Walking in the evening with no expectations . In a country faraway after a day of sun and swimming . How could anything else compete ? Nostrils twitching I forget about the temping signs for souvalakia . Suddenly mesmerised by the sweet wafting delicate aroma . Gosh , it’s so lovely . Where is it coming from , I thought to myself. An invisible force pleasuring me . Having to take care walking along a road without a pavement, I am mystified that the fragrance becomes more intense . Suddenly I realise why , tiny little flowers are holding court in a shrub quietly at the edge of a small yard . Just being and so delightful . Now there is a reason for that evening stroll or to sit outside and savour . That beautiful gentle musk calls pollinators while we can be further enchanted in floral charm .
A flush of embarrassment washed over me as we walked up a path choking with weeds beside the small square garden where ruby red rhubarb stalks waved their elephant ear leaves to us, like proud Yorkshire flags.
I had come to introduce my new fiancee to my grandma and she opened the red painted door of her council house wearing a floral pinny with a twinkling smile on her soft wrinkled face. A smell of warm buttery cake filled the air. How I loved her Madeira cake, very sweet with a hint of lemon, I couldn’t wait to taste a slice. Her soft silver hair was tightly curled in a perm and she was wearing the dangly, sparkly earrings she always wore. The door led straight into the kitchen or scullery, as she called it. There was only enough room for one person and my uncle's record player. He loved Elvis and ‘The Wonder of You’ was playing loudly. It always reminds me of him now. From that small space grandma produced delicious Christmas cakes that my Dad said were better than my mother’s and she never forgave him for saying it. They swapped cakes every year and were in fierce competition. Just two steps and we were in the sitting room where all the chairs and sofa were covered in plastic. Grandma had always been very poor and had brought up my father and his two brothers alone after my grandad died, when my father was three. She had a child who died just before my grandad, her son was only eighteen months old and she often talked about Kenneth and what a beautiful baby he was and how she had taken him upstairs in his coffin to my grandad who lay dying in bed. There was no welfare in those days and I just can’t imagine how she got through it. I know she worked hard doing cleaning jobs to provide for her three sons.
Charles, who was my fiancée at the time and now my husband for almost forty years, accepted tea served in a pint pot and a piece of her homemade madeira cake. Charles came from another world of public schools, horses and swimming pools, where tea was served in china cups on sweeping lawns where people played croquet. His ancestors were Earls and Duchesses. However, he seemed to get on well with grandma and she must have liked him as she went into her special drawer, where she kept all the gifts she’d been given over the years, unused. From it she selected a box of handkerchiefs for Charles with the letter R on them. He said that was good as his middle name was Richard. Then she got out her bank book and showed us the few pounds she had saved. My two uncles still lived with her and together with their contributions and her state pension she felt rich. For her, the little council house was a palace and she wanted for nothing.
As I got older I began to understand how difficult things must have been for her, struggling in poverty with three young boys. She was only a tiny lady but she had the heart of a lioness and my father and his brothers adored her. I am ashamed of myself for my feelings back then and I had a lot to learn about life, some of which I’ve learned the hard way. Grandma’s maiden name was Middleton and there were rumours amongst the family that she was related to Kate, the current Princess of Wales. So maybe both Charles and I are related to royalty. That’s a joke and funny and very likely not true but who cares anyway. In my view she was incredibly special and definitely a Queen to her sons. Her name was Grace and I’m proud and privileged to be her granddaughter.
What a wonderful testament to your Grandma, Angela - a beautifully painted picture of a particular time and place and such evocative imagery, I could smell that cake!
Prompt vent 4
Scent
Breathing in and transported back .
Walking in the evening with no expectations . In a country faraway after a day of sun and swimming . How could anything else compete ? Nostrils twitching I forget about the temping signs for souvalakia . Suddenly mesmerised by the sweet wafting delicate aroma . Gosh , it’s so lovely . Where is it coming from , I thought to myself. An invisible force pleasuring me . Having to take care walking along a road without a pavement, I am mystified that the fragrance becomes more intense . Suddenly I realise why , tiny little flowers are holding court in a shrub quietly at the edge of a small yard . Just being and so delightful . Now there is a reason for that evening stroll or to sit outside and savour . That beautiful gentle musk calls pollinators while we can be further enchanted in floral charm .
A lovely memory
I really resonated with this! 'flowers holding court in a shrub', gorgeous line and beautiful piece of writing <3
Thank you so much . It was a lovely memory
#promptvent #day4 SCENT
Breathing deeply
as I step through the door
of my childhood home,
I am surrounded by the scent
of my mother's laundry,
reminding me of love
through daily care.
And even though
that home's no longer there,
I only have to close my eyes and breathe,
and my memory does the rest.
But what strikes me now,
is that my daughter too,
comes home and breathes,
just as I did,
inhaling so much more
than the aroma of my washing,
by crossing the threshold of home.
Wow, the experiences we pass on to our children, hey? Lovely testament to the smell of ‘home’. Beautiful!
Candles burning
Releasing a delicate aroma as we rest
Senses heightened
Instinct to hibernate in
To the winter season
Melting moments, dreaming of those lazy days in front of cozy fires and festive trees
A pile of presents and wafts of Christmas spices, always bring smiles to children’s faces
Something emotional from the physical; magical.
‘melting moments’ beautiful <3
For promptvent day 4
The strike of a match
lights the wick of a candle
that flames and dances
in the morning air
The warm sweet aroma
of cinnamon and orange
fills the room with comfort
As a hand picks up a pen
touches it to the page
And the magic begins
Oooh such magic!
Promptvent Day 4
Grandma’s Cake
A flush of embarrassment washed over me as we walked up a path choking with weeds beside the small square garden where ruby red rhubarb stalks waved their elephant ear leaves to us, like proud Yorkshire flags.
I had come to introduce my new fiancee to my grandma and she opened the red painted door of her council house wearing a floral pinny with a twinkling smile on her soft wrinkled face. A smell of warm buttery cake filled the air. How I loved her Madeira cake, very sweet with a hint of lemon, I couldn’t wait to taste a slice. Her soft silver hair was tightly curled in a perm and she was wearing the dangly, sparkly earrings she always wore. The door led straight into the kitchen or scullery, as she called it. There was only enough room for one person and my uncle's record player. He loved Elvis and ‘The Wonder of You’ was playing loudly. It always reminds me of him now. From that small space grandma produced delicious Christmas cakes that my Dad said were better than my mother’s and she never forgave him for saying it. They swapped cakes every year and were in fierce competition. Just two steps and we were in the sitting room where all the chairs and sofa were covered in plastic. Grandma had always been very poor and had brought up my father and his two brothers alone after my grandad died, when my father was three. She had a child who died just before my grandad, her son was only eighteen months old and she often talked about Kenneth and what a beautiful baby he was and how she had taken him upstairs in his coffin to my grandad who lay dying in bed. There was no welfare in those days and I just can’t imagine how she got through it. I know she worked hard doing cleaning jobs to provide for her three sons.
Charles, who was my fiancée at the time and now my husband for almost forty years, accepted tea served in a pint pot and a piece of her homemade madeira cake. Charles came from another world of public schools, horses and swimming pools, where tea was served in china cups on sweeping lawns where people played croquet. His ancestors were Earls and Duchesses. However, he seemed to get on well with grandma and she must have liked him as she went into her special drawer, where she kept all the gifts she’d been given over the years, unused. From it she selected a box of handkerchiefs for Charles with the letter R on them. He said that was good as his middle name was Richard. Then she got out her bank book and showed us the few pounds she had saved. My two uncles still lived with her and together with their contributions and her state pension she felt rich. For her, the little council house was a palace and she wanted for nothing.
As I got older I began to understand how difficult things must have been for her, struggling in poverty with three young boys. She was only a tiny lady but she had the heart of a lioness and my father and his brothers adored her. I am ashamed of myself for my feelings back then and I had a lot to learn about life, some of which I’ve learned the hard way. Grandma’s maiden name was Middleton and there were rumours amongst the family that she was related to Kate, the current Princess of Wales. So maybe both Charles and I are related to royalty. That’s a joke and funny and very likely not true but who cares anyway. In my view she was incredibly special and definitely a Queen to her sons. Her name was Grace and I’m proud and privileged to be her granddaughter.
What a wonderful testament to your Grandma, Angela - a beautifully painted picture of a particular time and place and such evocative imagery, I could smell that cake!