It was peaceful for a good many years in the Avenue, the residents being well disposed towards one another. A number of local events, coffee mornings and the like would see neighbours getting together to share problems and offer assistance where needed without being asked. Such was the age of the Avenue that each house was now occupied by retired couples who had seen their families grow up and leave home to make their own way in life. It would be an occasion for all when one or more children paid a visit which they often did. Each household exhibited a good standard of living and good modern cars nestled on the roadside or on drives. Gardens were on the whole well tended with lawns regularly mown and flower beds tidy and clear of weeds. Small trees planted when they first moved in were now quite tall with wide spreading branches.
The place had a comfortable, easy going feel about it.
However—
All this good will and peaceful living was about to vanish in a dense cloud of bitter animosity.
The unwitting catalyst in this disaster was the annual village show, known locally as The Flower Show, although it was much more than this name would suggest. There was a section devoted to jam making, another to cake decoration, yet another one for would be budding artists, and lots more.
Now the manner in which the houses were occupied was fortuitous.
There were nine houses in the avenue. And as was normal the odd numbered houses, that is numbers, one to seven, were on the left and faced south, whilst the even numbered ones, two to eight, were on the right facing north. The ninth house, that is number nine, stood at the very end of the road looking straight down over all the others—in command as it were.
As each young family left, and the old folk retired with lots of lovely time on their hands, they looked round for something interesting and absorbing to do.
Strangely, motivated partly by the many TV programs on the subject and partly by discussions at the coffee mornings there was a universal move to take up gardening, as a pleasant and fruitful way of spending the days. This desire to grow stuff took seed in each household. Greenhouses of various sizes were purchased and mounted on well founded concrete bases. `How To Do It’ books were obtained. The domestic routines would be broken by happy days out at one or other of the many local garden centres, browsing for new and different items to grow. If it was not a plant or shrub that was found it would be other garden assets for weed control or plant nourishment.
Neighbour helped neighbour giving advice and sharing their experience. After a time each and every one joined the local gardening club. The members of this august body were disposed to claim the biggest and the best of whatever was under discussion, in a purely friendly way you understand.
It was this comradely rivalry that prompted the instigation of `The Flower Show’, which in spite of its name had a place for almost anything remotely creative. As was stated all the households in the Avenue always attended The Show and all provided an exhibit with the one exception of number 9. This couple preferred to garden happily without the need to prove that they were the best in the Avenue.
However this show of independence by number nine was amusingly tolerated by the rest of the families.
Now you might be forgiven for assuming that this situation would generate rivalry of an unwelcome kind. However there naturally developed a most unusual pattern to this gardening hobby which prevented bitter jealousies which might have lead to outright warfare.
Put simply—it worked like this—
All the odd-numbered houses on the south side, that is numbers 1,3,5, and 7, concentrated on growing flowers. In these gardens not a single vegetable was to be seen, whereas the even numbers 2,4,6, and 8 did vegetables but no flowers.
And what of number 9, clearly excluded from this convenient arrangement? They always attended The Show and were always the first to congratulate any of the others on their winning. This couple were keen walkers and preferred to spend all of their precious time on the local hills, and not bent over some ailing shrub or plant carefully removing any unwanted vegetation.
It appeared that everyone was happy with this arrangement—so how on earth did this work as you would be correct in assuming there would be intense rivalry between the four vegetable prize seekers. But any likely competition was of a friendly nature. You see—number two concentrated all their best effort on carrots of which their `Long John’ nearly always took first prize, rarely second. Number four specialized in turnips of which their `Bald Pete’ was a sure winner, as was number six’s rare and tasty `Walter Raliegh’ spud a clear favourite. So together with number eight’s superb `Dashing Blonde’ cauliflower any real competition was eliminated. They were local specialists each with their own favourite vegetable and they felt safe in offering friendly advice to their neighbours, while keeping the vital ingredient to themselves.
So too it was with the flower growers. Number five was in love with roses of which several had reached national levels of exhibition quality and which retained the name endowed upon them by their grower. Hence they nearly always took first prize with the appropriate name of `Naked Beauty’. Indeed it was hard to resist the flower’s rich burgundy petals as one breathed in its heavenly scent. Number three concentrated on hydrangeas and won many a top prize with a shrub which was aptly named `Pool of Blood’. Number one was into heathers and won with `Samson’s Locks’. Number seven had a large pond on which he grew that most lovely of water lilies—`Joy Afloat’.
Year upon year the two halves of The Avenue celebrated the winning of a number of first prizes without treading on each other’s toes.
Throughout the year both sets of houses were incredibly busy in their gardens and green houses, but activity grew to panic proportions as the date for the Flower Show loomed. Nurturing their prospective prize winners took nearly all of their available time which was close on one hundred percent of their waking hours.
It remains a matter of record that not a single year had passed since the establishment of the Flower Show without some top prizes being won by both factions. Thus post-Show celebrations were both happy and somewhat alcoholic in character. The party was much looked forward to by the whole Avenue with many a keen gardener being helped home having enjoyed themselves a little too much.
Sadly—
This blissful and equitable situation was doomed not to last.
It is still, long after the event, not clear why it happened, the only relevant fact being that it did. On that score memories are both certain and long lasting. The effect on the Avenue was as if there had been a world shattering catastrophe—World War Two had less impact.
What is agreed however is how it all began.
As has already been described earlier, the house at the end of The Avenue number nine to be exact, did not compete in the Flower Show. The occupants of this house viewed the strenuous efforts of the others as being a waste of precious time. They had little or no interest in their own garden which apart from a single very small flower bed, a mere token as it were, was given over to more easily maintained lawns. They, husband and wife, were more interested in things that grew in the wild. Flowers to them should be viewed in the hedgerows, fields, and in acres of land free from human interference.
Both husband and wife could probably name a hundred or so species without reference to any of the small library of books they owned on the subject.
It was on one long winter’s night in The Flower Pot, as the local had been re-named, that Dave Lummuck of number nine was listening to a long and, to him, boring discussion between Fred of number four, and Bill of number five, on the merits of growing flowers as opposed to vegetables.
`You couldn’t grow a single decent rose if you tried,’ challenged Bill.
`And I`d have a good laugh if you ever produced anything like decent turnip,’ replied Fred.
Now it seemed to Dave that there was little merit in either argument.
The only immediate outcome was that when both Fred and Dave reported to their ladies when they got home they both thought that Dave might have been suffering from some ailment as he had been uncharitably silent throughout the evening.
*
However when he got home Dave began to think, and as a result he began to put together a plan. Now in fairness to Dave he intended it as a joke, fully expecting to be congratulated on a good wheeze.
He decided to keep his plan from his ever loving wife as he was certain that she would be against it and would do her best to put it out of action. And in this he guessed correctly. Intended as a jest his plan was to cause turmoil and for a time, at least, to put households at each other’s throats.
In the event Dave’s plan succeeded in completely wrecking the years of goodwill between households. It even came close to causing more than one divorce within otherwise happy homes.
Dire threats were issued, fists were waved, and what was much worse—neighbour refused to drink with neighbour in the Flower Pot.
So what did he do to cause such mayhem single-handedly?
The idea was simple.
Dave set out to enter the Flower Show with just one prize winning rose.
So what you ask, that would seem harmless enough?
—However this was not for winning a prize for himself.
—Oh no.
—That was definitely not the intention. Dave was not in the least bit interested in winning plaudits for himself.
—Dave’s devastating idea was that he would enter the rose not under his own name but under the name of FRED OF NUMBER FOUR. He would sneak it into the Show and place in prominently amongst Fred’s prize winning vegetables where he hoped it would be taken as one of Fred’s own exhibits. And it would be even better if it would win first prize over any of Bill’s entries.
In strict secrecy, he chose the now famous world beating white rose appropriately called `Winning Ways’. He gave it all the attention it required whilst keeping his intentions from his wife. The rose was at its glorious best on the day of the Flower Show.
Dave still intended it as a joke. Any sign of real trouble and he would own up and take the blame, and the jape would be enjoyed by all.
But life is not like that.
Lady fate plays tricks of her own.
Bill had the best collection of roses he had exhibited and felt certain of first prize—but Winning Ways was an international star and in the event was the clear winner and was greatly admired. It even made it to the national press, heralded as a great local achievement.
Fred came in for some hearty congratulations, in spite of his protests that the rose was not his—he was not believed. He was asked many times if he was now going in for flowers as well as vegetables. Regular visitors to The Show relished the idea of some real competition at last.
`No. Definitely not. I’m not in the least bit interested in flowers. I don’t know where that thing came from—it’s not mine.’
`Is that why it’s got your name on it? You sly dog. Anyway it’s a poke in the eye for old Bill. He’s up against real competition now, he only got a second this time.’
*
Suddenly only the women turned up at the next coffee morning, and having more sense than the men agreed not to discuss the issue that was dividing the men.
But the peace was gone.
Bill refused to talk to Fred making it impossible for the situation to be resolved.
Dave at number nine afraid of any repercussions on himself kept quiet. Between the men offers of cooperation were withdrawn. As people took sides all the households were now involved. It was one side of the Avenue against the other. Throughout the year following that disastrous Show the situation got worse with acts of sabotage taking place. Prize plants of both sides were attacked—holidays were cancelled and expensive electronic protection and CCTV were installed.
The atmosphere in the Avenue became most unpleasant. Traders and even postmen were reluctant to set foot in the place. The atmosphere was dreadful as the once peaceful Avenue was now on a war footing.
Clenched fists were waved in the Flower Pot and but for the fact that they were his only regular clients the landlord would have banned them all. Pets were chased and often had to run to avoid flying objects. Visiting sons and daughters were warned of possible retribution.
In all of this Dave at number nine kept very, very quiet. With the next Flower Show drawing near and the possibility of the whole thing boiling over, Dave realised he had to do something—but what?
Dave again set out to find the very best rose that the nation could offer, and found `Perfect Peace’ a fantastically beautiful bronze rose with a brilliant perfume—it was the nation’s number one. Dave swallowed the thought of the expense and secretly bought a first class sample.
It took some doing but because no-one suspected him he managed to sneak the rose in and this is the clever bit—place it amongst Bill’s exhibits with Bill’s name on it.
It worked.
Perfect Peace took first prize. Fred’s Winning Ways took second.
Bill’s reputation was fully restored.
Fred was the first to offer his congratulations—Bill said nothing but he knew that Fred was aware that Perfect peace was not his. He also guessed that Winning Ways was also the work of someone else. had not been grown by Fred.
Both men separately decided for the sake of the Avenue to say nothing. And as they were now reconciled peace quickly re-established itself in the Avenue.
It is not known if the truth ever leaked out.
Dave at number nine kept very, very quiet, and his wife started talking about moving to the seaside—`for Dave’s health’ she said.
JML
20/10/2010