July 21, 2008 at 16:55 | Posted in Uncategorized | Leave a comment


The allotment is as much a part of the Northern English way of life as are pigeons, meat-and-potato pies and brass bands. In a region where many houses – perfectly good ones – have no garden, and there has long been a culture of vegetable growing. And then there was the war, and Digging for Victory, in which spare land was turned over to those willing and eager to grow food on it. My Uncle Frank used to grow onions the size of footballs on his allotment on Walney.

Allotments are still very popular in Barrow, and getting hold of one is pretty hard – there was a three-year waiting list for all areas when I enquired. This is a shame, as it’s difficult to get decent fruit and veg here, and I’d love to grow my own (I have loads of wormery compost to put on one though). Veg you grow yourself tastes like no other, and I’ve even managed home-grown brussels sprouts which otherwise I detest. I get angry when, as seems more and more common, allotment holders plant grass and garden chairs instead of food. And of course, those vermin of our time the property “developers” love allotments almost as much as they love bowling greens.


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