The Man in a Van

 

He was suddenly there at the end of our country lane. As I was driving onto the main road, I noticed his wooden caravan pulled onto the grass verge almost under the trees. It is a wide verge and he did not have to worry about yellow lines like the Lady in the Van because he was well away from the traffic.

On my journey home I noticed his car also pulled onto the verge. Gradually things began to develop. Several rustic poles were hammered into the ground and then plinths appeared on the top. On these plinths he positioned carved wooden animals. They were almost life sized. There were owls, rabbits and what looked like weasels, but it was hard to tell as I drove past. Sometimes I saw him at work carving animals out of the wooden logs stored near his caravan.

At our junction there is a little pull-in, and I often saw cars parked there and the occupants going to have a look, and perhaps buy his carved country-side creatures. Eventually a notice went up saying that he could take card payments. On cold days you could see smoke rising from the little chimney stack on his caravan roof.

We got used to him being there and he sometimes waved as we went past. The neighbours talked about him.

“I wonder how long he will stay. I wish him well.”

“I don’t mind him being there, he is doing no harm, is he?”

It is often hard to make a living these days. I once went into an ‘Antique’ shop to buy a picture. I paid the price because I liked the rural scene.

“I can have steak for my tea now I have sold that,” said the owner.

And I heard that again at an Autumn Fair last week. The person was selling handicrafts, they were mostly knitted articles. Sales were not going well until someone bought a beautiful baby’s jacket. 

“We can have fish with our chips tonight.” She said to her sister who was helping with the stall.

Have you noticed the autumn fungi? This year, perhaps because it has been damp and wet, they seem to be flourishing. Under our birch trees we have the beautiful story-book red fly agaric and under the sycamore trees the ink caps are fingering through. There is a wood wide web network underground where fungi and bacteria connect to tree roots. They all share their resources such as food and water to help with survival.

The man at the bottom of our road has gone. One day he was not there and all that is left is one of his wooden poles.

(Taken from my Column in the Shropshire Star)