My grandmother Anastasia loved peony roses and beetroot. I don’t mean in a sandwich for lunch but because she adored the colours -- pinks, purples and almost red. Each spring I looked forward to seeing these roses which grandfather planted amongst the cabbages. The various shades of pink and pale red looked wonderful. I loved the deep purple beetroot too and when granny peeled these vegetables I’d dip my fingers into the bright water and expect my mother to admire eight indelible purple digits.
My niece held a bouquet of peony roses on her wedding day not knowing that these were her great grandmother’s favourite flower. Such a revelation made her extremely happy although she had not picked her special roses from amongst the cabbages! I don’t recall having beetroot with the wedding banquet either -- but my finger nails were purple!
I wrote a poem once about my granny:
Child Walks with Grandmother
Early Spring, my child hand coiled in yours,
Sliding like snail where bright bluebell grows in greenness.
Trailing long dusky dress, lace collared chin,
One side upturned, your hat holds pearly pin.
Where trout lie low – bending
Into weaving water, we observe
our faces, blending.
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