'The Gardener'

‘The Gardener’

by Harry Riley

(this is fiction and resemblance to anyone living or dead, is entirely coincidental)

Reuben Ackroyd was a gardener, a very keen and enthusiastic gardener. He could be seen most days, summer and winter, rain or shine, pottering about in the garden at the side of his little cottage in the Yorkshire village of Bradstock, deep in the dales. Here was a man at peace with himself and content with his lot. He always had a cheery wave, a chat and a smile for the old ladies as they passed on their way to collect their pensions from the post office. He had lived here as long as anyone could remember. At first there were two of them, Reuben and his wife, but she had been a bad lot and had left, many years ago, along with the butcher’s son, one bright sunny day while Reuben was at work in the churchyard (he had been the gravedigger until the fashion for cremation made him virtually redundant) Now he would dig as a favour for the vicar and purely for free, to support the struggling church. Most of the flowers that filled the old Norman church every week came from his garden. He would fill up any remaining time doing favours for the elderly, gardening and odd jobs. If ever a man was destined for sainthood it was Reuben. He hadn’t harboured any ill will for his wayward wife or her young lover and had remarked, whenever taxed on the subject, that she was a lively young thing and “he hoped the two of ‘em were happy together and had a far better life than he could have offered in this sleepy little village.” He just wished she had kept in touch with a letter or a phone call now and again, so he could wish them well, like any true Christian should.

One of Reuben’s big successes was the fruit and vegetables, grown in his large greenhouse. He had built it himself and the whole of the ground inside had been lovingly nourished with organic manure over the years. He sold this tasty produce to the locals as they regularly beat a path to his door. There were juicy red tomatoes, melons, and squash, grapes and even peaches. Any surplus he sold to the local greengrocer. One day however, peace was shattered in the village as the lone pilot of a paraplane (a sort of motorised parachute) had a problem with his machine. He was flying quite low and a flock of geese got tangled up in the elliptical wing and brought him down with a crash, right through the middle of Reuben Ackroyd’s greenhouse. The pilot was declared dead at the scene by the medics and unfortunately so was Reuben, who had been spraying his tomatoes at the time. The dark, richly fertilized loam, that had been so brutally disturbed, now gave up a secret of its own. The rescue services were amazed to see the lids of two coffins, laying each side of the narrow pathway. The forensic specialist was later able to confirm the skeletal remains were those of Reuben’s wife and her lover, the butcher’s son. Reuben had conscientiously tended their graves, and in death they had helped to provide him with a little income.

End