Garden of memories

“A pink rambling rose by our garden gate is in full blossom again after 44 years,” writes a Craigie regular. “Two elderly ladies, who lived across the street and who had taken a shine to our two young daughters, gave them the rose just before they moved away.

“As I gazed at the rose, I thought of all the other memories our garden conjures up. There’s a beautiful blue hydrangea presented to us by friends after our younger daughter died nine years ago. Then, on our front lawn, there’s the solar lamp she gave me for my Christmas many years ago.

“It stands atop its pole on a mound created by the decaying trunk of a willow tree which I planted there when the children were young and we used to go caravanning in Worcestershire. On the way back to the caravan site, I had admired the willow trees in some of the gardens there and planted one in our garden on our return.

“Years later, the willow – now much larger – still looked lovely, but our main drain was blocked. A plumber who investigated found the willow tree’s roots were growing through the brickwork of the drain and blocking it. The willow got the chop, but the stump remains to this day, now covered in grass and making a picturesque support for our daughter’s lamp.

“Then there are the remnants of our elder daughter’s garden which she asked for during a short burst of enthusiasm for horticulture. She edged it with coloured stones she had brought home from seaside holidays and I kept it separate for years. It still survives as a little haven for annuals among the shrubs on either side.

“Our younger daughter has a garden too, but that really is a garden of remembrance, containing rosemary and some lilies she gave me once for my birthday. I keep her garden colourful throughout the summer with as bonny a selection of flowers as I can find.

“Then – on the tools side – there are the sets of garden tools, footwear and gloves our elder daughter keeps presenting to me.

“My late father-in-law comes to mind when I use a long pole with cutter attached; he used it to pick out-of-reach fruit; I use it for pruning the branches of trees and shrubs too high up to reach with hand-shears.

“Even my own dad who died in 1972 comes to mind when I bring out his spade or his fork.”

“There are many, many more. Working in our garden is not really a chore; everywhere I look evokes fond memories of the past.”

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