We’re having a heatwave, most unusual for August. When I arrive at Sharpham the sky is a dusty orange, the river is full and shining below, and there are dark swathes of grey cloud over the horizon. The burial ground is many shades of pale brown, the grasses dry. I get there just in time to see the sun rise above the conical hill on the other side of the river. A bright orange glow bleeds from the sun, turning the light around it gold.
I have brought Felix a posy of flowers from my garden. Calendula and large daisies. The daisies are from my mother’s garden, my childhood garden, via a circuitous route. I remember them growing in profusion around the pond at home but never really thought anything of them. However, when my parents died, and the house was sold, my sister-in-law Kate, unbeknownst to me, took a clump of them and put them in her garden. Then unbeknownst to me, Kate’s mum Val took some for her garden. Then, a couple of years ago, after Felix died, a box arrived in the post for me. Val had sent a clump for me. I was deeply touched. Now they grow in my garden too, and it is lovely to bring them for Felix, to bring some of my mother’s love for him. She was there at the beginning of his life when he failed to thrive and she helped me so much during those difficult times. It is very hard with them both gone. A huge amount of love has disappeared from my life. But by bringing her daisies to Felix, I can feel them close to me again.
The Green Hill 