David Szalay - London and the South-East

‘Gardens’

A few stalks of corn.

A cherry tree.

Muttering sprinkler.

Deep shade in the botanical gardens.

All the exotic flora

looks quite ordinary.

Window —

the garden looks dreary

on a wet December afternoon.

Pigeons feeding,

rustling unseen

in the foliage of the big tree.

Why had he not thought of it until now? All his life, he has watched with envy from the insides of schoolrooms, of offices, while gardeners tasked outside in the fresh.

DECEMBER, OF COURSE, is not the most opportune time to be looking for work in the horticultural sector. This does not even occur to Paul as he strolls to the newsagent for the Argus . It is a sunny day, seagulls wheeling clamorously overhead, and he wishes that he could immerse himself in some planting immediately, without delay. He imagines surveying the finished work with healthful satisfaction, enjoying a well-earned smoke. Or some tree surgery — harnessed high up the great trunk, wearing earmuffs and goggles, making delicate adjustments with a chainsaw … The feeling of freedom, this time from the unsatisfactory world of ‘Purchase Ledger Clerk’, is almost equal to what he experienced in the course of his afternoon in the Albert. ‘It’s a fucking nice day,’ he says to Heather, smiling. She looks at him strangely, perhaps suspicious of his unaccountably happy mood. ‘Yeah it’s nice,’ she says, returning her attention to her magazine. She is sitting at the kitchen table in her dressing gown, an empty coffee cup before her. Paul starts to unload his shopping — Danish bacon, eggs, sliced white bread, a large can of baked beans. Her head still bent over the magazine, Heather watches him with slight anxiety. When he starts whistling, she says, ‘Are you all right?’

‘Yeah. Do you want a fried breakfast, full English?’

She shakes her head. ‘No.’

He takes out the frying pan and cuts a large wedge of butter into its shallow Teflon base, then, setting it over the gas, starts to open the bacon. He has decided that, after applying for all the gardening jobs in the paper, he will go out and take his own little garden in hand — he does not know why he has not done it before. For that — for a morning’s work in the sharp air — he will need a good breakfast. While everything is cooking, he opens the Argus . Unsurprisingly, on the last day of December, the jobs section is extremely slim, and that there is even one gardening job advertised in this midwinter limbo is extraordinary, providential. Paul is nevertheless disappointed. When he has searched through the whole section several times, he comes back to the lone horticultural vacancy. The employer is Brighton and Hove Council. ‘ We are seeking to appoint a permanent gardener to undertake duties such as grass cutting, hedge trimming and street sweeping using a variety of powered hand tools and light plant (ride-on mowers). Successful applicants will also provide assistance to higher graded gardeners in more skilled tasks .’ The salary, he notices, is inadequate even for his minimal needs, but he ignores this for the time being. What troubles him more is the mention of ‘street sweeping’, which does not seem to square with the sort of work — the sort of life — that he is imagining.

The newspaper directs him to a website for further information, and after breakfast and a rolled cigarette, he goes upstairs and knocks on Oliver’s bedroom door. In his pyjamas, Oliver is listlessly surfing the Internet. ‘Um, Oli,’ Paul says. ‘Mind if I use the Net quickly? It’s quite important.’ Without saying anything, Oli stands up and leaves the room. ‘Thanks, mate,’ Paul says. Two-fingered, he types in the address from the Argus . There is a PDF document several pages long about the gardener job, and he opens it and scrolls through it on the screen. The opening statement sounds promising — ‘ Overall purpose of job: to undertake grounds maintenance/horticultural work in public parks, playing fields, cemeteries and crematoria, landscaped areas and similar open spaces .’ There follows a list of specific duties. Some of these he likes the sound of, such as ‘ grass cutting, hedge trimming, clearing of leaves, planting, pruning, and seeding ’. Others he does not — ‘ patrol and attendance duties, including the issuing of tickets and the maintenance of orderly conduct by the public ’. And some he does not understand — ‘ to ensure that all relevant aspects of the documented quality system are followed in practice and that the defined standards and level of performance are consistently complied with ’. Still, he understands that they have to spell everything out, even if the job is mostly simple gardening. There are, however, some other potential problems. Although not an essential requirement, applicants with a full driving licence and ‘previous experience of triple-mower driving’ are particularly welcome, and he has neither. Then there is the importance of ‘basic horticultural experience, ability and knowledge’. Also, technical skill in the use of tools and equipment. Starting to sweat, he scrolls on.

The next page — ‘ ALL OF THE FOLLOWING ARE PRESENT IN THE NORMAL WORKING ENVIRONMENT ’ — seems specifically designed to dissuade fantasists and other frivolous applicants from taking things any further.

ALL OF THE FOLLOWING ARE PRESENT IN THE NORMAL WORKING ENVIRONMENT

EXPOSURE TO ALL TYPES OF WEATHER. Exposure to the weather is constant, from freezing cold and wet conditions to dusty and dry, and working in the heat of the sun. In the summer there is risk of sunburn, and in winter blisters, falls and respiratory problems.

HAZARDOUS EQUIPMENT. Constant use of hazardous equipment. Examples are mowers, strimmers, hedge cutters, saws, etc.

TOXIC CHEMICALS. Regular work with toxic chemicals such as pesticides, marking fluids, herbicides, etc.

LITTER/WASTE. All litter must be removed from public areas prior to and whilst gardening. NB This may include handling contaminated waste, dirty syringes, animal excrement, etc.

MEMBERS OF THE PUBLIC. Members of the public can also be a potential risk should they become abusive or violent. The possibility of violent or aggressive behaviour.

DOG ATTACK. When working in parks or other open spaces there is always a risk of dog attack.

Stony-faced, he stares at the screen.

No. No, this determined miserabilism does not provide a true picture of the normal working environment — which is not an unending nightmare of dogshit and hooded youths, plastic tubs of poison and fatal triple-mower accidents. These things feature occasionally, of course — it would be naive not to understand that. But he has seen council gardeners at work, seen them lazily clipping hedges and mowing lawns unmolested in the sun. The page is obviously a sort of test — and also, of course, a near-hysterical attempt to head off future litigation.

He scrolls down to the final page. This is a table of, in one column ‘essential’ and in another ‘desirable’, experience, qualifications, skills and ‘personal qualities’. First, he looks quickly through the ‘essential’ column. Everything seems to be in order there, with the possible exception of ‘basic horticultural experience and knowledge’. He turns then to ‘desirable’. Here he does not fare so well. ‘Experience of using and maintaining small mechanised plant.’ Unfortunately not. ‘Full driving licence (covering vehicles up to five tonnes).’ No. ‘Horticultural qualifications.’ None to speak of. He hopes, however, that his strong showing on the only other item in the column — ‘Conversant with the geographical area’ — will to some extent offset his weaknesses elsewhere. And with the strong sense that things could have been worse, he starts to fabricate an apt CV.