…. there was an uncle. He lived a few miles away, and was visited regularly. His garden backed on to a lake, and was full of plants that we didn’t have in our garden. One of them was a tiny purple viola, a little like these.
I loved to go and see them, and one day, at the right time of the year, the plants were divided and I was allowed to take a pot home with me. They grew and grew in our garden at home, and when we moved some of them moved with us and continued to flourish in the next garden. I left them there when I got married, but when my parents moved again a little clump went with them to Somerset where they continued to flourish.
Some time later another house move had to be made, this time to Hampshire. Mum and Dad came closer to me – and so too did the pretty little violas. Each year in late spring and summer they would burst into life and present their pretty smiling faces to the world. Sadly, that house is no longer occupied by a member of our family, but these little flowers which evoke such happy memories still live on. We now have descendants in our garden too, nurtured from a division taken about 10 years ago. They have settled in to the wild area with the greatest of ease, even seeming at home with the self-sown miniature foxgloves.I took these photographs this morning.
I wonder if they will travel to another garden soon?