By Edwin Heath. Images by Mike Robertson.

The whole thing suggests nothing more challenging than an amble down rustic garden paths, in some warm, glowing sunset … perhaps dallying amongst one’s overburgeoning roses, with secateurs in one hand and a cup of tea in the other. “Gardening? A piece of cake, old boy!” 

But then, perhaps all gardening activity is a physical form of hypocrisy, a demonstration of the absurd. The idea that Nature can ever truly be kept under control! Unfortunately, for a lot of the time, the illusion seems almost convincing. 

I am thinking, of course, of that balmy Sunday afternoon in July, many years ago, when everything in the world seemed just perfect. Our little nursery in the parish of Rendall had not been going too long, but already we were becoming quite well known. On Sundays, in particular, an occasional car-load of potential customers returning from high tea at the nearby Woodwick restaurant would de-camp itself into our nursery garden. We would mentally rub our hands together in anticipation, as well-dressed people with money to spare went strolling amongst our flower borders – which, that particular summer, were indeed looking admirable. 

Perhaps it was the unaccustomed warmth of the day, or the soporific hum of insects and bees, flitting between the flowers? Instead of working, we sat outside our house enjoying the sunshine, awaiting our next customers. Doubtlessly we had fallen into the classic gardener’s trap: we were feeling smug. 

So smug, so satisfied, that at first we could not comprehend the rustling sounds on our right. Then, to our horror, we spotted it. Sunning itself between the pansies and the cornflowers … a large rat! 

Not that we have any particular grudge against rodents, in their place. (Although the sight of a rat squeezing itself through a hole in the dyke, and then its long, scaly tail slithering after it, always sends a shiver down my spine). 

This rat, however, seemed to be going nowhere. It was conspicuously staying put, in broad daylight, right in the centre of our main flower border! We wondered if it had eaten some rat poison which had made it dopey. 

But before a reasoned judgement could be arrived at, we were aroused from our speculations by the genteel squeal of brakes. A car had stopped in our lay-by! 

Panicking under our breaths, we edged with feigned smiles towards the rodent, waving our hands discreetly and hissing “shoo!” out of the corners of our mouths.

Already, the visitors were walking down our drive. My wife, Nadia, went towards them, beaming “Hello!” while I stamped my foot frantically at the rat … which to my relief, finally relinquished its sun-trap amid the blooms, scuttled over the little stone bridge across the burn, and plunged into the cool shade of the dyke, beneath the blackcurrants. Whew! 

At that time, we used to sell all our plants from tables in front of the house, and from an old peat shed to the side which we had converted into a polythene-covered greenhouse. 

The flower bed containing the wonderful display of perennials-plus-rat began just a foot or two from this greenhouse; so when Nadia ushered her customers inside it, I thanked my lucky stars that the rat had departed, and an embarrassing sight had been avoided. 

I might have saved my breath. Before I knew what was happening, the rat had broken cover from the blackcurrants, had re-crossed the bridge over the burn, and was heading straight back towards me! 

Quick thinking and a cool head were vital in this situation … and it was then that I spotted our cat. 

The daft animal had been asleep the whole time, curled up beneath the cornflowers, practically in the same spot as the previously basking rodent. 

This time, I determined, every member of our family would earn their keep; so, as the rat bore down on us both, I gave our supercat ‘Bogles’ a worthy shake. 

Sleepily, he opened an eye, and watched without the slightest flicker of interest as the rat shuffled right past his nose. 

Again it fell to me to head the intruder off, and chase it back whence it had come. (Although what our customers made of this energetic gardener leaping through the flower beds with his hoe aloft, then standing guard with it beside the blackcurrant bushes, is anyone’s guess). 

As soon as the car had gone, we decided to resort to high technology. I stood watchfully over the determined escapee, while Nadia fetched the stereo radio from the house. 

We set it firmly on “our” side of the bridge across the burn, and switched on – loud! 

Whether it was Beethoven or heavy metal, I don’t recall; but it appeared to do the trick. For a good half hour there was no sign of the delinquent rat. 

When the next car pulled up, we had our smiling,”business as usual” faces on. Yes, and what a delightful afternoon to sit outside and listen to the radio at tea-time! Another scone, Doris? 

My smile faded, as I saw a nose-tip and two beady eyes poke out from beneath the fruit bushes.

My mouth opened, as the creature suddenly burst through and leaped across the stream, by-passing the bridge and the radio completely! 

Only the sight of a human being staggering to his feet with an incoherent cry impelled the equally frustrated beast to withdraw, in the nick of time, as another batch of Sunday strollers entered innocently upon the scene. 

Needless to say, by this time our nerves were almost beyond repair. Only a good laugh – or cry – and a glass or two of home brew at that uncustomary hour enabled us to carry on. 

Carry on? Mmm … could that be what gardening is all about?