Tribute to Neil McDonald

March 14 2016

Death is only an old door …

“Death is only an old door

Set in a garden wall;

On quiet hinges it gives, at dusk

When the thrushes call.

Along the lintel are green leaves,

Beyond, the light lies still;

Very weary and willing feet

Go over that sill.

There is nothing to trouble any heart;

Nothing to hurt at all.

Death is only an old door

In a garden wall.”

And that seems an appropriate poem to pay tribute to in Abergavenny (now Abergavenny Garden Centre).

I was shocked to hear the awful the news that he had passed away, after I bounced into the garden centre with a query for him, as I often did.

“Did he have …”; “which variety of such-and-such a plant was the best choice for …”; “Could he get …” and so the list would go on. He was always patient, always polite and always had a relevant story relating to the plant or person I had mentioned.

Only a few weeks ago I rushed in, late in the day, in need of some thyme that I wanted to use for a short-notice screen test for Gardener’s World. Neil was thrilled to be involved, albeit quietly thrilled; I could tell because he carefully manoeuvred his electric wheelchair through the puddles out in the cold to help me find what I wanted. If he wasn’t interested, he would stay in the shop, in the warm and strike up an ‘aversion conversation’ with someone else. And if he was really, really uninterested then he would stay out the back arranging his beloved flowers.

Ian told me that Neil had, rather bizarrely, told them what flowers he wanted at his funeral last month. There is no doubt there was more to Neil than met the eye.

As we picked out the thyme for Gardeners’ World, he told me a fabulous story about Monty Don – ending with a lop-sided grin and, “Best not to mention it at the screen test though.”

He was a walking (or sitting) ‘Plant Finder’ and always wonderfully generous with his knowledge – and opinion – of a particular plant. “I’ve no time for that one, too fussy,” he would grumble.

He loved to hear about my annual visit to Chelsea Flower Show and inevitable had a relevant story for whatever or whomever I mentioned.

“Did you know…?” he would start.

I invariably didn’t.

One of my favourite memories is discussing the trend for wildflowers after the flower show a few years ago. He didn’t have the varieties that my client had asked for and brazenly recommended other varieties, varieties he had in stock!

“Hmmm, they’re not really ‘wild’ flowers though, Neil,” I mused dubiously.

“No,” he agreed. “More pseudo-wild. Tell them that. Tell them they are pseudo wildflowers and we’ll start a new trend of our own.”

And one of my biggest regrets is that although I was lucky enough to go over to the house and spend time with Neil at the end of February, drawing up a list of suitable fruit trees for a clients new orchard, I was in that awful gnawing rush that I find myself in so often, so only spent an hour or so with him. It could have been longer. Now there won’t be another chance.

Local (and many not-so-local) gardeners will miss Neil and his tales and wisdom dreadfully, but we must take some comfort in knowing that Heaven’s grounds men are in for a real treat.

Our loss is their gain. Good night Neil.