Glorious Flowers

The brain does not get any better does it? I refer to the number of seemingly random memories that spark and explode in the brain for no obvious reason. Take Gloria Race. I can recall being stretched out in a large field of butttercups and daisies. There was only one other person in the field er... Gloria. We were not companions, merely two innocent youngsters that happened to be in the field. For some reason I recall the field being in New Brancepeth. Go on, let me call it Sleetburn. So - glorious Sleetburn in the company of Gloria Race, albeit at a distance of about ten yards. Why were we there? Was it in Sleetburn? I am not sure. Answers on a postcard.

I can recall lilies positioned alongside the road to Esh Winning - sort of just after the Empire cinema. Were they lilies? My wife thinks my knowledge of flowers is rubbish, so be warned.

I can recall the cheery knock on the door back in South Street of the early 50s. It was the flower man who had arrived with the wedding flowers for my aunt Doreen's wedding to Tommy Carse. There was a cheerful thank you and in came the sweet smelling flowers.

My grandfather had a generous plot of land positioned east of his home and not fifteen yards from the colliery. He was often in there attending to his flowers and vegetables. I recall - there I go again - his sunflowers - big ones shining so brightly that they flash down memory lane and pop up amongst my black keyboard keys. 

As I say the brain does not get any better.

WB