Almost Eden Read online

  ‘I understand … that developers might like to build such places here … on this land.’

  ‘Happen they might, but I hear down the pub that you’s city folk is all broke … and not buying no houses now.’

  I smiled. ‘Yes, that’s true.’

  ‘You have money … to build yer?’

  ‘No, not really,’ I admitted. ‘I have money tucked away, and I rent in London, a good salary, but … not enough to fix the old house and build new cottages.’

  A large grubby hand rubbed that unshaved chin again. ‘Well, not for me to be telling you you’s business an all, but I can fix the old place, and the gardens and road, fences like. If you buy the material, I’ll work for my keep when I’m not on the farm.’

  I turned to the old house, and the solution presented itself, a solution provided by the village idiot. I smiled and nodded. ‘What did you say your name was?’

  ‘Robby.’

  ‘Well, Robby, as the new owner of the land … I hereby grant you permission to remain living where you are – rent free – for the foreseeable future. Do you know what materials would be required?’

  ‘Cement, wood, a new pane of glass or two, new timbers in the rooms,’ he rattled off as he peered up at the house.

  ‘Could you write down a list?’

  ‘Happen I could.’

  ‘Then why don’t you have a look around - to see what needs fixing, draw up a list, and then I can order the materials. I can show you around the house now to see what needs doing.’

  ‘I have’s me own key,’ he pointed out.

  I wasn’t quite sure how I felt about that, but he had been looking after the place. ‘No hurry then, you can make a list, and when you’re ready I’ll come back down and go shopping for materials locally.’

  ‘I know where to get stuff from for a song,’ he informed me with a sly grin. ‘There’s places for those with money, and places for those of us without a brass farthing to their name.’

  ‘In which case, I’ll leave you some money, you … can buy what you need and list it down for me – what you spend.’ I wondered if this was a good idea.

  ‘Happen I can at that, same as for Mrs Hobson,’ he confirmed, Hobson pronounced as Ob-son. ‘And I have the money she left to keep the place.’

  ‘She … left you money?’ I queried.

  ‘Handed it me when she took ill. Reckon she knew she was not long for this world.’

  ‘And … she asked you to use it to … maintain the place?’

  ‘Aye, in case you were late coming down.’

  ‘Oh. Er … how much did she leave.’

  ‘I counted nine thousand pounds, and a box of coins. Don’t rightly know how much ‘em coins comes to, bleeding hundreds of them; she kept the coins in a large bottle, many just pennies.’

  I stared hard at him. ‘You know, you could have kept that money and said nothing; I would have never known.’

  ‘I weren’t raised to lie nor steal.’

  ‘Then you’re a rare man.’

  ‘As my Grand-da used to say, it’s how you see yourself what’s more important than how folk see you.’

  I slowly nodded my head. ‘He sounds like he was a good man.’ I took a breath. ‘OK, Robby, I hereby grant you four thousand of the nine thousand as pay, plus the coins, the rest to be spent on materials. You know what to buy, so just go ahead and buy it, and when I come down in the future you can show me what you’ve done. Then I’ll get you more money.’

  ‘Oh, well at’s right good of you,’ Robby acknowledged. ‘You staying ‘ere tonight?’

  ‘No, I have a hotel room, but … in the future I might, since selling this place might just be a long and difficult road, so will developing it, and … it’s a nice house in a nice location. Be a shame to let it just sit there unused – and unappreciated.’

  ‘Right shame,’ he agreed. ‘Fancy a cup o’tea?’

  ‘I’d love one.’

  He had his own key out before I could reach for my copy, and he unlocked the dated front door. A damp smell greeted us, the heating obviously having been off for a while.

  ‘Was there a dog?’ I asked as we headed towards the kitchen.

  ‘Old mutt, aye. He died a month or so before she did, and I reckon it broke her heart, all lonely and like.’ He knocked on a kettle without checking the water level first. ‘I came down most days, and she was happy for someone to talk to.’

  ‘We all need someone to talk to,’ I admitted as I took in the familiar kitchen.

  Nodding, Robby fixed two mugs, tea bags in each, sugar offered to me. We were soon sat in the front garden, on an old iron bench, enjoying the sun and the view over the estuary, a man now seen fiddling with his boat.

  ‘It’s a wonderful spot,’ I sighed.

  ‘Peaceful,’ Robby commended.

  ‘Be a shame if no one else appreciated this; make for a great hotel.’

  ‘Not my business to tell you you’s business,’ he began, ‘but you might want to try ‘em tree buggers – as they say.’

  I wondered what the hell he was talking about, and whether or not it was just his accent. ‘Tree … huggers?’

  ‘Them’s people what want to live away from people in the big towns.’ He pointed. ‘Mile down the estuary they ‘as a place, grows all their crops, has chickens and pigs and the like, and up on the roof they has those … shiny black glass for making electricity.’

  ‘Ah … people living off-grid, with solar panels for energy.’

  ‘They has ‘em small windmills up on the roof as well, says it makes a cup of tea an all. Right popular they is, them communists.’

  ‘Communes…?’ I asked, resisting a smile.

  ‘Aye, they lives in ‘em. Sprouting up all over they is.’

  ‘By god, that’s it,’ I suddenly realised. ‘That’s who would buy this place, people wanting to live off-grid. And it’s isolated and quiet, far from town; perfect for them.’

  ‘Problem is,’ Robby began, tea mug in hand and legs stretched out. ‘That most of ‘em ain’t got two beans to rub together. Some of them, they pays rent, or they works and sells what they make.’

  I considered the layout of the estate. ‘Rooms could be rented out in this house, other cottages built, and … people could pay a modest rent, living like a commune, some could buy a share in it. If I was lucky, I’d find someone who wanted to buy it for that purpose.’

  Robby slowly nodded his head. ‘Not for me to tell you you’s own business -’ He began, and I hid my grin. ‘- but if wees put one of them little pretty windmills up, and some fences for livestock, and that black shiny glass on roof, then it’d be like that other place, where those newspaper men came and took pictures an all.’

  ‘And having shown the place, and its potential in national newspapers, city dwellers will part with good money for a taste of the good life – and the dream of self sufficiency. Robby, you’re a smart man,’ I commended. ‘Some well-targeted and free advertising would do the trick here.’

  ‘Aye; you’s got to take a bath before you be going on a date.’

  I stared at the side of his head, but his simple advice was … ultimately very practical. You certainly should take a bath before taking a girl on a date, and I resisted laughing out loud.

  Sat there smiling, I had not noticed the man on the ridge observing us through binoculars.

  With my new found friend having given me directions - keep turning right, I found the commune after fifteen minutes in the car. I pulled up next to a cottage fitted with solar panels, south facing of course, and eased out. As I stood staring up at the solar panels, a white man with dreadlocks approached.

  ‘You alright there?’ he asked.

  ‘I … just inherited a property around the headland, and I … was thinking of going off-grid.’

  ‘We get people every week looking over the place, but for most it’s just a dream, they never move down. How much land you got?’

  ‘About … forty acres or more.’

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bsp; ‘That’s a good spread, more than enough for one person. You need two and half acres for one.’

  ‘Two and a half acres … for one what?’

  ‘One person. That’s the rule of thumb; if you have two and a half acres you have enough space for crops and livestock for one person, annually.’

  ‘Oh. May I … look around?’

  ‘Sure, if you’re a neighbour. And if you have land, or things to swap, or need casual labour, we have a committee you should chat with.’

  ‘You do all that? I mean, I have an odd job man living in a cottage on the estate, but some help with crops might be an idea.’ I pointed at the solar panels. ‘Where do I get the panels from?’

  ‘Place in Exeter is not bad, he won’t rip you off, but now that the FITs gone you won’t break even.’

  ‘FITs?’

  ‘Government tariff.’

  ‘Sorry, I’m new to all this…’

  ‘Back a while, you could make electricity with your panels, and if you made more than you used you sold some back to the local grid – and made a few quid. That helped cover the cost.’

  ‘Ah, I see. And what would panels like those cost,’ I asked, pointing up.

  ‘That lot … about seven grand. Then you need a generator and batteries.’

  ‘Generator?’

  ‘When the sun goes down the batteries kick in, or the generator, so you have power at night.’

  ‘Ah, good idea. And all of that, cost wise?’

  ‘Eight or nine grand, and from a rig like this one you can heat water for a shower for maybe three people, boil the kettle twenty times, run a radio or laptop all day, or power a small heating unit. Or keep the lights on all night, and an outside light.’

  I found myself nodding. ‘Excellent.’

  He pointed. ‘Hydro is better. Come, have a look.’ He led me across the grass, grubby-faced kids playing happily in the sun, women putting out clothes on lines. The grassland we crossed lay at a gradient, leading down towards the estuary below us, and it brought us to a row of trees. We negotiated a muddy path, and soon found a small pond created by a crude dam having been fashioned from rough concrete.

  Pointing, my guide and lecturer said, ‘Water is pooled up here, pipe goes down thirty yards to a small turbine, and that generates more juice than all our panels put together.’ He offered an apologetic shrug. ‘You need a slope and a stream, of course, or you can make one, but you need a gradient.’

  ‘I have a hillside, with a raging stream down a steep gorge,’ I boasted.

  ‘You’re set then. Good turbine rig and you’re sorted, but they’re illegal for the most part.’

  ‘Illegal?’

  ‘You need council planning permission to dam a stream, and most streams are regulated – even when they cross private land. There’re ancient by-laws that stop people damming up streams or altering their courses.’

  ‘Oh. Well, mine’s well tucked away, doubt anyone would notice. How long … typically, to get planning permission?’

  ‘Year or two, and then you’d have to convince them that it was safe, and wouldn’t flood or anything.’

  ‘Ah,’ I let out.

  ‘Could always hide it. There’s one ten miles down the coast, and I helped build it. The pipe is under the mud, the turbine hidden unless you know what to look for, and the pool at the top looks natural enough.’

  ‘And if it’s naturally a fast-flowing stream?’

  ‘Make a narrowing, stick the pipe in, position the turbine below, and you may have enough pressure anyhow.’

  I nodded as I studied his brackish pool, a pool that would not stand up to close inspection by an earnest inspector from the local council. ‘How … often do they inspect?’

  ‘They never inspect unless someone has tipped them off, then there’s just the one man to cover most of Devon,’ my keen guide informed me, adopting a sly grin.

  Walking back past the clothes lines, he asked, ‘You … reckon you’ll have some casual work over there?’

  ‘I do. Do you know a man called Robby?’

  ‘Robby? Yeah, everyone knows Robby, he’s done some work here. Good with his hands.’

  ‘Well, I’ll tell Robby that if he needs an extra pair of hands then to contact you, he has money … that’s been left for work on the old house and the estate. But I’ll definitely be back to pick your brains on solar panels and turbines.’

  ‘You’ll install panels, and a turbine?’

  ‘I will, and where the turbine will sit – I bet no self-respecting council inspector would dare venture, even with Wellington boots on!’

  Back at the house, navigated to by turning left repeatedly, I found Robby measuring lengths of wood. ‘Hard at it already?’

  ‘I had these made up, but wasn’t sure if you’d just sell the old place. Beams in rooms, old beams.’

  ‘I’ve met the people at the commune, and told them to chat to you about casual work. If there’s something you need two people for, contact them and pay them out of the money.’

  ‘Aye, will do. Gunna need two pair a’hands for these yer beams next week.’

  ‘They showed me a turbine in a stream.’ I carefully considered my new buddy. ‘You reckon … you could make a small dam that a council inspector wouldn’t notice?’

  He rubbed his chin. ‘No need, really.’

  ‘No … need?’

  ‘There’s a big pool, underground like.’

  My eyes widened. ‘Underground?’

  ‘At the top of the woods, just near me cottage. Was built in the olden days, to hold water for this house, before a pipe came from the village. There’s a pipe too, under the ground, but can’t be used ‘cause it’s lead.’

  ‘Lead pipes … are only a problem for drinking water, not for powering a turbine.’

  He led me to the side of the house, and kicked away gravel, soon revealing an old drain cover. ‘Pipe runs under yer.’

  I looked over my shoulder towards the woods. ‘What would you say, was the difference in height, from the pool … to here?’

  He scratched his scalp as he considered the distant underground reservoir. ‘Has to be … most of forty feet.’ He turned back and pointed at the drain. ‘When I was younger, we opened it, and it shot up ten feet or more, the water.’

  ‘Then it has a good pressure,’ I noted.

  ‘Aye, but me and my uncle, we diverted the water. Wees have to divert it back, ‘bout six feet of pipe needed.’

  ‘Well, it’s not a priority, but see what you can do to get the water back.’

  ‘You’ll buy one of them -’ He made a circular motion with his finger. ‘- magnetic wheels?’

  ‘Hydro-electric turbines, yes. A small one. It’ll generate electricity, enough for this place - and your place.’

  ‘And make this place right attractive for them tree buggers, what not having to pay the electric board an all.’

  ‘It’ll make the place … right attractive,’ I agreed. ‘Anyway, fancy some lunch at the pub up the road?’

  ‘Aye, that would be nice. Thanks, boss.’

  ‘Boss?’ I repeated as we stepped towards the car.

  He made a face, and issued a big shrug. ‘You pay … you’s the boss.’

  Driving away from the estate, I considered that I had not been this happy for … for a long time.

  The roadside pub was quiet, despite the nice weather, our food soon served to us outside; ham, eggs and chips. Robby tackled a pint of cider, but I stuck to a pint of orange juice and lemonade – with ice.

  With my guest devouring his meal as if he hadn’t eaten for a week, I said, ‘Do you know what would grow well in the top fields?’

  Robby chewed away, giving it some thought as he squinted in the bright sunlight, his eyes shaded by bushy eyebrows that looked like two mischievous caterpillars hitching a ride on his face. ‘Was ‘tatoes in there.’ He chewed. ‘Still ‘tatoes in there. Old farmer Jack, he just drove off one day when they … when the bank said ‘nough is enough.’
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  ‘They repossessed his farm,’ I said with a nod as I tackled my lunch.

  ‘Been fallow now some two year, but they’re still there. I could have look and see, dig some up and re-plant, get some seed ‘tatoes.’

  ‘But what would tree huggers want to see there?’ I asked, resisting a smile.

  ‘Ah, I knows what they said – diverse-atty.’

  ‘Diversity,’ I considered. ‘Yes, so … many different vegetables in small areas. When I get back, I’ll check online and brush-up on what they typically grow.’

  ‘They grow all sorts over the way; carrots, beans, ‘tatoes, parsnip, and ‘em spices.’

  ‘Spices? Ah, herbs and seasoning for various things, like mint.’ I sipped my orange juice. ‘And the soil here, it’s good for all those sorts of things?’

  ‘Good soil, aye; plenty a water, plenty a sun. Tatoes from them fields was always good. If truth be known, I may have had some away from time to time, just from round the edges, left behind after the harvest. And some grow in the woods all by themselves like. Back the main house, there’s … strawberries and raspberries, and blackberries grow wild up round the headland, bleeding millions of ‘em there is.’

  ‘And people can fish off the beach,’ I noted.

  ‘Can’t be stood around all day hoping to get a bite.’ He chewed and swallowed. ‘You watches the tide, sets out lines at low tide, dozen oh them, and go back after. Can’t be stood round all day doing owt.’

  ‘Yes, I suppose, but that does take the fun out of fishing, and removes its … relaxing beneficial effect. You know, I have a real hankering for some fishing – and there’s a tackle shop in the village.’

  ‘Happen you’d need not waste no money, I have a rod or two, line and hook.’

  ‘Excellent, I can have a go this weekend. What about bait?’

  ‘I have worms.’

  I was sure I knew what he meant, but not completely sure.

  He added, ‘I made up a concrete area in mud, covered at high tide. When I dig up the worms from down the mud, I puts some in the box, and they lives there all cosy like.’

  ‘So … they’re easy to dig up when you want them.’ I pursed my lips nodded my approval; his approach was commendable.