THE CHARM OF GARDENS 



that one, and these half standards shifted. Good. It 

 should be done. 



It seems that the earth requires a little ceremonial 

 even when the merest scratch is to be made on her 

 surface. I am sure we wheeled a barrow containing 

 spades, a line, and sticks with some feeling of pro- 

 cessional pride. The gardener then, having come to a 

 stop with the barrow, spat, very solemnly on his hands. 

 It appeared to be the exact form of vitual required. In 

 a few minutes we had pegged a way. 



I suppose a spade is the first implement of peace ever 

 made by human kind. It is certainly the pleasantest 

 to hold. A rake is a more dandified affair, a hoe not so 

 well-formed. The scythe and the sickle have a store 

 of poetry and legend about them, but the rake and the 

 hoe contain no romantic virtues. Although the plough 

 is the recognised implement of peace in symbolical 

 language, it joins hands with war in that same language 

 — " turning their swords into ploughshares " — and 

 so loses much of its peaceful meaning, but the spade 

 remains always the sword of -the man of peace, one 

 weapon by which he conquers the ground and makes 

 the earth yield her fruits. For me the spade. 



The gardener, having spat upon his hands regarded 

 the earth and sky as if to mark and measure the earth 

 and the heavens, and them to witness his first cut. 

 The spade, lifted for a moment, drove deep into the 

 earth. The soil, pressed by the steel, turned. A new 

 path was begun. How long is it to last ? 



There are garden paths, so commenced, have made 

 history in their day, why not mine ? Kings, Princes, 

 Lords, Queens, Maids of Honour, spies and honourable 

 men have trodden garden paths, measuring their small 

 length and discussing everything in the states of Love 

 or Country to come to some decision. The Poppies 



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