Sense of flowers

One of life’s pleasures is watching drab brown lifeless earth, leafless shrubs and trees, transform with new succulent green shoots, new leaves and plump new buds.

In no time at all they are a sight to behold as they emerge seeking daylight. Petals span every colour of the spectrum. Brightness on the greyest day to lift the dullest of moods. Single, double or multiple, each structure individual, designs to stun our feelings with their radiance.  

Wild, cultivated, neat rows or random as nature intended. Surfacing through frost and snow, petals down or closed to fend off rain. Woodlands attracting carpet of bluebells and wood anemone, spreading at will in the perfect conditions.

Petals of all shapes. Perfection that begs to be touched just to prove they are real. Smooth, like silk, thick and waxy, dry and brittle, those that are robust and rubbery alongside others frail, tissue paper thin.

Leaves contrast in colour and elaborate forms. Green, red, purple, variegated, iridescence all year round for the aptly named evergreen.

Stems, brown and woody, delicate and requiring support for a heavy crown of bloom. Inbuilt protection, sharp thorns. Others sticky to catch unsuspecting prey, none more devious than those with a pretty face and sweet nectar, tempting insects to become dinner.

Most heavenly must be the heady smell. Hyacinths fill a room with their gorgeous scent. Evening primrose fragrance gets stronger with the sunset, inhaled with a late drink on the patio. Stored memories of warmer climes, sweet jasmine enveloping the evening air. Mimosa in the mountains of Greece, utterly magical, remaining on the senses forever.

Childhood taught us to avoid picking dandelions so we did not wet the bed. Buttercups' yellow hue on the chin confirmed we liked butter. Daisies formed necklaces and tiara as we sat on lush meadow, splitting stalks with a thumbnail.

Cures for many complaints come from the natural world. Chefs forage for primrose, pansies, violet, crystalised with sugar provide a delightful trifle. Peppery nasturtium leaves in a salad, the vibrant orange and yellow flowers tempting the taste buds to stimulate the appetite. As with everything in life, caution is wise. Beautiful in flower and name, belladonna is also known as deadly nightshade. Toxic dog mercury masquerade amongst wild garlic, though its pungent smell, flavour and beautiful white flowers will certainly captivate your attention.

Sight, touch, smell, taste - almost all our senses working overtime. If only we shared the acute hearing of dogs and fauna. Then, I am sure, we would hear the explosion of seed pods bursting to scatter next year’s crop.  We may hear the applause as heads bow, taking fresh rain to their roots. When the sun shines, we do not need to hear heads turn to follow the warm rays loved and soaked up by us all.

Carolyn Wheatley

'Buttercups' yellow hue on the chin confirmed we liked butter.' Photo: A Mott

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Apples from the Old Rectory - 1958

Shortly before the old Victorian Rectory was (largely) demolished, its surrounding gardens contained a number of mature fruit trees. Charley, the son of the then verger at Loughborough’s All Saints Parish Church, was a good friend of mine, and we would spend time exploring the old house and grounds.

One day we noticed that an apple tree had produced a large quantity of fruit, and so we helped ourselves to a few dozen in a carrier bag. Later, however, when we came to taste the apples, they proved to be very hard and very sour.

It happened that Charley had easy access to the church tower, and so it was no problem for the pair of us to climb up to the top, some hundred feet above the churchyard. With the bag of apples now to hand, we began looking for suitable targets to ‘bomb’.

After a few shots at a parked bicycle, we lobbed a couple more at a poor dog and its owner, giving them quite an unpleasant shock. Deciding that this action was, probably, quite cruel, we started to look for other alternatives. The open top of the boiler house chimney was some forty feet below, and very tempting.

It took quite a lot of shots before Charley scored ‘a hole in one’. This proved, later, to be our undoing. Be sure that your sins will find you out!

The verger had the responsibility of lighting the then coke-fired boiler, and he was very puzzled to discover a fresh apple amongst the remains of the last fire, especially as the boiler house was always firmly locked up. He was also interested in the large quantity of smashed apple pieces lying about the churchyard.

Charley was quizzed by his father, resulting in me facing the same questions the following day. ‘Stupid boys’ and ‘very dangerous behaviour!’ was the subject of a very sever reprimand for us both!

 

David Taylor

Photo by Peter Neumann on Unsplash

Kate

Who do I most miss of late? 

‘Would have to be my Aunty Kate.

Younger than my much loved mother, 

neither one could claim a brother.

Sisters, I have two to show;

Did Kate have children? Sadly, no. 

And so we three, from time to time, 

Were ‘lent’ to Kate, and that was fine!

Two weeks in Melton Mowbray found 

one of us on ‘other ground’; 

Little treats upon us rained, 

and my young energy was drained! 

Aunty Kate could find each day 

engaging projects, work or play, 

Never were we ‘at a loss’, 

Aunty Kate, our loving boss! 

Her generosity unstinted 

has upon our lives imprinted 

a truth that children all should know, 

You come to reap, just what you sow! 

David Taylor

Aunty Kath in 1938

Hello child, welcome to life!

This will seem a strange and fearful place to you, no doubt, a jumble of shapes and colours at this stage which you won't have the knowledge or vocabulary to put a name to, nor the ocular capacity even to see clearly.

And to be truthful, you're not actually seeing things anyway, but imagining, the black box we call the brain in the darkness of your skull making up stories of what it thinks it sees from messages sent by your eyes, your ears, the surface of your skin, the tips of your fingers.

These tales aren't always correct. If you are wise you will learn, at some point, to stop a moment and question their veracity before accepting them.

But that skill is years away in your future. For now, you just need to breathe, stick as close to the person who feeds and gives you shelter as you can, relax and take it all in. It feels a scary place, true, but believe me you have arrived at a point in the planet's journey that is safer for humankind than it has ever been.

You should know that you are the product of several thousand years of the struggle, graft and tears of your ancestors. Some will have lived very short lives, enough only to procreate before they expired; others to have had lives that were long and eventful. Some of those ancestors will have been lucky, with plentiful food in their bellies and a sound roof over their heads; others not so fortunate, scrabbling day-to-day to find or grow or earn enough money to buy the nourishment needed to sustain themselves and raise their young, at least to an age when their young could look after themselves.

For the most part you're not likely to experience the level of struggle they endured. Be thankful for that, use the time this gives you to experience joy. It’s your duty, almost, to make the most of such happiness - if not for yourself, then in their stead. They worked hard to survive so you could be born; celebrate that hard work by living the best life you can possibly manage.

Alison Mott

(In the style of Kurt Vonnegut's 'Hello babies. Welcome to Earth', shared by Humanists UK on the anniversary of his birthday).

Photo by Omar Lopez on Unsplash

Compassion (in the style of A Nail by Anon)

For want of compassion, proper funding was lost;
For want of proper funding, a doctor was lost;
For want of a doctor, an appointment was lost;
For want of an appointment, a prescription was lost;
For want of a prescription, medication was lost;
For want of medication, good health was lost;
For want of good health, a life was lost;
And all for the want of a little compassion.

Alison Mott

Photo by Hush Naidoo Jade Photography on Unsplash

The Doctor, 2023 - An Ode

Let me to the doctor go,
My pain gets worse, ‘should not be so,
I will a quick appointment make
by telephone, my hands now shake!
Am I in luck? It’s down to fate,
ten seconds past the hour of eight.

I’m in a queue, I’m put on hold,
The minutes pass, I’m growing old!
After what seems to be an hour
the phone goes dead, I have no power
to recover my urgent call;
My patience now, begins to pall.

The second time, a lady’s voice
intones a sort of ‘multi choice.’
Press button one, or two, or three,
there is no charge, the call is free;
We’re pleased to tell you while you wait
‘Your call is valued!’; (I’m number 8).

I’ll listen to the choice again,
wrestling with increasing pain.
I’m tempted now, by option six,
let’s see what a human voice can fix!
I’ll tell some person all the facts -
Computer, you can now relax.

‘Hello, and welcome to the surgery,
How can I help? My name is Marjorie.’
‘A doctor I would like to see’,
And Marj’ is saying, ‘Get past Me!
Are you calling about yourself?’
(No, it’s about an aging elf!)

‘A few small checks before we start;
have you a problem with your Heart?
We ask our patients to ‘book on line’
It saves you money, and also time.
The doctor has a lot to do ...
Did you say blood clots in your poo?'

David Taylor, June 2023

Photo by Miryam León on Unsplash

Evita, or not Evita - that is the question!

Anybody could see that the understudy was making a right hash of the role of Evita, her requirement to learn and practice the words to the main role as well as her own clearly having been bypassed.

‘What is that strange song you keep singing?’ the director bellowed in the interval. ‘It’s not at all what you’re supposed to sing!’

‘It’s from Charlie and the Chocolate Factory,’ the girl replied, blushing. ‘I thought if I sang it to the Evita tune, no-one would notice the difference.’

 

Alison Mott, 4^th Jan 2024

Evita, staged at Curve, Leicester in January 2024 (where in fact an understudy drove 150 miles on the last weekend to cover the role and gave a fantastic performance!). Photo: A Mott

See an article about the real understudy saving the day here.