When the council allocated plot 1B to a young family from the nearby high rise, there was some scuttlebutt about giving an allotment to such people. But the old gardeners watched through rheumy eyes, withholding judgment.
The strangers proved good gardeners, with quiet children. So the old men relaxed. If the new lot grew some funny stuff, that was their business.
Summer was dropping into autumn, when Reg fell from his ladder. Nobody would have known what to do for him, but the sari-clad woman from 1B knelt at his side in the mud.
“I’m a doctor,” she smiled.
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