The Daffodil Memorial
Near me in Dulwich, at the Lordship lane end of Friern road is a memorial to some civilians (including children) who were presumably waiting at a bus stop before one of the infamous Doodlebug bombs were dropped by German bombers on their way back from the Docklands and killed them during the 2nd World War. It’s a forgotten spot with a few small trees and scruffy grass where the buses wait before they return to central London but in spring, the time of greatest hope, it erupts with a huge display of beautiful golden miniature daffodils in remembrance of those unlucky people that died there. Daffodils or Narcissi are named after the Greek god Narcissus because they seem to peer down into an imaginary pool like Narcissus and are so gay and bright in comparison with the dullness of early spring that they would probably fall in love with themselves if they saw their own reflection, like Narcissus. Anyway, the result is a fitting tribute to the horror of war- a lesson that humankind seems to forget time and again.
An Old Fashioned Garden in London
One of my previous clients, when I was gardening in Clapham, were two old ladies associated with the Ebenezer chapel, a small church on Fitzwilliam road. They had a very old fashioned cottage garden with roses, sweet williams, stocks, welsh poppies and similar charmingly blousy flowers. It was wonderful because it was a perfect snapshot of the 1950s era in which they had remained despite the continued march of time all around them.This was best summed up by their refusal to eat foreign food…… such as spaghetti!
The garden may have been stuck in time but it was a lot more fun to garden in than in the current trend for modern minimalist gardens where hard landscaping rules supreme. Also the welsh poppies I mentioned have naturalized all over the garden and were quite a sight with their orange or yellow blooms swaying in the breeze in spring. Sadly one of the old ladies died and the other went into a home and then my contract ended but I was able to spread the seed of the welsh poppies(they primarily spread themselves by seed) into a neighbour’s garden and into my own garden so the baton has been passed on so to speak and as long as I live I shall remember those sweet old ladies pottering around their own cottage garden that despite being in the middle of modern inner city London was so stuck in the fifties.
The Blackbird’s Soliloquy
I wrote in my first book about my affection for the blackbird and this affection has only grown since the Covid pandemic. When I was struck down with Covid in April 2020 I suffered terrible fatigue. This forced me to spend long hours sitting in the spring sunshine in my own garden and as chance would have it a male blackbird took up residence in a neighbouring ash singing his heart out in the hope of enticing a female blackbird to join him. It was a very similar experience to what HE Bates described in his book-A Love of Flowers in that when you are forced to sit or lie in one place for a long period of time small details such as the love song of blackbirds, the way the sun falls on the wall or the gradual unfurling of buds takes a much greater significance than when we are too busy to stop and look.
Similarly as TS Eliott said ‘April is the cruellest month’ because if you are suffering ill health or old age the world does not stop and blink. The wonderful youth of spring will unfold whether you want it to or not. And that is the saddest and most beautiful thing all at the same time. Indeed such is the power of spring that even in intensely urban environments its power is felt unlike the other seasons that are somewhat dulled by the squalor of intense human activity. I was made most aware of this yesterday- on the 5th of April 2023, exactly three years on from when I was struck by Covid as I drove down a street in Herne Hill, London that is lined exclusively with flowering cherries which were at the peak of their beauty. Ultimately this transience must be savoured, perhaps the cherry trees are saying ‘fling off your clothes and dance with us in the sun because it won’t last.’ to paraphrase the words of the great 20th plantsman and writer, Christopher Lloyd.
A gardener out of this world 