This morning, as always, we lined up for our daily portion of George’s wisdom. Only today, things felt a touch… different. George wasn’t at his usual post but instead loitering near the greenhouse, deep in quiet conversation with Bert, the head gardener. Whatever was being discussed was beyond our ears, but I couldn’t help noticing the way they leaned in, voices low — the sort of exchange that made you wonder whether it was about roses or something far thornier.
Eventually George turned, brisk and all business, to hand out the day’s tasks. One by one the troops departed, until only Andrew (another trainee) and I were left standing. George beckoned us along, first to the tool shed, and then onward to the Dowager House — a grand, stately place reserved for the owner’s parents.
The winds had been fierce, and the gardens were strewn with pine needles and other debris. Our mission was simple: rake it all up and cart it off into the woods. Straightforward enough — at least for me. Andrew, meanwhile, disappeared into the shrubbery with his phone, no doubt saving humanity from zombies while I saved her ladyship’s flower beds from a sea of needles.
Lawns in need of raking. Can anyone seen Andrew?
By tea break at ten I’d already raised a respectable sweat. Afterward, with a few minutes to spare before lunch, I noticed three plants near the trees, their leaves drooping pitifully in bone-dry soil. I couldn’t resist. Borrowing one of the watering cans I’d spied nearby, I gave them each a good, refreshing drink.
After lunch I was reassigned to the hedge-trimming gang. Not to cut, mercifully — just to trail along and clear up the mess left behind. Still, Fred pressed a pair of hand pruners into my grip and showed me how to tidy up what he called a Cotoneaster. To my surprise, I enjoyed it.
Cotoneaster before a trim.
It was during this time that George reappeared. He marched straight toward me, voice stern as a headmaster:
“Who’s been watering her ladyship’s rhododendrons?”
My heart sank. Oh no. Busted. I stammered out a guilty confession.
To my relief, George’s serious face broke into laughter. “Her ladyship is very impressed. Well done. Good initiative.”
Three Parched Plants.
I made a bit of a trough around them to stop the water from running away.
So there it is. What I thought might land me in trouble actually won me a gold star. All I’d really done was water some thirsty plants because I felt sorry for them. Still, if a little compassion can earn favour in high places… perhaps it pays to keep an eye on who else looks a bit parched.
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