All Thanks to What Albert Might or Might Not Have Said
By Sue Shipp
It was that Albert Einstein quote that got me going. The one about the bees: “If the bee disappeared off the face of the Earth, man would only have four years left to live.”
Now don’t get me wrong, I’m no authority on the subject, nor do I keep bees. Be a bit difficult, living in a flat. The nearest I come to the great outdoors is Countryfile, Springwatch, that sort of stuff. Don’t have time, you see, what with working two jobs. By the time I’ve finished, all I want to do is grab a bite to eat, a glass of wine and slump in front of the telly.
But as I said, that quote got me going.
*
I said as much to Janice when we were in the Dog & Pheasant, only I must have spoken more loudly than intended because next thing Puncher ambled over, bottle of lager in one hand, packet of ciggies in the other. Most residents give him a wide berth because he didn’t get that moniker for nothing. He’s pretty intimidating; bulging biceps, shaved head, facial piercings and enough tattoos to put Beckham to shame. In fact, I don’t think there’s much of Puncher that’s not tattooed or pierced.
Dropping the packet of ciggies on the table, and without asking, he dragged the chair from the next table and, straddling it, said, ‘So, Lyndy, what’s this about bees going extinct?’
Of all the things he could have said, I hadn’t expected that. ‘Um. Well, um. It’s that thing Einstein said,’ I blurted. ‘You know, Albert Einstein.’ I trailed off. Grabbed my glass of wine.
‘Yeah, he’s the guy who developed the theory of relativity.’ Puncher lit a ciggy, knowing that no-one, least of all the landlord, would challenge him. ‘Don’t think he did say that thing about the bees. Not from what I’ve read.’
I coughed, partly because Puncher had exhaled a lungful of smoke, and because it gave me an excuse to hide my surprise behind my hand.
‘Well, I …’ I glanced sideways at Janice. ‘We thought we might do something to help the bees. Clear the communal garden. Plant it up. That sort of thing. We put some flyers through the doors asking who’d be interested, only no-one’s come back.’
Janice’s elbow in the ribs shut me up. I took a large gulp of wine.
Puncher took another drag, then said, ‘If you want, I could help. Learned a bit about gardening inside.’
He shook his head at our silence. ‘Just ‘cos I’ve been inside for a bit of GBH, don’t mean I can’t appreciate beauty. Tell you what. You post more leaflets and I’ll bang on a few doors. Jiffy up a bit of interest.’
*
I don’t mind telling you, I was pretty uneasy about Puncher jiffying up interest, and three weeks later, I was even more unsettled when I heard him yelling, ‘Come on folks. Get a move on.’
They filed out through the back entrance of the flats, kids running ahead, Puncher bringing up the rear. A few glanced at the empty trestle table. Most just ambled to a chair and plonked themselves down, their faces making it clear they’d better things to do on a Sunday afternoon.
I made my way to the front. Puncher stood at the back, rolling a toothpick between his lips. I’d recognised a few. Sat at the front, Alf from No 2, and Joyce from No 4, Alf leaning on the walking stick between his legs, Joyce’s propped neatly at the side of her chair. Debbie from No 10 with her boys. And Trish from No 22.
‘You said there’d be food.’ Trish shrieked from the back row. Made me think she probably always bagged the back row in class at school. Not that she went much. But who am I to judge?
Turning in her seat, Joyce huffed. ‘Janice will be bringing it out whilst Lyndy is telling us about her ideas for helping the bees.’
Against the background of kids noisily playing football behind the array of garden chairs, and whilst Janice brought out crisps, sweets and Joyce’s tray bakes, I told them our plan to revamp the communal garden, which was cluttered with a jumble of unwanted furniture, the odd mattress, broken rotary lines and a tangle of rusting bicycles. I finished by saying, ‘It’d be a nicer place for the kids to play, and we’d also be helping the wildlife.’
It was Debbie’s eldest who piped up, as he kicked the ball out of play. ‘That’s what we’ve been doing at school. Mr Deerson, he’s the caretaker, he made raised beds for us and we got to paint them.’
‘That’s alright sonny, but it costs money most of us don’t have,’ Stan said, heaving his bulk off his chair, kneading his fists into his lower back. ‘And some of us aren’t that mobile.’
He pointed at Alf. ‘How’s Alf going to help with clearing this place? He can’t move without the aid of a stick.’
There was a rumble of agreement.
I groaned inwardly as Alf flushed and twisted on his chair, saying with military precision, ‘I’ll thank you not to decide what I can and can’t do! I might be dodgy on my pins, but there’s nothing wrong with my hands. I could make planters and bird boxes.’
Then looking at me, he said, ‘What we need, Lyndy, is a rota of who’s interested and who can do what. First thing is to get this lot cleared. See what we can utilise, and go from there.’
‘Yeah, and what we don’t have, we’ll go on a scavenger hunt for. Surprising what people throw in a skip,’ Janice said, handing out the drinks.
And that’s how we started revamping our communal area.
*
Puncher, with some of the more able-bodied, cleared the rubbish. Janice and Debbie took the kids scavenging, coming back with all sorts, from off-cuts of wood, to paint, garden furniture, and even an old lawnmower. Turns out that Steve on the top floor is a volunteer at a local repair shop, so he got it going again. Alf made planters from the off-cuts, helped by Debbie’s two boys who organised a competition for the best decorated planter. Little Tara from No 55 won: her prize: a mini box of Retro sweets and a packet of sunflower seeds.
We had a collection, put in what you could, to buy the seeds, compost and a few plants from Puncher’s mate who runs a stall on the market. Got them for a reduced price. Grows most of it himself so it’s great he was there to tell us what was bee friendly. And if I’m honest, he’s pretty easy on the eye, and I don’t mind at all that he finds excuses to pop in for a cuppa.
The two benches rescued from a skip look like new now they’ve had a coat of stain. We’ve placed them near the back exit of the flat for our elderly residents to sit and have a chat. Alf’s busy knocking up a couple of tables for them out of old pallets with the help of Stan. Nice to see they’re getting on better these days.
The kids have been planting spring bulbs in the planters and borders. People do what they can, when they can. Once a month we’ve been getting together for a BBQ or picnic and a natter. And Trish, you’re probably wondering about her – well last month she arrived with
several home made pizzas. Apologetic they weren’t anything fancy – but who needs anchovies and olives on their pizza? Delish, they were. The kids loved them and I’ve never seen Trish looking so happy. Grinning from ear-to-ear, she was.
And Puncher, well he’s been the biggest surprise of all, showing the kids what to do, and now they’ve got a play area, he’s sorted them into five-a-side football teams. He’s even got a referee’s whistle. You hear them out there most evenings. Debbie and him are getting on rather well these days and the other evening in the Dog and Pheasant, he went outside for a smoke. Billy, the landlord, sported him a free pint when he came back in.
I’m not saying our project is complete, far from it, and yeah, it’s pretty rustic, but it works, not only for the bees but us, the residents, because now we’re a community. Everyone in the flats knows everyone else; the kids are occupied, Puncher’s finally found his tribe, and the insect world in our little part of town has an oasis where they can thrive.
And all this from a quote that Albert Einstein may or may not have said.
Inspiration: I was reading an article discussing whether or not Albert Einstein had said ‘if the bee disappeared off the face of the Earth, man would only have four years left to live.’ So I wanted to write a story where people came together to help wildlife, and in doing so, helped themselves by creating a community that until then had been lacking.
Image by Jackie Ramirez from Pixabay
Sue Shipp holds an MA in Creative Writing (Distinction) from the University of Portsmouth. Her short stories, flash fiction and poetry have been published in various anthologies and the Portsmouth News. Sue is a member of the spoken word group T’Articulation, and The Portsmouth Writers’ Hub.