MUSINGS FROM THE BOWER 32

Just two days to go till Mothers’ Day, or, as we officially know it in Britain, Mothering Sunday. It falls on the fourth Sunday in Lent, and at one time was the day that young people in service were allowed home to visit their mother. In fact, sometimes it was the only day that they were allowed home, and so it must have been an extremely important time for the maids, grooms and footmen of the time. Frequently they were given flowers, cakes or eggs to take home as a gift for their mothers.

 Nowadays, as with other events, Mother’s day has become commercialised, and magazines, newspapers and shops are filled with ideas of presents that mother might like, often including such things as diamond rings or designer dresses. Well, maybe we would like those, if we thought our families could afford them – but for most of us, a bunch of flowers, a box of chocolates and, best of all, the gift of our children giving up a few hours of their time to spend with us, are just perfect. As we grow older, Mother’s’ day becomes a bittersweet affair, because although we love the celebrations, we can’t help but think of our own mothers, who in many cases are no longer with us. We recall how we used to make cards and take hours to decide what to buy for her with our pocket money. When I was about nine, I went into Woolworths to buy a present for my Mum. I wasn’t sure what to buy, but eventually gravitated towards the ‘jewellery’ counter, which was always sparkly and pretty. There I saw the most wonderful gift. I was thrilled, because not only – in my eyes – was it beautiful, it was affordable. I handed over my sixpences and the assistant put my purchase in a paper bag.

It was a brooch, with the word ‘Mother’ in fancy writing, and was coloured pink and blue, in a sparkly plastic. I couldn’t wait to see Mum’s face when she opened her present!  Of course, as soon as she unwrapped it, she pinned it to her dress, and I insisted that she wore it to church, which she did. It wasn’t till many years later that she confessed that the brooch made her feel like an old woman! It was the kind of thing that her grandmother would have worn. But she wore it, because she knew that I had put so much thought into it. When she died, I found the brooch in her jewellery box – chipped, faded, but it still said ‘Mother’. Of course, now I see that it was a tacky, plastic brooch – children rarely have good taste – but I could never part with it, because I know that by wearing it she was demonstrating her love for me.

When my daughter was two, she gave me a card that she had made. She wasn’t quite sure of the concept of Mother’s Day, mixing it up with birthdays, so as she handed it to me, she said, ‘A happy to you, muvver’! This phrase has gone into family lore, as has the one which she said a couple of years later as she gave me the bar of soap she had bought me for Mothers’ Day – ‘I saw this, and it was pretty and cheap, so I thought, Mum will like this cheap, pretty soap’!

You may be wondering how the bower has been lately. Well, it’s still here, and seems to have been appropriated by a robin who shelters under the cover from rain, snow or cold. He flutters out when he sees the feeder dishes being refilled. I’m hoping he will nest nearby, as there is a nest box in the hedge. It’s been too chilly to sit out there yet, and although Tuesday was sunny and milder than of late, I didn’t have time to clear the bower of the garden chairs, cushions and various garden tools that seem to gravitate there in the colder months.

On Monday evening, I went to yet another of the excellent talks given by Chris Packham, the well-known naturalist, photographer and television presenter. As usual, he covered a vast range of topics including the lack of larger predators in Britain (he would like to bring back wolves and lynx), his joy at finally seeing a pangolin, the persecution of many British birds of prey, his love of big cats such as lions and tigers, and how much he enjoys photographing smaller, often overlooked species such as pondskaters. On the 16^th of March, I, too, will be giving a talk. Mine will be at the V&A Museum of Childhood at Bethnal Green, during their Teen Doll Study Day. Chris kindly gave me some tips, so if you’d like to know whether  I have remembered them – and assuming you are interested in dolls – why not come along? Details are on their website.

Meanwhile, enjoy the onset of spring. The daffodils are in bud in the garden, the crocuses are in full bloom and the blue tits are investigating the nest boxes. Today, even though it’s pouring with rain and the sky is a grey as an elephant’s skin, I can see all the buds on the bushes, ready to burst into life. And that’s what we celebrate on Mothering Sunday – the gift of life.

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                                                      Thanks, Mum, for everything x