Oh, youll never believe what happened to Margaret next door! I was fuming, honestly.
Margaret and her husband, William, had this gorgeous cottage garden in the Cotswoldsproper picture-perfect, with rows of potatoes, carrots, and cabbages on one side, and the other half full of apple trees, pear trees, and these lovely bilberry bushes shed been nurturing for five years. She was so proud of them, waiting for her first proper harvest.
Then there was her neighbour, Linda, with her tiny plotjust a little flower garden and a cottage, really. Lindas five grandkids would visit every summer, ages four to fourteen. Margaret didnt mind them playing in her gardenshe loved the sound of kids laughing. «Auntie Maggie, can we play here?» theyd ask, and shed say, «Of course, just mind the veg patch!»
But one morning, Margaret walked out with her cuppa and nearly dropped ither bilberry bushes were stripped bare! Not a single ripe berry left, just a few green ones. Even the blackberry bushes were picked clean. William was just as baffled. «Birds dont take *all* of them,» he muttered.
That evening, Margaret sat in the garden with a book, keeping an eye out. Sure enough, Lindas grandkids sneaked through a gap in the hedge and started plucking the last of the bilberries. «Look how blue they are!» the youngest squealed. The oldest shoved handfuls into a carrier bag.
Margaret marched over. «What do you think youre doing?»
The kids froze like rabbits in headlights. «We were just… trying a few?» the thirteen-year-old stammered.
«A few? Youve taken the lot!»
The four-year-old blinked up at her. «Auntie Maggie, can we have more? Theyre yummy!»
Margaret stormed straight to Lindas. «Your grandkids have stripped my bilberry bushes!»
Linda barely looked up from her tea. «So? Theyre just kids.»
«So? That was my *entire harvest*! Five years of work!»
«Oh, dont be dramatic. Theyre only berries.»
Margaret was speechless. The next day, even her unripe grapes were gone. When she confronted Linda again, the woman just shrugged. «Probably sour anyway.»
Things got worse. The kids started tossing rubbish into her garden, flicking water over the hedgeeven chucking pebbles at her windows. Linda just smirked. «How dyou know its *my* lot? Couldve been the wind.»
In the end, William put up a taller fence. Linda sneered, «Stingy, much?» and the kids took to shouting «Miser!» over the hedge. The whole village started whispering*Margarets gone tight-fisted, poor Lindas raising five grandkids alone*as if her garden hadnt been ransacked.
By summers end, Margaret just sat in her garden, heart heavy. It wasnt about the berries anymore. It was the meanness of itthe way Linda let those kids think it was all a game. And next summer? Shed be right back to square one.
Honestly, what would *you* have done?
