The Velvet Underground

Like me, many of you will have experienced the strange mix of excitement and dread when preparing to ask a question.

This is usually in a formal Q and A session in a meeting or when invited to test the knowledge of an Expert or Specialist. The fear is based on 1) The question was just asked by someone else 2) The question is nothing to do with the subject 3) Everyone will think you're an ignoramus 4) You actually answer your own question in asking it in a tortured sort of way.

 I found myself in just that situation recently whilst on a guided tour of the formal gardens and wider grounds of a large Historic House Hotel. I am not in any way a gardener, especially so in our current family home where outside areas are loose dressed or brick paved which means the only real opportunity to grow anything is in a ceramic pot.

The event is a regular one at the venue and I was with a large contingent of around fifty persons who, after being split into two smaller and more manageable groups were allocated one of the full time staff whose role for the ensuing couple of hours was to point out and explain the flora and fauna and give an insight into what their job entailed.

The asking of questions during the walk was encouraged and those in the party who were evidently seasoned and knowledgeable in all things horticultural took the opportunity to expand their own ideas or throw a few at the Head Gardener to find out about new strains of plants and the latest science being practiced by the professionals.

 I just skulked about at the rear of the group so as not to draw attention to my ignorance and lack of green fingers. That is not to say that I was not fascinated by the descriptions of individual species.

The meticulously kept lawns were of the brightest green I had ever seen. This was not through a reliance on chemicals but physical exertions of scarifying in the winter months, careful cutting and the prudent application of an iron based dressing. As the names of individual plants were reeled off by the staff I used the cover of the group to activate an App in my mobile phone which, after the taking of a close-up photo, was able to identify it. This confirmed that indeed the Gardeners really knew their stuff and scored 100%.

It was about half way round the ornamental gardens that I started to feel the anxiety that I always do when a question pops into my mind. The catalyst for the urge was from my stumbling into a round mound of soft, excavated soil that even I could identify as a Mole Hill. I think I got away with it without drawing attention to my instability. This was mightily ironic in that I was one of youngest on the tour but the least sure footed.

I began to formulate a question on the subject of Moles. Surely some of the keen amateur gardeners would feel similarly disposed. I listened intently for this as it would allow me to relax and enjoy the sights, sounds and springtime smells around us. All manners of enquiries were made about feeding roses, pruning fruit trees, encouraging bees and composting but the subject of Moles was not mentioned.

I was not brave enough to catch the attention of our host to broach the subject. A few drops of rain heralded the end of the outside part of the tour and we made our way into the historic house to shelter and get warm. It was only on collecting my jacket from the cloakroom that I found the courage to ask that pressing question.

It appears that the Mole is the sworn enemy of the Groundsman and they are ruthlessly trapped and disposed of. I found that quite distressing so it was probably for the best that I found out about it later rather than sooner.