A scythe is no good in the modern garden – sorry, Monty Don Monty Don, the nation’s favourite gardener, has pronounced: “You don’t have to use a machine – scythes cut grass very […]

Monty Don, the nation’s favourite gardener, has pronounced: “You don’t have to use a machine – scythes cut grass very well.”

Really, Monty? A scythe does not cut grass very well, because it cuts properly only if the grass is standing up straight – not lying down after rain, as it mostly does. Even on dry days, a scythe needs to be razor sharp, or it tears the grass, leaving split ends like a bad haircut. I also defy anyone to cut a lawn much lower than three inches with Monty’s dangerous weapon.

We used a scythe for nettles and thistles in the field and there was always a risk of slashing your shins, as a friend’s aunt did, when haymaking to impress a boyfriend.

i's opinion newsletter: talking points from today Email address is invalid Email address is invalid Thank you for subscribing! Sorry, there was a problem with your subscription.

Having moved to a smaller house with a tiny shed, where could I hope to keep my scythe? Two-handled ones are huge and lethal; they need to be wrapped in sacking when not in use.

I dislike machines as much as Monty does and I have never fussed about having a perfect lawn, but the one thing I would miss is a mower. Our new bright green Viking runs off a lithium battery, so it is virtually silent and you have to push it, which achieves half of Monty’s recommendation: to trust hand tools and engage in physical labour.

“We have forgotten how mountains can be moved by hand,” he says. I need no reminder of moving mountains. I write as someone who is making a new garden with the help of two amazing brothers, one 73 and one a bit younger.

No machines have been used to make a concrete base for the greenhouse and hoggin paths up the garden. Everything has been dug out by hand and moved by barrow.

We have excavated soil 2ft deep against buildings to make a garden and buried rubble deep beneath paths. I could not have enjoyed the physical labour more.

Tolstoy knew the value of manual work. He, like Monty, was mad about scything. The description of Levin, in Anna Karenina, which is always said to be a self-portrait, reads: “The longer Levin mowed, the oftener he felt the moments of unconsciousness, in which it seemed not his hands that swung the scythe, but the scythe mowing of itself… these were the most blissful moments.”

Hard outdoor work is a wonderful drug. Forget scythes. Digging or hoeing and even pushing a mower will bring on those blissful moments.