The Mystical Green Shed
by Karenne Griffin
Sam had wondered for some time what was in the green shed. He asked his father, who was at the time watching the rugby on TV.
“I dunno, son. I think it’s something to do with the Council.”
The green shed was down the end of their street, just past the flats and before you got to the traffic lights. A tatty green corrugated iron construction set on a small strip of grass, it was largely unnoticed by passers by. Sam passed it every day on the way to and from school, and from time to time he jiggled the weighty padlock securing its door. But it was always firmly locked.
He tried looking in through the window, but all was darkness inside. In any case, the window was very dusty and cobwebby.
One afternoon Sam had a surprise. He was passing the shed on his way home from school, and reached out automatically to touch the padlock. But it was missing! He pulled the latch, and it slid stiffly away from the hasp. Sam opened the door, which was literally the front wall of the shed hinged at the side.
He braced himself for whatever the shed might reveal, and pulled the door closed behind him: he didn’t want anyone to know he’d finally gained access to the mysterious shed.
At the front, just inside the door, was a lawnmower. The sharp smell of petrol and cut grass indicated to Sam that it had been used recently. Behind it was a tantalising array of machinery, much of which didn’t seem to have been moved for some time. A couple more lawnmowers, a large iron roller, and an ancient tractor. Sam worked his way into the crowded shed and climbed up onto the tractor. The seat was sprung, and he jigged up and down, relishing the creaking sounds of the rusty springs. He practised changing gears with the gearstick; only five years until he could legally learn to drive and he was eager to gain the freedom of the road.
But there seemed to be a glimmer of light at the far end of the shed. Sam levered himself out of the tractor seat and made his way past a tangle of tools. He blinked and rubbed his eyes. Everything seemed to grow misty, and the back wall of the shed seemed far away.
A figure seemed to rise up out of the mist, a man clad in ragged green. He looked a bit like Uncle Dai who worked in the park.
“Hello, Unc,” called Sam.
The man moved forward as if blown by an invisible breeze. He had a long beard, whereas Uncle Dai didn’t.”
“Hello, Sam,” replied the man.
Sam wondered how the stranger knew his name. His Mum had warned him to be careful of strangers, but he wasn’t quite sure why. This man didn’t seem at all threatening.
“Er, hello,” Sam replied tentatively.
“It’s okay, Sam”, said the bearded man. “I’m not your uncle, but I’m glad to see he’s doing a fine job down at the park. Would you like to work in the park when you’re old enough?”
Sam hadn’t really thought that far ahead. He rather fancied becoming a racing driver.
“Er, I dunno,” he replied. “Uncle Dai always says the money is rubbish, so I’d rather wait and see when I’m old enough.”
The bearded man chuckled. “That’s a fair answer, Sam. “
“So who are you, then?” asked Sam, twisting a piece of rusty chain between his fingers.
“My name is Gwyrdd,” the man replied.
“That’s a funny name. Is it Welsh?”
“Yes, it means ‘green’.”
“Oh yeah, I remember now. We learn Welsh at school, but I’m hopeless at remembering. Even worse when it comes to saying the words. How do you say your name again?”
“Gwyrdd.”
Sam rolled the word around his tongue a few times, trying to commit it to memory.
“Anyway, Gwyrdd, what are you doing in this shed? Do you work for the Council?”
“Not as such, Sam. But I work to make your town a better place.”
“How do you do that?”
“I clean up rubbish, and I try to encourage others to do the same. Not to drop litter in the streets, nor leave a mess behind when they go for a picnic in the country. To treat the environment the way they would treat their own garden.”
“Some people’s gardens are an awful mess,” said Sam.
Gwyrdd nodded and sighed. “Yes, I know. But luckily those gardens are few. Most people like to keep their gardens tidy. What‘s yours like?”
“It’s okay,“ said Sam, scratching his nose. My Dad mows the lawn and tends the vegetable patch at the back. My Mam likes to grow flowers but our dog Topsy digs them up sometimes and she gets cross. Well it’s been nice talking to you, but I’d better go now otherwise Mam will wonder where I’ve got to.”
“Of course, Sam. Goodbye for now.”
Sam hurried along home. That night he dreamt he was in a large garden, and Gwyrdd was walking at his side. He awoke in the dark with a feeling of purpose, but turned over and soon dropped back to sleep.
The following morning Sam hurried off to school as usual. However he couldn’t help noticing all the litter on the pavement as he walked down his street. Surely it hadn’t been that untidy yesterday. He half-remembered what Gwyrdd had said the day before about cleaning up the streets. He thought it must be difficult for one man to do it all by himself. So he picked up three hamburger boxes and an empty crisp packet.
Looking around for a litter bin, he met his classmate Richie at the corner.
“Big breakfast today, pal,” said Richie, poking Sam in the belly. Sam almost dropped his burden of rubbish.
“I didn’t eat all this, Rich. I’m picking up litter in the street. I hope Mrs Thomas doesn’t mind if I put these in her wheelie bin, I can’t find any of those metal bins you sometimes see on lamp posts.”
“Why the sudden obsession with rubbish, mate?”
“Well, it doesn’t look very nice blowing about in the street, does it? Why don’t you pick up that orangeade bottle. A car could run over that and puncture a tyre.”
It made sense, so Richie gave Sam a hand. They were a little bit later than usual getting to school, but they were still in time for assembly and they’d picked up quite a bit of rubbish on the way.
Sam did the same on the way home. He was disappointed to find that the streets he had cleared in the morning once again looked rather messy, but undeterred he picked up cans, chip wrappings, bottles, sweet papers, whatever offended his eye, and popped them into people’s bins on his way.
The following morning he had an idea. He asked his mother for a plastic carrier bag, and used it to collect whatever litter he found on his way to school. He emptied it into the big school rubbish bin and put it in his backpack to use again on the way home.
That night on the way home, Sam was walking behind a group of older boys who were eating chips. One of them finished his food, balled up the paper in his fists and dropped it on the ground behind him.
Before he could stop himself, Sam shouted.
“What’s your problem, kid?” said the older boy as Sam bent down to pick up the chip wrapper.
Sam looked at his feet. “Er, it’s not very nice to throw your rubbish in the street. You wouldn’t like it if someone threw rubbish in your garden, would you?”
“I live in a flat, we haven’t got a garden.”
All the boys laughed, and threw their chip wrappings and the remainder of their chips on the pavement before walking away.
Sam sighed, but nevertheless he set to and cleaned up the mess. He was on a mission.
That night Gwyrdd came to Sam again in his dreams. He showed Sam a vision of their town with no litter, no graffiti, and no furniture or broken down cars dumped in quiet lanes or by the river. All the gardens were full of flowers and shrubs as were the roadsides and roundabouts. The world was a bright and shiny place in Sam’s dream, and he woke even more determined to make this a reality.
Sam had already filled one carrier bag with rubbish by the time he met Richie on the way to school.
“Hey, Rich! Glad to see you’ve got your bag of rubbish, mate,” he said, slapping his friend on the shoulder.
Richie looked guilty. “Sorry, Sam. I forgot. This is some stuff for our art project.”
Sam looked heavenwards. “And I forgot about that. Hey, do you think I could use some of this rubbish?”
They laughed together, then Sam bent to pick up yet more soft drink cans and crisp packets dumped by someone’s gate.
“You’re really serious about keeping the place tidy, aren’t you, Sam,” said Richie, holding the bag open.
“You betcha. Don’t tell me you like seeing all this mess about the place?”
“No, but …” he shrugged, unable to see what difference they could make.
That afternoon on his way home Sam was set upon by the gang of older boys.
“What’s this you got in the bag, kid? Got any food? Got some fags?”
“Er, no,” mumbled Sam, his eyes on the ground.
“What’s this? Rubbish? You are one weird kid!”
And with that they upended Sam and tipped him head first into a wheelie bin along with his bag of rubbish.
After they’d gone he managed to wriggle around and stand up in the bin, then tip it onto its side so he could get out.
Sam’s mother was not best pleased at the mess he was in when he returned home.
“What on earth have you been doing to get in such a state? You smell as though you’ve been down the sewers. Get yourself into the bathroom and don’t come out until you’re clean!”
Practically every day Sam checked on the green shed but the padlock was always firmly in place. Gwyrdd came to Sam from time to time in his dreams, but when he had questions it was frustrating not being able to confront the kindly and knowledgeable man in person.
As the days and weeks went by, Sam developed ways of going about his business as discreetly as he could. He carried his rubbish bag inside his school bag, and looked over his shoulder before picking up any litter.
Apart from street cleansing Sam began work on his project of general town improvement. Instead of buying sweets he spent his pocket money on packets of seeds. He scattered them on roundabouts and in odd pockets of waste land in the hope that they’d germinate.
Shortly after this, Sam had a bit of a result. He had stopped in the next street to admire some strange plants in one of the gardens when an elderly lady came out of the house.
“Excuse me,” he enquired. “What are these plants?”
“They’re sunflowers, dear. I grow them from the birdseed I buy for my parrot. I discovered quite by accident when I dropped some seed into a crack in the concrete on the way to the rubbish bin, and lo and behold a huge sunflower plant sprang up. It had a flower on it that summer the size of a dinner plate, I’m telling you. So now I plant some of Henry’s seed in the garden, and as well as the sunflowers some other pretty things come up from time to time. And it’s a lot cheaper than buying little packets of seed.”
After that, Sam followed suit. He bought a large bag of parrot mix from the pet shop for a pound. Before long he could see bits of leafy green popping up here and there. It was a wet spring so he didn’t have to worry about whether the little plants were getting enough water. And for good measure he planted some sunflower seeds in his own garden.
Even though he was busy gathering rubbish and planting seed, Sam occasionally found time to watch TV after school. An item about some schools operating an Eco-friendly project caught his attention, and he mulled it over. The next day he approached one of his teachers.
“Miss, I saw something on TV yesterday about school pupils working on an environmental project and getting their schools recognised as Eco Schools.”
The teacher smiled. “That sounds interesting, Sam. What does it involve?”
“Um, recycling. Growing vegetables and flowers. Going to places where rubbish has been dumped and cleaning it up. That sort of thing.”
“If you can remember what channel the programme was on I’ll check their website and see what I can find out, Sam. How does that sound?”
“Brilliant, Miss!” said Sam with a grin.
Miss Thompson was as good as her word. A couple of weeks later she presented the class with an information pack which gave guidelines for recognition as an Eco School. She devoted the Geography class that day to a brainstorming session to come up with ideas for different environmental projects. Sam was pleasantly surprised that some of his classmates were in favour of the project.
“I think we should clean up the canal down by the industrial estate,” said Linda Jeffries. “It’s full of shopping trolleys and plastic bags, and I think someone’s dumped a three piece suite as well. It looks disgusting!”
“We could build one of those wind turbines,” said Johnny Watkins. “It would be cool to generate our own electricity. Or maybe we could get some solar panels to heat the school’s water supply.”
“Good ideas, Johnny,” said Miss Thompson. “But I don’t know where we’d get the money to buy solar panels and a wind turbine.”
“I’d like to start a school garden,” suggested Rosemary Allen. “We could grow fruit and vegetables to eat, as well as flowers to put in the classrooms.”
It seemed as though the second form at Grove Street School was about to take over the world and run it lean, mean and green. Sam felt less alone in his crusade and marvelled that some of his classmates had such good ideas on how to make their town a better place.
The following week there was an article in the local paper under the heading “Alien Plant Life”. Sam was idly leafing through the pages while waiting for his mother to take him to the dentist, and saw a picture of some plants growing on a roundabout on the outskirts of town. “Yes! Yes!” he whooped with joy and punched the air with a victorious fist. It was definitely his seed scattering taking effect, and he made a mental note to pop down to that roundabout and check on progress in person. From the photograph it looked as though the plants were nearly a foot tall already. It seemed Council staff were investigating the plants, and he only hoped they wouldn’t destroy them.
Miss Thompson soon had permission from the Head to run an after-school club devoted to the Eco School project. At their first meeting they planned the school garden and Miss Thompson helped the students write a letter to the school’s Board of Governors asking permission to turn a small part of the playing fields into a vegetable plot.
At the second Eco School meeting Sam plucked up the courage to mention his litter picking activities.
“Well done, Sam,” said Miss Thompson with a smile. “We should all be more litter conscious. There are plenty of bins around, and there’s no need to leave a mess. How about designing some posters? And perhaps we could start with a rota for clearing up the school grounds.” Miss Thompson looked around the gathering of twenty or so students. “I’ve had another idea. How would you all feel about taking responsibility for clearing up the streets you live in? I’d be happy to organise a prize each month for the tidiest street.”
“Cool!” “No problem,” replied the students.
“What about my idea for clearing out the canal?” piped up Linda Jeffries.
As a result, the Clean Streets competition came into being. Miss Thompson agreed to fund the monthly prize of a £10 gift token. And the Saturday after next they would get together down at the canal to clear all the rubbish. Tom Allen was going to ask his dad if he would come with his trailer to take the rubbish to the tip.
Talk in the playground began to revolve around the Clean Streets competition. Richie Roberts was always moaning about the mess outside the chip shop spoiling his efforts to keep his street tidy.
“It’s all right for the rest of you,” grumbled Richie. “That chip shop is a real thorn in my side!”
“I’ve got the neighbours from hell,” groaned Dai Mervyn. “The Smiths. You know, Scruffy from the first form. His family. Scruffy’s dad fixes cars in the street, and there’s an oil slick yards long. He leaves old tyres propped against the fence. Scruffy and his brothers have busted down part of the fence, and their garden is like a rubbish tip spewing all over the pavement.”
“How about we design some posters?“ suggested Amber Gates. “One to go outside the chip shop, and one to go on the lamp post outside the Smiths’ house. See if that makes any difference.”
The Saturday of the canal clean-up was a bit grey and drizzly, but that didn’t deter the determined troupe of students who assembled down by the industrial estate at nine in the morning. After a while a young reporter from the local paper turned up and started asking questions and taking photos. Tom Allen’s dad drove back and forth to the tip with all the junk they unearthed, and by the time they stopped for lunch the area was already looking more promising.
Sam was still keeping an eye on the results of his seed distribution campaign, and was relieved that the Council hadn’t yet done anything to remove the plants. Some of the sunflower plants were over a foot tall and starting to develop flower heads. He dreamed of Gwyrdd dressed in a giant sunflower costume.
Sam won the first Clean Street prize. He felt a surge of pride and relief as his fellow students applauded. He no longer felt like a ‘neat freak’ conducting a solitary campaign.
After the first posters went missing, Miss Thompson had their replacements laminated in the school office. This made them more sturdy and weatherproof. Apart from the chip shop and the Smith household, various other ‘black spots’ were identified and targeted with posters.
It was the double page spread in the local paper that proved the turning point of the school’s ecological campaign. The reporter had done her homework thoroughly, and as well as printing pictures of the canal clearing exercise there were photos of the school garden development and the Eco Group at one of their after school meetings.
August’s Clean Street prize was won by Steven Smith. Apart from joining forces with Dai Mervyn to keep on top of the general litter in the street, Steven had gone to great pains to soak up his father’s oil stains with sand. He hired a skip and cleared out all the junk in their garage so that his father had a proper space to work on his cars. He got rid of the tyres and cleared all the rubbish out of the garden. He even fixed the fence. Dai was not at all put out that ’Scruffy’ had won the prize; after all, he’d made the greatest effort.
At the end of the summer, Grove Street School was awarded Eco School status. Prince Charles attended morning assembly to present the award, and of course the event was featured on the television news. The camera zoomed in on Prince Charles deep in conversation with Miss Thompson, and she was quoted afterwards as saying that the Prince had been very much in favour of their ideas for a wind turbine and solar panels. She said the school was to start fund-raising for these projects.
As well as showing the school’s success with the garden and in keeping the buildings and grounds tidy, the television reporter presented a detailed overview of how the students’ efforts had impacted on the town as a whole. August’s Clean Street prize giving was re-done for benefit of the television cameras, and Steven Smith glowed with pride as he showed how he’d made his family become more environmentally friendly. He and Dai were pictured grinning like idiots as they picked up the only crisp packet that had dared to blow in on the breeze.
The canal cleaning project was shown, mentioning how the school had worked several Saturdays to de-clutter a greater length of the canal. The Mayor was interviewed, bald and beaming in his regalia. “The students of Grove Street School are a credit to the town,” he gushed.
“We will be reinstating the Garden Competition next year after a lapse of 15 years. We adults need to follow the good example set by the children.”
Sam didn’t feature to any great extent in the television programme, but he didn’t feel any sense of disappointment. He grinned with secret glee as the camera panned over drifts of sunflowers and other colourful plants which had, according to the Mayor, “mysteriously appeared all over town”. Then Sam gasped with surprise. There was a bearded man in a green cloak standing behind the Mayor. Sam blinked, unable to believe his eyes. It was Gwyrdd!
But no, it was merely a trick of the light. It was only a man in a green mac standing next to a tall woman with long grey hair. When the wind blew, her hair looked as though it was growing from the man’s chin.
As Sam settled down in his bed that night he hoped Gwyrdd would visit him in his dreams. The town was already a much nicer place to live, but he hoped Gwyrdd would be there to guide him in the future.