Stories by Anne Knight
The Knotweed
Knotweed: Photo by Franco Giordana
When I was a teenager gardening was my job. In my parent’s garden grew
that dreaded Knotweed. We let it grow not knowing what it did. After
work I’d cut it down with a hand scythe, that dreaded Knotweed, but it
grew tall as if it was a bamboo. I would cut and chop those tall, fat
stalks with flowers. Those dreaded flowers would treble.
Mum, dad and I took a whole day trying to remove it. It didn’t matter
how many times, pulling, cutting or scything, it still came up. I tried
with my scythe to cut those stalks but they threw out a liquid. Many
times a rash appeared all over my arms. Red and lumpy.
Oh that dreaded Knotweed that grew at the bottom of my mum and dad’s
garden.