Clay
rhubarb forcers, once a common sight, had all but vanished from gardens
until a chance meeting inspired John Huggins to revive a dying art.
Sharon Amos reports:
Does your rhubarb patch produce horrid
stringy stalks in summer, fit only for chutneys and jams? To transform
a brute of a clump into a cluster of early, delicate pink stems with
good flavour and less acidity, all it takes is one simple, elegant piece
of garden equipment: a rhubarb forcer.
John Huggins had been hand-throwing all
manner of garden pots for years before he taught himself how to make
rhubarb forcers. It all began when he was caught unawares at the Chelsea
Flower Show, by none other than the Duke of Edinburgh, who wandered
over to his stand and casually asked if he made rhubarb forcers.
Despite being quick-witted enough to
reply "Only to order", no commission was forthcoming. Nevertheless,
John was intrigued. He began by going to farm auctions and buying up
examples of old rhubarb forcers. As he is based in the West Country,
the design he came across and which he modelled his own, is the classic
regional chimney shape, tall and elegant, with the faintest hint of
a belly swelling across the middle. "A completely straight pot
looks mean," says John.
Once he started making them, people just
couldn't get enough - not always, he suspects, because they are rhubarb
lovers, but just because the pots look so beautiful in the garden.
When he had mastered rhubarb, it was
only natural to turn his attention to seakale forcers, the same height
as those for rhubarb but bell-shaped to accomodate seakale's more rounded
shape.
Production takes place at his workshop
on the edge of the Forest of Dean, where the clay is mixed and the pots
thrown, dried and fired. Enormous care is put into the preparation of
the clay. Over the years, John has perfected a half-and-half blend of
"plastic" grey Lydney clay dug a few miles away, and tougher,
redder Bristol clay. The clay has to be blended, sieved and pressed
before it even reaches the potter's wheel.
"When visitors see me throw a rhubarb
forcer, "says John, "some may think: 'He's got a cheek charging
all that for a few minutes' work.' But, in fact, a whole day's labour
has gone into the clay before it's evn thrown."
Although John has a team of talented
potters working with him to produce planters, lily pots, wall pots,
troughs and long toms, he alone has the skill - and perhaps the confidence
- to throw the forcers. Heaving the clay on to the wheel is fairly dangerous,
since a lump big enough to make a rhubarb forcer weighs nearly 44lb.
Once he starts to work the clay it becomes
clear how important it is to have the right consistency. "Too firm
and it pushes you around, too soft and it won't stay where you want
it, "says John "A lot of energy goes on simply centring the
clay on the wheel. I use the structure of my body to move the clay -
not my weight."
On average, he makes 15 rhubarb forcers
a day. The lid takes almost as long to perfect as the body. Each has
to be made in two sessions on the wheel: one to throw the lid, the second
to add the knob.
About one third of clay's weight is water
and this has to be driven off before the forcers can be fired. To coax
this process along, a solid-fuel Rayburn burns night and day.
John has had a large number of orders
from Japan - again, not because the Japanese are great lovers of rhubarb,
but because they value the pot's design in the garden. He has also customised
a batch for Japanese clients who wanted to use them as compost-makers
for small gardens: adding a trowel-sized opening in the base means the
finished compost can be easily scooped out.
Of course, you can force rhubarb with
an old dustbin or plastic bucket and get the same results, but nothing
can compare with gracefully ageing, hand-thrown terracotta.