Way back in the mists of time (2014), I planted up my then brand new raised beds for the first time with a wide variety of expensive plants, all of which were doomed to die and be replaced within two years. All, except my Marjorie’s seedling plum tree. Since then I have loved it, I have espaliered it, I have plucked aphids off it by hand, I have gloried at blossoms and then mourned the fact that the builders were the only ones to see my first ever fruits grow and then subsequently rot on the branch because they were hidden behind a Hadrian’s wall of cement mixers, beams and odd sacks of I-don’t-know-what all of last summer. However this year, the tree’s third year with me, will surely result in a crop of fruits. I certainly hope so because this is going to be the litmus test that decides whether or not I believe any more of those “pot-grown” fruit tree adverts. I am starting to suspect that the plant growers sellotape massive fruits onto their show trees and that it’s actually impossible to grow fruit trees anywhere but open ground if you want a proper harvest. Remember my poor doomed potted fig tree? Cynical yes, but what other explanation can there be? So on these tiny budding fruits all my hopes rest:
London to Land Girl 