After some time talking, we headed off down the little winding path beneath the gnarled old apple trees and the magical cluster of cherry trees that held a fascination for me and of course the Chinese.
We passed the greenhouses full of ripening tomatoes, passed the artichokes and the market garden veg. and arrived at the bottom of the slope to see a large long barn. When I entered I smelt, what became so familiar, the damp, paraffin oil and cool clay smell of a pottery. There were various types of foot and electric wheels, a kiln filled much of the space with a myriad of unfinished pots in various stages of completion. Behind the pottery was a wooden shelter covered in corrugated iron under which were two proper brick kilns, with chimneys. My father and the potter talked about oxidisation and reduction. Where the pots were placed gave different results and how the atmosphere changed the colour of the glazes? This I only really understood later. At present, the kiln appeared to be abandoned and consigned to invasion of ivy and “Old Man’s Beard” I couldn’t believe this would ever be used or would be workable, but I was so wrong!
Finally, I don’t know when it was arranged, probably my desperate mother, who wanted to give me a much needed push to get me more engaged and out of my sullen silences. It was suggested that I could help on the stall at weekends and possibly next summer come over and help in the garden. In return, I would be given a chance to learn pottery in the afternoons. Well, that was my introduction to the Greendene world and the beginning of my love affair with this beloved place. It was one of those moments in time that are almost unnoticed, but looking back, are etched on the memory, never to be forgotten.
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