EDEN-MUNICIPAL VERSION

ANOTHER EDEN

November had been stormy. Trees had been blown down, roofs blown off
and the river had burst its banks.

But worst of all was the damage to the Park. The Garden of Eden
Municipal Park lay on the outskirts of the town, the imposing iron
gates being flanked by the stumps of railings removed during the war.
It lay in a once-prosperous neighbourhood and on the other side of the
road there stood large decaying stone-built houses. Once they had been
Christian Science Churches or Theosophical lodges. Now, many of them
had been converted into flats.

Near the gates stood the wooden hut of the Park Superintendant, the
Mayor's brother He held the posts of Secretary, Treasurer and Chairman
of the local municipal union.

Ron (that was his name) had been occupied by union business all
afternoon and was ready for a break.

"What's next on the agenda, Mr. Secretary," he asked himself.

"I move we suspend the proceedings for a cup of tea, Mr.
Chairman."

"I concur," said the Treasurer,"I move we asked Brother Ron to put on
the kettle."

"As it happens, Brothers," said Brother Ron," it's already on.

And as he rose to make the tea, a small wizened man entered the hut.
"Hello Ron," he said, "all by yourself? Am I in time for tea?"

"Right on cue, Mr. Mayor," answered Ron, ": I 'm just making one." And
he fetched t wo mugs from the kitchen while his brother the Mayor made
the tea.

"I'm not interupting anything am I?"

Ron stretched, flexing his right hand. "I've done enough for one day.
Being branch secretary, treasurer and chairman is hard work."

"You're counting the votes?"

"Not exactly. Not exactly counting that is. That would need two people.
It's the branch rule."

"Ron! You haven't been writing them."

"It saves a lot of time and trouble, admitted Ron, " and besides, you
can't trust the membership."

"You can't trust anyone these days."

He crossed to the window and looked out at the devastation left in the
wake of the storm. Fences had been blown over and upturned trees lay
strewn like matches around the grass. Notice boards (Do not tear the
grass, Danger- falling leaves, Listen to the birds- ten pence per
minute) had been uprooted.

The Mayor sighed again, this time quite heavily. "Well, Ron, it was
quite a storm. How long will it take to get things to rights?"

Ron put down his mug and joined his brother at the window. "Ages," he
said, "most of the tree trunks are beoyond repair. The tree factory is
on strike and even when the trunks are ready the leaves have to be
welded on."

"What about the grass?"

Ron brightened perceptably. "The new nylon lawn stood up pretty well,
Mr. Mayor Just a few tears on the borders where the wind got
underneath. The flowers look dirty but we shall hose them down with
detergent tomorrow."

"I wonder," said the Mayor gloomily, " how his garden survived." He
crossed to the other window and looked across the road.

Across the road, behind a broken-down stone wall, lay another garden.
It had long since become jungle. There were fallen trees. though most
were still standing. There had once been a lawn with a sundial at its
centre. Now the sundial lay concealed behing waist-high grass. A
semi-derelict stone house lay behind. There were holes in the roof,
many of the windows lacked glass, and drainpipes hung down the walls at
unusual angles.

"His garden will take years to recover. He can't just order new roses
from the factory"

"All the same, it seem to have come off better than ours."

"It's such a mess than it can hardly look worse now. Hang on, what's he
doing?"

From the undergrowth staggered an elderly man, painfully dragging
behind him a ten-foot tree. There was a pile of trees on the lawn and
now, with an supreme effort which had the watchers stiffen their bodies
in sympathy, he heaved his offering on the heap.

Now Ron and his brother saw a fourth watcher. The new arrival wore a
dark suit, black shoes, bowler hat and carried an umbrella. He could
have been mistaken for a civil servant. He leant carefully on an
damaged section of the wall and called out, "I say! What are you doing
with those trees?"

The old man drew a dirty sleeve across an equally dirty brow and sat
down on his tree. "There's so many fallen ones," he answered hoplessly,
"and most of them atre too big to carry out by myself. I really don't
know what I shall do."

But why are you taking them out?" enquired the newcomer.

"I'm clearing the dead wood, of course. This was my father's house. He
called this his nature reserve ..." he waved vaguely at the untide
mess. "It became an obsession. I try to keep it tidy, spray the weeds,
kill the slugs - that sort of thing."

"Is that what your father did?"

"It used to be. But then he stopped trying to mow the lawn, weed the
beds, spray the roses. Quite the reverse. He just let dead trees lie.
He let everything grow - plants, weeds, and he never tried to stop the
greenfly or the slugs and snails... it's just a jungle now."

"I take it your father has ... passed on?"

"I suppse so. I mean, I don't know. He just disappeared. The police
looked all over the place for him. We think he wandered off and fell in
the river."

"And do you want to carry on his work?

"Of course."

The stranger rose. "Then you must do exactly what he did." said firmly.
"You must let everything grow. Carry these dead trees back. The grubs
and the beetles will grow fat on them. When the birds find out they
will come back and eat the insects. They will bring seeds with them.
The seeds will grow into plants, the plants will die and nourish the
soil and the whole cycle begins again."

"I would like to hear the birds again. There are few birds in this
district now. The Council doesn't like them. They like people to hear
the artificial birds in the park."

Then, to the bewilderment of Ron and his brother, the old man began to
drag the tree back into the wood.

He began to look more closely at his father's garden. He looked at
spots where he had scattered slug pellets and saw skugs dying with
their bodies dissolving around them. He stopped spraying and saw bees
buzzing, beetles burying, caterpillars crawling. Word spread to the
far-off places where bird s still nested and the the birds flew in
bearing gifts of seeds.

Time passed. It passed happily for the old man in his garden, but for
Ron in his little hut there were worries.

"This won't do, Mr. Treasurer," said Ron, "if it goes on like this we
shall all be bankrupt."

The door opened. "Hello, Ron!" said the Mayor, am I in time for
tea?"

"Put the kettle on, Mr. Mayor, and we'll have a cuppa."

"We never got the trees right after that storm," said Ron when the
teapot had been filled, "foir one thing they couldn't get the stainless
steel for the leaves and now they look rusty."

"Not rusty, Ron, autumnal tints - the season of mellow fruitfulness.
Why ddn't we use plastic? Plastic leaves would have been just as
good."

"We'd have to retool the factory. Lert's face it, Mr Mayor. Ifd we
hadn't persuaded the Council to buy our trees we would have been
bankrupt long ago. No want artificial gardens any more." He gestured
towards the window at the empty artificial lawns of the municipal
garden. "Thery all go over there now - the old man's garden. They seem
to like real trees and real birds.

"Real birds cover the cars with droppings," said the Mayor
contemptuously.

"They like to hear birds sing."

"Real birds only sing during the day. You can hear our birds any time
you want - five pence in the slop and you can hear a lark at
midnight."

"You knoiw that, Mr. Mayor, and so do I. But the people dont know
what's good for them."

They turned towards the old man's garden. It was a beautiful summer's
day. The sun was shining. birds were singing, families picnicking,
children playing, and, in the long grass, couples courting.

"This is terrible!" wailed Ron, "Look at them enjoying themselves.
There's some of them having it off. We must protect public morality .We
must do something,"

"Supose we spray the lot with herbicide?"

"The membership won't touch the stuff - not since that mix-up with the
chemicals."

"We'll have to think of something. Let's have a site meeting - you and
me and the Chairman of Planning and Environment. Tomorow at 9.00 -
O.K.? And by the way," the Mayor added as he left," the district
auditor is coming to see you tomorrow aftrenoon. Make sure you remove
the dodgy files."

When Ron and his brother arrived at the old man's garden next day they
saw that the Stranger was with him. Together they stood under a tree
watching the antics of some young squirrels.

"What about the Chairman of Planning?" Asked Ron as they walked across
the grass, "is he coming?"

"That was my little joke. I've taken over the Chairmanship. It's the
Mayor's privilege. It had been vacant for years."

"Is that in the standing orders?"

"It is now."

They introduced themselves to the old man and the Stranger. "Let's see
what we've got here," said the Mayor pompously as he pulled a large
file from his brief-case. "Look - here's the planning map. Your
property has become an open space or wood. It's in a residential area
and it's not designated as an open space so it's a clear infringement
of planning regulations. You will have to demolish it."

The old man turned despairingly to the Stranger who laid a hand on his
arm and waited for the Mayor to finish.

It was Ron, the Park Superintendent, who took up the story. "However,
the Mayor and I...I mean the Council... feel that the site could be
added to the Municipal Garden of Eden. There could be a small wild area
provided it was properly organised, with purpose-built picnic area,
toilets, car parking and other basic amenities. We could even add an
information centre once we've demolished what remains of the
house."

"Oh no you won't!" said the Sranger.

"Do I take it," said the Mayor sarcastically, " that you are lodging an
objection on behalf of the owner of this property>"

"Not all," replied the Stranger, "I am merely telling you that yuou
can't do it."

"And who might you be?"

The Stranger took out his wallet and extracted a card. The Mayor looked
at it and turned green.

"This property is now a site of Environmental Significance," declared
the Stranger.

"I didn't know there was such a thing."

"There is now. The order comes into effect at midnight. In the
meantime, This is private property and I am sure that my friend ..."
turning to the old man, "...would prefer you to make an appointment
before coming to see him. Good day to you both."

Ron and his brother retreated to the safety of Ron's hut. "Who was
he?"

"Don't even ask," replied the Mayor gloomily, "We can forget all our
plans now."

"Well what do we do now?"

"I don't know. You think of something."

There's one thing we got," said Ron.

"What's that?"

"We'e got twelve hours. I've thought of something."

That summer had been dry, and evn the erarly morning shower had barely
penetrated the undergrowth. No doubt one of the visitors had been
careless with matches, for sometime before midnight flames swept
through the vegetation. The firemen made sure that the house was empty
bvut there was little else they could do, especially because a series
of false alarms during the night had stretched their resources.

By the afternoon Ron and his brother were sitting in the park keeper's
hut, seeing with one eye the smouldering ruins of the old man's garden
and his elderly son walking helplessly up and down in it.
The remainder of their attention was devoted to an attractive young
lady who was sitting at their table and working her way through a pile
of invoices, orders and other documents.

"Could I ask you something about the Garden of Eden Nunicipal Park?"
she asked.

The Mayor gazed at her with barely concealed adoration. "Anything you
like. my dear, just ask me anything."

"There's something in the accounts I don't understand."

"Ron and I would be glad to explain anything you want."

Her smile waves of excitement through their nervous systems. "It's just
that the Council has paid twice as much for barrels of cider as it has
received in sales. There must be hundreds of gallons somewhere."

"We have a bar in the Garden," said Ron hastily, "We call it 'Eve's
Cider hut'. Bad weather hit the sales. Give me a day or two and I'm
sure we can find some barrels for you."

"There's another thing," said Samantha (that was the young lady's
name), "The Council paid a quarter of a million to the Steel Tree
Company for arttificial trees and nylon turf."

"I haven't looked at the figures recently. but ..."

Samantha explained apologetically, "It's just that, according to the
stock register, the managing director and chief shareholder appears to
be your mother."

"Well, fancy that!" answered the Mayor. He turned to Ron. "Did you know
that?" To Samantha he explained, "She hasn't much to occupy her mind
these days, poor old girl. I suppose she wanted to take an interest.
Let me get you another coffee."

Not very long after this, Ron took early retirement and the Mayor
resigned. They now live with their mother and Samantha in the Canaries.
The Garden of Eden was sold to Ron's cousin, who made a fortune selling
the nylon grass to football clubs.

When the birds saw what happened to the old man's garden, they sent a
message to their brothers who brought seeds in their beaks. And when
the fire burnt out, new growth burst out of the blackened earth. New
saplings grew and the squirrels and rabbits came back.

But the old man's son had already died, overwhelmed by the destruction
of the garden. "The Man is ready to join his father," said the Garden.
And the animals and the crows and the insects disposed of him just as
they had disposed of his father. By the time the Stranger returned they
had both become part of their Garden.

They named the Site of Environmental Significance after the Mayor, but
to the locals it will always be known as The Old Man's Garden