March 12, the day before Mum’s birthday. While Dudley was the king of his vegetable patch, his orchard and croft, his dreams of an egg empire, it was Lilian who more quietly managed the boys and her flowers.
Spring snowdrops and primroses often conjure her. Particularly at the summerhouse where I feel some of her patient spirit still lives. Our house near the sea, like hers at Heron’s Reach. The meadow and cottage garden flowers echo there, too.
