, so as to avoid overcrowding. You

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