Seeds of my first allotment

Well, I guess I could take it back to childhood memories of being scolded for picking up, not quite yet ready, carrots. I thought I was being helpful digging up the weeds with their little green sprouting tops in my granny’s back garden, part of which I think must’ve been left over from the 2WW effort when there was a call for self sufficiency.

I think this story really starts when I’d made the decision to move to a Cambridgeshire village, with what seems like a fabricated name, the welding together of an historic roman town manchester and god. Godmanchester is a medieval town, linked by a picturesque norman bridge to Huntingdon, itself famed for having spawned the god-less Oliver Cromwell.

Enough on that. So it was that I’d decided to move to be closer to my new place of work in Godmanchester. Through the local council I found out about allotments and immediately signed myself up to both Godmanchester and Huntingdon allotments.

After a few months chasing, I picked up a voicemail from the allotment secretary in Godmanchester who asked me to check out a couple of potential plots…

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