I REMEMBER VIVIDLY the garden of my childhood: runner beans reaching for the sky with cascades of orange flowers; raspberries and currants like sparkling jewels; and a greenhouse full of tomatoes with an unforgettable smell.
The annual summer holiday was always a bit tricky for my father as it meant leaving his beloved garden. Once we were packed in the car for the journey home, there was no stopping, not for anything, until we reached the house. My father would disappear into the garden and before long the kitchen would be full of runner beans, peas and raspberries.
It’s hard to beat barely ...
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