Riotous Retirement (11 page)

“Thanks Duncan, I really enjoyed the evening. We can do this again any time you like, so long as you let me drive again. Hope you don’t get too many letters next week!”

The Yellow Car

There was a dour Scot named Duncan
In Social Graces he was flunkun
Sue paid the restaurant bill
Then gave his car a thrill
This tweaked his pocket to curb the bunkum

No Gnomes

“We must have this village looking like the expensive but very desirable place to live that we all know it really is. We can’t go allowing people that are obviously at the end of their days being wheeled through here like we were operating some sort of old folks’ depository.”

Helga, the village manager, was on her favourite topic, keeping Burnside retirement village as up-market and the price of the villas as high as possible, as she lectured the assembled staff.

“Are you talking about old Mr. and Mrs. ...” but Alex was interrupted.

“Yes, yes, we all know who we are talking about so no need to name them! We are not prejudiced or uncaring but we must ensure that we are always looking attractive and positive. This village is for independent living and we can’t have any potential buyer accidentally running into Mr. and Mrs.
‘You know who’ with that wheelchair and him completely unresponsive and covered in that huge grey blanket. Our clients will think she’s moving a body!”

There was a nursing home situated very close to the retirement village and the upside to this was that Helga and the sales staff could hint, usually to the children of potential residents, that they had absolutely nothing to worry about buying in to the village.

“And, you know ... heaven forbid—well, just let me say Burnside retirement village has an excellent relationship and an understanding with the local nursing home, and availability for us is never a problem.”

This was a great comfort to many children of potential residents and a powerful argument to help in the sale of the villas—but nothing about this was documented in the sales material of course.

The downside of this great relationship was that some of the residents of the nursing home found the village a very attractive place for a walk: tree-lined quiet walkways and so convenient, especially if your husband was in a wheelchair and not quite as fit and perky as he used to be.

“Alex, I want you to have a word with that woman the next time you see her wheeling her husband around our board walks. See if you can persuade her to take her walk at a later time—you know, under cover of darkness. Tell her it’s not good to have him out in the sun or something!” Good employee that he was, Alex promised to do his best but he didn’t look very happy about it.

The common gardens and how they were supposed to look was another concern of Helga’s.

“You would think that we didn’t own this village!” was the gripe of one particular resident—Helen. “Who does this manager think she is?” she would complain to her neighbours or anyone else who would listen. “She acts as though the village was owned by the village operators. We know very well it has to be kept in good condition but we should be consulted more about this. That tree outside my house was a good example of this.”

Helen had made many requests to Helga that a large palm tree near her house but on common property, should be removed, but Helga didn’t want to remove it.

“Look, let’s leave it for now and see how you feel about it down the track a bit, Helen. I’m sure you would regret removing it because it casts lovely shade in the afternoon!” Helen was less concerned about losing the shade than she was about Helga’s patronising tone and her complaint that getting hit on the head with a falling frond was a distinct possibility, but Helga would just laugh at this.

Fortunately for Helen and unfortunately for Helga, Helen had a very good lady friend in the local gardening club. She explained to Helen that she could solve her tree problem easily and all it would take would be an afternoon and the absence of the manager. Helen’s gardening friend arrived with a large ute, a power saw and a young lad one Sunday afternoon, when they knew Helga or anyone else would not interrupt them. The tree was removed effortlessly.

Helga had a fit at the Monday meeting about a week later, after it was brought to her notice that the tree was no longer there.

“That should have been a decision of the Body Corporate Committee; we have forms and protocols and I should have been notified!” Helga thumped her desk. “Alex, didn’t you tell her that she would have to fill in the Garden Alteration 1 form and make a request for an action such as that?”

“Well, look at it this way, Helga, it’s done now,” Alex said, ignoring the question, “and at least the village did not have to pay for its removal.”

“She did that deliberately, didn’t she?”

“That is a possibility,” Alex replied, seemingly talking to his feet.

The following week Helga was taking her usual walk around the village. She would undertake this informal inspection whenever she could spare an hour or so just to see that the place was being kept up to scratch, the gardeners and the caretaker were doing their jobs and what new tasks might require some attention. The new villas had not been selling very well and management had been on her back about how the village was being presented.

As Helga passed the newest villas her stress levels rose just a little as she was reminded again how many were yet to be sold. Some had been sold of course and she also noted how the proud new owners had been adding to the attractiveness of the gardens with a few tasteful new plantings. Nothing ostentatious of course, all low maintenance and all approved by the Body Corporate Committee using the GA1 form.

She was about to return to the office when a flash of bright colour caught her eye from a corner of one of the new gardens.  She walked towards the bright object.

“It’s a bloody gnome!” she said out loud although there was no one else there to hear her.

Helga knew that if ever there was anything that would lower the tone it was garden gnomes. This was a thing of nightmares for Helga. She’d had a recurring dream about standing at the doorway of the most expensive new villa, a potential new resident, a wealthy lady, about to commit and seeing the eager expression on the lady’s face change to sheer horror as she looked towards the garden. Helga turns round to see what she is looking at and there they are, hundreds of them, a brilliantly coloured army of gnomes, red, green, pink and mauve, all moving about the garden. Some are pushing barrows loaded with weeds or gravel, some are fishing in the flower beds, some are digging and some are just standing around with friends, smoke curling up into the air from long-stemmed clay pipes as they converse with each other.

Helga would wake up gasping, glad to know it had all been a dream and very thankful that she had been able to keep all gnomes at bay in Burnside retirement village. Just let a couple in and they breed like fury, she thought.

She grabbed the little fellow and knocked on the door. There was no reply so she marched back to the office, gnome in custody, determined to nip this in the bud. The next day she sent a notice to all residents.

Gnome Policy

As you may know we try to present Burnside Retirement Village as an upmarket area for a discerning clientele who appreciate living in an exclusive area. Keeping our village to this standard benefits us all and increases the market value of all our properties.

Front garden Gnomes, which may be appreciated by some, do not add to the exclusivity, increase the real estate values or indeed increase the visual appeal of the area.

Gnomes in gardens are not encouraged under any circumstances but, as with any other decoration or unusual structure intended as part of the gardenscape, application to the Body Corporate Committee must be made on form GA2 (Gnomes Addition 2) available from this office.

The M
anager.

Now the more discerning residents on reading this notice recognised a personal point of view rather than an implementation of rules to which they had agreed. They consulted their Policy Implementation Document (the PID), which they received on purchase of their villa, and found no reference to garden gnomes. And much as the majority of the village residents probably agreed about the no gnomes policy, one or two gnome lovers and, more importantly, others angry at management for other reasons decided to take matters in hand.

The main instigator of this group was Helen, who was still smarting about Helga’s attitude towards the removal of the palm tree. Then there was the lady whose gnome had been in custody, now out on bail pending a full meeting of the Body Corporate, and two other ladies: Susan and Betty. These four formidable ladies felt that something had to be done regarding gnomes and Helga’s attitude towards these innocent small people.

After extensive discussion in the village with, it has to be acknowledged, either pro-gnome, or heaven forbid, anti-Helga people—at craft meetings, card meetings, carpet bowl games and the like—a plan was arrived at.

One afternoon Helen, Susan, Betty and the first offending gnome’s mother took a trip to Pam’s Warehouse up at the local shopping centre. Now Pam’s Warehouse, it must be acknowledged, was a store that residents from Burnside village were seldom seen in. If they were seen entering, or worse, leaving the store with a full plastic bag, it was always hastily explained—“Just collecting a few things for the grandchildren’s visit.” No one from Burnside could possibly want to fill their house with the wall decorations, artificial flowers, large blue plastic dogs, fake vintage Guinness posters or dancing Honolulu ladies that were sold in Pam’s Warehouse. But it was a top place for garden gnomes! Not particularly upper class gnomes perhaps, because the ladies all had a feeling that a good shower of rain might see the yellow, red and green of their waistcoats and breeches run to a uniform grey mud colour. But what the hell, for their purpose they were ideal!

On the first available weekly anniversary of Helen’s tree felling, these four ladies ventured out in the early dark of a Sunday evening to the area of the village where there were most new villas for sale.  In the front garden of each unsold villa they set up a special gnome tableau. Tableau was the only word to describe their efforts because they went to great trouble to set the scene. Meaningful, tasteful, artistic, creative and yes even uplifting, these displays, the ladies were sure, would increase the marketability of the particular properties. All they needed to do now was notify management and, Sunday evening notwithstanding, just mention these displays to a few friends.

Everyone was there first thing Monday morning. They were not disappointed. At 9.10 am the village buggy arrived driven by Alex, Helga in command and one of the gardeners in the back seat. Helga was immediately out collecting armfuls of gnomes and piling them onto the box at the back of the buggy. Not content just to give orders to Alex and the gardener, Helga, with great difficulty but determination was managing, even in heels, to cross soft lawn, gather armfuls of gnomes and return to the buggy. She could not get the job done fast enough.

Helga then gave orders to Alex. “Just tip the lot into the pond.”

“But we can’t tip them ...”

“Into the pond! That’s where I want them—Okay?” Helga shouted at Alex. The gnomes were then driven away and tipped into the village pond.

Later that afternoon Alex and Betty’s husband could be seen wading in the pond retrieving the gnomes.

There is no record of where or even if these gnomes ever found loving homes but in Burnside retirement village today there are some homes with gnomes—just a few. These gnomes seem very happy with their lot and this is probably how it should be.

No Gnomes

Management has said
NO
to Gnomes
They
will not
be given homes
They’ll lower the tone of a prestige place
No matter how small there is no space
Queen Helga has said
NO
to Gnomes

Special Biscuit Dip