The sun today takes me back 40 years and I remember the great lawn of the convent, where the nuns allowed us to hold our Garden Party to celebrate our campaign against the council’s plans to bury the old village centre under a massive office block. I remember the colours, the green and the gold of the day, and the helpers and stalls, and I remember our children, my young daughters in their summer frocks, racing around and lending a hand everywhere. I have never since tasted Pizzas, deep and juicy to compare with those made by two of our women colleagues, an Italian and a Czech.
And I remember discovering the old moat at the bottom of the garden. Some of us are still in touch, you and I and a few others, but many have died. I can remember our MP visiting us in that garden. She was fair-haired and wearing a green dress. We were very glad she attended on that sunny day, because the council we were fighting was a Conservative one. She was a very good and attentive (Conservative) constituency MP and we appreciated that, not least those of us who may have been in other political camps. She died recently.
I do hope your mail order plants have arrived in good condition. I suppose your little greenhouse is as packed as it always was. Petunias by the brilliant score and your bright pelargoniums. You sold them for the Save the Children Fund. Do you still grow those lemon scented geraniums? I remember that one of the plants you gave us and we kept for years had to be expelled from the living room – clouds of white fly.
As I write, J is in the garden getting, as she puts it ‘some Vitamin D’. Hyacinths are full of scent. Not the primroses though. Puzzling.