Chelsea Fringe – London Garden No 5

Five Minutes Peace: a garden to sit in, a poem to read, and a prompt to write to … No 5. (Find out more about what this is all about here.)

LUSH SPA KINGS ROAD

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In honour of the Chelsea Fringe, the Lush store in Kings Road has plants everywhere, but it’s what is tucked behind what was one of Lush’s first stores, that I found interesting. Because they have planted out a pretty little courtyard with examples of some of the medicinal herbs used in their products.

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One of the the most surprising of which is ….

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…potatoes! MInd you, looking at most of the beautiful people in Kings Road, it feels more likely that the majority would use them as a beauty product than, heaven forbid, eat even one chip!

Looking much more at home is Orris and the Lush bath bomb in a, er, bath…

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The ‘Spa’ is a great idea. Laura, the manager, seems passionate about sharing the garden as an educational tool so do make sure you ask to see it – it’s at the back of the shop, and the courtyard – strung with bunting made from Lush bags – definitely pretty enough to write in.

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So I wasn’t sure if I could find a poem about potatoes to go with this post, but then I remembered Seamus Heaney’s wonderful poem, Digging… You can read it here

… and here’s a beautiful poem by John Clare set to music by The Albion Band to listen to as I invite you to write about a memory of growing vegetables …

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11 thoughts on “Chelsea Fringe – London Garden No 5

  1. Bean Trench

    My father presses down against the rolled steel edge with his size ten, heavy duty work boot and the steel blade bites into the warm, dark loam of his vegetable plot. He has his father to thank for the soil. Three tons of it carted in at great expense to cover the harsh, Alvechurch clay; no easy task in the late thirties, when all the old man had was his horse and baker’s cart and the hour or two between finishing work and dusk.

    Still, my father appreciates the good soil, his broad back bent under the April sun, patches of sweat staining the blue work shirt as he works his spade in and out, in and out. His garden fork, necessary for patches of dandelion or coltsfoot, serves as a perch for a robin and every now and then he dips to pull a worm from the soil and toss it to the bird. They are old friends.

    Today, he digs a trench for runner beans, double digging to make it deep enough to fill with fresh compost from kitchen waste, newspapers saved from the garage where he works as a mechanic and an old woollen jumper full of too many holes to patch. Yesterday he’d spent his hours weeding and mulching his strawberry lines with straw. Tomorrow he’ll be tilling the ground for peas or radishes or spring onions.

    He sees me watching and scowls. “Are you going to stand there gawping all day?”

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