Act 1 – The Crime
Scrumping, if you are six years old is an adorable, forgivable thing. When you are 64, it is simply a crime; I had noticed the plums as little green knubs long before they had filled out and ripened. I planned to take a picture, post it on Facebook with a witty line, but never did. The theft was premeditated.
A letter written and needing to be posted, and the plums dangling over the walls. It was inevitable.
Act 2 – Regret
It wasn’t my tree. They were not my plums. I was not six years old. What I wanted was legal access to the tree. I wanted to be invited in to pick the plums. Truth to tell, there were none left my side of the wall that I could reach. I might not be six but being 64 was no guarantee of height.
I uncovered a scrumping poem, printed it off, folded it carefully and put it in an envelope. The plan was to present myself on the doorstep, explain my actions and hand over the poem.
No one answered. I retired to the pub on the corner, settled down with a soft drink and set about writing on the envelope something of the history of my scrumping days. I posted it.
Act 3 –Invitation
‘Thank you for the amusing note and poem. We are so pleased that you were able to get a few plums- you can come and get more if you wish. In the next couple of days, we will be harvesting and freezing but also giving away to our neighbours as we do each year.
Please come and say hello!’
An email from Val Falcon
Act 4 - Harvest
I met the plum tree owners today and spent an hour chatting, drinking tea and getting a guided tour of their veggie garden, polly tunnel and fruit trees. Awesome. Got a huge bag of plums and a bag of runner beans too.
Val and her husband were such generous people. They were of the heart ‘what’s mine is yours if you need it.’ A lovely testimony.
