The Gardener’s Friend by Lucy Deedes

I am nearly seven years old; it’s the Easter holidays and I am outside in the paddock milking one of the goats, Dulcie, who mostly stands nicely on the bench for me.  Her friend Peggy, the chickens and the dog rummage around and a bored crow droops on the fence.

My mother comes out of the house with a big black sack and her toolbox and goes into the barn.  There is the sound of drilling and hammering then she stoops over and stands upright with a big wooden cross in her arms, as tall as her.  I think it’s far too big for the hamster’s grave.   The nosy goats stare at her with their yellow eyes. 

 Mum lies the cross down again and drags over a bale of straw, cuts the string and spreads it out over the floor.  This is unusual, for messiness with hay and straw is not allowed.   She pulls out what look like a pair of tights from her sack, and shoves straw in right down to the feet. I think she can never wear those tights again.  She stuffs them until they look like bursting, then ties a knot at the waist.    She takes some CDs from the sack and threads them on a long piece of string so that they glitter and click. 

Now Mum pushes the fat tights’ legs into the arms of a shirt so that the waist bit bulges out of the neck like a ball.  She does up the buttons and knots a tie round the collar and then she crams even more straw up into the shirt so it puffs out like a fat cushion.  Corduroy trousers get pulled from the sack: she ties string round the ankles and fills them with straw too, cramming it in so the legs fill out like balloons.  It looks as if she is wrestling on the floor with the straw thing, pushing the shirt down into the trousers and fixing on some yellow braces so they hold the trousers to the shirt and suddenly there is a massive floppy doll.  

She lays the doll down on top of the giant cross, then she staples it to the wood like Jesus.  Crack, crack, goes the stapler and the dog runs indoors.   Rubber gloves come out of the bag,   something gets snipped with scissors;  she pulls her pink wedding hat from the sack and I can smell strong glue from here.    She fixes some wellington boots to the end of the trousers and hangs the clattering CD necklace round the doll’s neck. 

She stoops and hauls the cross to the upright position, so that suddenly a massive man with puffy yellow hands towers beside her in a pink hat,  the CDs flashing round his neck.  He has eyes and a mouth with teeth, made out of cloth, and he smiles meanly. 

She carries him out of the barn towards us.   The crow flaps away and the goats take to their heels and gallop away down the field.