The Peace Rose is my favourite. Probably because of its beauty and fragrance, but also for it’s wonderful story.
This beautiful fragrant rose was originally named “Madame a Meilland” by Francis Meilland who created it. The cuttings were smuggled out of France during WW2 to America where they were grown. It was then released as “Peace” on April 29th 1945, winning awards, and a place in our hearts.
I remember when front gardens were filled with the vibrant colours of roses, geraniums, tulips, foxgloves, wallflowers, gladioli, you name it. Now, most are paved because the garage is full of ‘stuff’ or non existent.
Always, in my youth, whichever relative or friend we visited, the first thing was to admire the garden and to swap bulbs or ‘cuttings’ – I still do this now and have a garden full of ‘friends.’
Both sets of Grandparents in Ringmer, Sussex, were keen gardeners and we learned so much from watching them in their gardens as the seasons changed. Here is a photo of my sister and I with Granddad Thorpe, carrying baskets of rose petals for Nana to make pot pourri with. It was an annual ritual to go round the front garden and collect them.
Because gardens were full of flowers, they were full of bees and butterflies and insects. These in turn provided food for hundreds of birds of every description to dwell in our hedgerows and delight us with their antics and songs.
Who remembers the “Observers” books?
Maybe I am just a nostalgic old woman, but I miss those colourful, promise of tomorrow days. A garden was a place of future planning for beauty and sustenance not only of the body, but of the mind and soul, too.
I think these days will return, and sooner rather than later, as people come to realise that Mother Nature is far superior to concrete and steel.
It has always made me sad that all futuristic films and paintings are so dark and foreboding with never a green growing thing to be seen.
This is not the future I want for my children and their heirs.
I have been following the one remaining rose in our garden – which happens to be a Peace Rose – as she buds, blooms and fades. I always think of it as a metaphor for our family.
The plant is the tree and the roses are like the generations that bloom and grow and die from it. I am fading now, but I have had one helluva blooming season!
