The rose, to me, brings back memories of my childhood, and England. My Father was a great gardener and he filled our small suburban garden with roses, lilac, columbines, and many other flowering annuals. I spent many hours helping him as we weeded, pruned, admired and smelt the roses. He also had a hothouse for growing chrysanthemums and tomatoes. As a child to sneak into that warm,cosy haven and sit on the dusty floor surrounded by the earthy, distinctive aroma of the tomatoes and to carefully choose and pick one that was perfectly ripe and eat it as I sat there was close to heaven. The rest of the vegs came from the allotment plot. This was a 15 minute bike ride away. I can’t remember how many plots were in that section but I loved going with my Dad to check how all the vegs were growing and also check out all the neighbours plots.
To this day I am passionate about gardening. Time passes so quickly when you walk round your garden, just for a look, pull one weed, that leads to another. Before you know it two to three hours have happily slipped by…
An English Rose
Give me an English rose
and you can keep your vaults of gold.
Give me a rose that I can watch it’s dew wet heart unfold.
Keep the treasures of the world
but leave me this one bliss,
where on earth could you surpass a pleasure such as this?
This lovely verse was on a birthday card that I received from my Aunt Zena many years ago, but carefully kept in my box of memories.