CHAPTER XII
“NEXT DOOR”—A PARENTHETICAL CHAPTER
“United, yet divided.”
One matter of the deepest import confronts the owner of the small suburban garden, from which his prototype in the country is generally free; it is the question of “next door.” Inevitable, critical, all-important, almost uncontrollable as it is, “next door” has to be faced and made the best of.
Sometimes the best is very good indeed; sometimes there is no best, but a thorn. In the suburbs a kind of etiquette exists which helps to smooth the way. People must not stare at each other, children must not throw things over the wall. Nobody should play games on Sunday, or make much noise if one or other of the neighbours has a garden-party. (Suburbia revels in garden-parties.) Snails must never be dropped over the fence, nor stones, and boughs that hang over are not to be robbed of fruit; rules as to fallen fruit vary, but are not so strict as some others. These codes prevent much friction. The discordant apple is as tempting in the suburban garden as ever it was in Eden. I have known a generous apple-tree owner present the rights of an overhanging branch in perpetuo to a family where there were schoolboys, thereby securing their lifelong friendship. Such acts of grace as this make next-door neighbourdom a pleasant thing.
And there are customs. It is allowable to borrow garden-rollers, but not brooms, nor spades, nor lawn-mowing machines; this is considered encroachment, and “going too far.” Neither is it considered ladylike or gentlemanly to pass unsolicited remarks about the next-door garden, even in praise; nor is it good form to scrape acquaintance across the fence—proper introductions in the drawing-room must be waited for; windows must not be looked out of obtrusively; and lost balls must be searched for by going round to the front gate and ringing the bell—no short cuts.
Putting up barriers to shut out “next door” is liable to offend. Manœuvring is here advisable, and wire netting comes in useful. It is insidious. At the outset barely visible, as creepers clamber over and cover it, the screen becomes impervious imperceptibly; there is no grievance.
It is not thought good manners to work too hard on Sundays;—not like a navvy, and the shirt-sleeve would annoy. Anything like serious work should be done before breakfast. Pruning and light gardening, however (in the Sunday coat), may go on at any time, and one may see friends and give them tea; but decorum must prevail, and loud laughter is avoided by the well-behaved.
Yet great happiness has resulted from, and many a friendship been cemented by, handshakes across the garden-wall; children have thus found playmates, and older people kindred souls.