Sid was my neighbour in the Cumbrian hamlet where I live. A keen fell-runner in his youth, he had built his house in a spot that gave him a glorious outlook across the fields to the fells. His garden was his paradise - flowers, trees, fruit bushes, vegetables - if it would grow in the challenging climate of Cumbria, Sid grew it. The greenhouse in which he nurtured his young plants proved insufficient to accommodate his ambition to be the champion marrow-grower of the North, so he constructed a spacious polytunnel, which he called his wind tunnel.  It was an ingenious structure of wood and polythene, held together mostly with string. Along with a collection of well-used garden tools, it housed the precious marrows that every year became his pride and joy.

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In Sid's later years, friends in the village who were supported him with his beloved garden guessed that the wind tunnel might provide an interesting photographic opportunity - and so it proved. Over several visits I witnessed and recorded the marrow plants as they curled their tendrils round their supports, pushed out their buds, expanded their fruit and gradually took over the space, at times even busting forth through the roof as harvest time approached. The wind tunnel became an exotic environment, deep with mystery, a shady haven and a photographic fairyland. The whole collection of images, many more than appear here, were gathered into a birthday book for Sid, a record that moved him to tears as he turned the pages.