SERIES Say It With Flowers

No-one dared disobey Doreen’s instructions during the flower club’s outing . . .

WELL, this makes a change,” Matthew said, looking round the coach. “Usually I’m the only man in sight for flower club events, but today there are a lot of husbands here. I won’t feel like the odd man out.”

“We always get lots of men when we visit gardens,” Edna said from the seat behind him. “Especially on a Saturday.”

“Alison will be along in a minute,” Jennifer added. “Richard’s coming, too.

“Not that we’re going to need to go out to gardens soon,” she went on, going pink.

“Not when our garden

– or what soon will be our garden – has so many wonderful plants in it.”

Alison and Richard arrived and slid into the seat across the aisle from Jennifer and Matt.

“Here comes the sergeant major,” Alison whispered. “Going to give her usual lecture, I suppose. It’s like being back at school!”

Doreen was indeed standing at the front of the coach, holding a list and a microphone.

“Does she need that?” Edna asked. “Isn’t her voice loud enough as it is?”

“Now,” Doreen began with her usual artificial smile. “Are we all here?” Her brow puckered. “Where’s Jean? We don’t want to be late leaving.”

“I’m right behind you,” Jean said mildly.

The rest of the coach tittered and Doreen’s smile got tighter.

“We should arrive at the gardens at about half past ten. There will be time for a cuppa, and you can have a wander round the gardens before lunch.

“It’s always interesting at this time of year as there are lots of early spring flowers, and the glasshouse is well worth a visit. I know you men will enjoy the vegetable gardens . . .”

“We won’t get there by ten-thirty unless she shuts up,” Alison whispered, but Doreen was still talking as the coach moved off.

“I really must entreat you all to be back at the coach by four at the latest. We don’t want a repeat of last year, do we?

“Don’t forget to visit the plant stall.” Her face darkened. “And we don’t want any shenanigans over plants, either.”

Once they got to the gardens, Alison, Richard, Jennifer and Matt spent a few hours looking round the grand house and exploring the grounds, admiring the swathes of crocuses, witch hazel, camellias and magnolias.

“I’ll take a photo of this plant label,” Richard said, bending down as they passed a bed where the flowers had gone to seed. “No idea what they are, so it will be lucky dip.”

Later, in the glass house, Alison took a great interest in a very unusual fuchsia. Edna came up.

“May I get in front of you, please, so that I can have a closer look?”

Alison and Jennifer obligingly moved a few inches, though they were still close behind her.

“Thank you,” Edna said after a moment, and they all walked on to look at a display of cyclamens.

They had time for coffee and lunch before getting back on the coach at four. Doreen was ticking off names on her list.

“Don’t want to leave anyone behind!” she said merrily. “Did you all have a good time?”

She ignored the murmured responses about having sore feet.

“I had an interesting chat with the head gardener,” she said smugly. “He was so helpful about the rust on my quince.”

“Then thanks, Doreen,” one man said. “It must have been you who kept him out of the way.” Doreen frowned. “Yes,” another added. “There were some snowdrops desperately in need of dividing.”

“And seed heads about to go on the compost if I hadn’t rescued them.”

“Fuchsia cuttings are just so rewarding,” Alison said. “I’ve never had one fail.”

“You’re a disgrace!” Doreen said crossly. “Oh, here’s Jean. I trust you haven’t taken any cuttings or seeds?”

“Certainly not,” Jean replied. “I’m moving to a flat, remember. But the garden you’re about to take over,” she said, smiling at Matt and Jennifer, “is stocked almost entirely from cuttings from flower-club outings!”