In memory of Angelo

Angelo died during the winter. He was a lovely bloke, who never stopped telling me how to do things. Joe was very unforthcoming about it. Domenico told me when I met him in town one day, but if he hadn't, Joe would probably have said nothing. Now, Joe is working all three allotments, his two (plots 56 and 58) and Angelo's (plot 57). He says he will give up the one next to my old allotment, but it looks as if he won't give it up until October at the earliest, when the rent falls due. Even though Angelo couldn't do any work by last October, and Joe had kept his allotment more or less tended and planted, Angelo still told him he wanted to keep it on. For these old Italians, growing food is in the blood and they will carry on until they drop.

I loved Angelo. I have the grapevine he gave me to remind me of him. He gave me it when it was only two or three feet high; now it's a monster and has spread all over the front of my house, and last year I got about twelve bunches of small, purple grapes off it. One day I'll make wine from it in memory of Angelo.