Musings on a May Morning.

This morning I had to drive five miles across country to give a Talk at a Golf Club for the gentlemen members of Probus (and on this occasion, their ladies too).    Afterwards I took a walk around the neighbouring village ,  and much enjoyed the profusion of flowers everywhere - hanging baskets and flower-filled tubs decorating the rather select shops, and the immaculately cared-for cottage gardens overflowing with an abundance of foxgloves, poppies, columbines, forget-me-nots, and the first roses of the season.     No wonder this particular village regularly wins  'Britain in Bloom' prizes - in the summer sunshine it seemed the very essence of old-fashioned Englishness.

As I drove home I passed a magnificent laburnum tree, its swags of bright yellow blossom swaying gently in the light breeze,  and I actually pulled the car over to stop and admire a large and very elegant tamarisk .  Its feathery branches were covered with delicate pink blossom, and it looked totally content to be growing a long way from the coast, where it is more usually to be found.     May trees everywhere were smothered in pink and white, and dusty pink 'candles' stood proudly and prolifically on the branches of chestnut trees.  Truly Nature paints the countryside in such gloriously colourful brushstrokes at this time of year. (and sadly I didn't have my camera with me to capture Nature's pictures.)

And yet ....  and yet.... I have to admit  that when I returned home to our own garden I was really wowed by something literally more down to earth.    Simple little dainty white daisies, and satiny yellow buttercups were popping up all over the lawn.   I can't remember this ever happening before - perhaps as a result of John painstakingly removing almost 400 dandelions from the grass quite recently, these other more tender wild flowers have been able to flourish.       It is strange that we are happy to allow daisies and buttercups to invade our regularly mowed greensward, yet we can't wait to get rid of dandelions!     For me,  happy childhood memories came tumbling into my mind - of lying on my tummy in the grass, making endlessly long daisy chains , and thrusting solitary buttercups under the chins of my brother and sisters to 'see if they liked butter'.

DAISIES:
At evening when I go to bed
I see the stars shine overhead;
They are the little daisies white
That dot the meadow of the night.
And often while I'm dreaming so
Across the sky the moon will go
It is a lady, sweet and fair
Who comes to gather daisies there.
For when at morning I arise
There's not a star left in the skies;
She's picked them all and dropped them down
Into the meadows of the town.
(F.D.Sherman). 
:......  and.....
BUTTERCUPS:
Down in a field one day in June,
The flowers all bloomed together,
Save one who tried to hide herself
And drooped that pleasant weather.

A robin who had flown too high
And felt a little lazy
Was resting near a buttercup
Who wished she were a daisy

For daisies grew so big and tall
She always had a passion
For wearing frills around her neck
In just the daisies' fashion.

And buttercups must always be
The same old tiresome colour;
While daisies dress in gold and white,
Although their gold is duller.

'Dear Robin' said the sad young flower,
'Perhaps you'd not mind trying
To find a nice white frill for me,
Some day when you are flying.'

'You silly thing' the robin said
'I think you must be crazy
I'd rather be my honest self
Than any made-up daisy.'

'You're nicer in your own bright gown
The little children love you
Be the best buttercup you can
And think no flower above you.'

'Though swallows leave me out of sight
We'd better keep our places
Perhaps the world would all go wrong
With one too many daisies'

'Look bravely up into the sky
And be content with knowing
That God wished for a buttercup
Just here, where you are growing.'

Of Bluebells, and Boleyn......

We spent much of the Bank Holiday weekend at Kim's with Rosie and Vicki (and the added bonus of Ben home for some of the time to rehearse with his band).    The household was somewhat depleted as Martin and Max had gone off to France for a rugby tour, but it was lovely to spend more time with the others.

Kim took us all to the cinema to see 'How to Train your Dragon' which was great fun - we all had to wear funny specs. to view the 3D film - a really amazing experience.     We were served delicious meals, as always, and played several games of Uno with the teenagers - their great speed completely flummoxed us at times (we are more used to playing with their much younger cousins), but it was all greatly entertaining.

Sadly the weather was rather chilly, but we did manage to go for a lovely walk with Kim in the nearby woodland where the bluebells surrounded the trees with a sea of azure - the whole scene dancing into life when the sun deigned to come out from time to time.

I scarcely set foot back home again than I was off down the M4 and M25 to Bletchingly, Surrey, to do a sleepover with my old schoolfriend Christine.   We met up with another of our oldest friends for a day out at Hever Castle.     What a magical place!  The childhood home of Anne Boleyn (whose family name was Bullen, but having spent some of her early years at the French Court, she adopted their more attractive take on her surname) - it was acquired by the wealthy William Waldorf Astor at the beginning of last century, who used his considerable fortune to restore the Castle, and acquire a fabulous collection of Tudor furniture and paintings.   Henry V111 visited the castle when courting not only Anne, but also 'The Other Boleyn Girl' so that the whole place is full of fascinating history.     On top of all this there are truly gorgeous Italian Gardens, laid out between 1904 and 1908 to display Astor's extensive collection of Italian sculpture, and if all that were not enough there are both yew and water mazes (the latter a children's delight), an Adventure Playground, and a couple of really good places to eat.  
    

I can't recommend Hever enough - it left me with so many lasting memories, as diverse at the beautifully illuminated Book of Hours (Prayer Book) which Anne took with her to her execution and bears the poignant inscription 'Remember me', to Henry's outrageously exaggerated codpiece!