Black Country Allotment Society

I’ve been aware of circadian rhythms this past week. Given that it’s suddenly now dark before 5pm (precisely when did this happen?), all the summer routines are gone, forgotten. Dinner is early. Waking up is late. I’m getting through tealights so quickly we’ll have to do a special trip to Ikea to stock up. Hell, I’ve even been craving sprouts (but only if they’re roasted. That’s the key to a good sprout).

So there’s not been much allotmenting, just a lot of….sitting. I am good at sitting, it’s all that yoga (i.e. to relax is not lazy, but essential if one is to feel part of the wider universe. Got to love those yogis). But if one is going to be in hibernation from November to March, some decent reading material is needed.

Happily, the postman brought such an item the other week, a brown box filled with beautifully presented essays and musings on the allotments of the Black Country. It’s the work of Susie Parr, a writer who has been working with Multistory, a community arts organisation based over in West Brom.


The box of delights

Susie spent two years popping in and out of Black Country allotments, making friends with the tenants, researching the history of allotments and, by the sounds of it, getting completely lost driving around Sandwell (easily done).

She discovered a rich cast of characters on her travels. I particularly enjoyed reading about Alison, who I think must be in her 60s. Alison never chucks anything away. Yoghurt pots become seedling nurseries, an old bucket serves as an amplifier for the radio, and she makes her own storage heaters though, frustratingly, I am not told how.

Alison uses a pencil to punch marks into used tin cans, making every-weather plant labels. On one label, she has engraved a poem:

The kiss of the sun for pardon

The song of the bird for mirth

One is closer to God in the garden

Than anywhere else on earth

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Snapshot of the mend-and-make-do plant labels

Sandwell and the Black Country are just down the road from us but in many ways they are a world away. It’s not true to say that this area is post-industrial – the Black Country remains industrial. It’s a hive of industry. Whilst our patch of land in Harborne is overlooked by massive houses owned by surgeons and solicitors, plots just 1 or 2 miles away in the Black Country are surrounded by tight terraced housing, warehouses and nondescript industrial buildings. Some things have changed though: I loved this shot of haymaking, date not given but I’d surmise it’s early 20th century.

Haymaking at Craddock’s Farm c. Walsall Local History Centre

Haymaking at Craddock’s Farm c. Walsall Local History Centre

I got the sense from Susie Parr’s introduction that she hadn’t expected to find such a thriving scene of gardeners in the Black Country. If I’ve learnt anything from living here, it’s to not judge by appearances. Even in the most unpromising of areas, there are gems to be found.

You can read more about the Black Country Allotment Society project at

Full disclosure: My friend and former colleague Kate works for Multistory and sent me a free copy of the Black Country Allotment Society publication to read. I was under no obligation to blog.

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