Memories of Mothering Sunday and Sweet Smelling Violets

Tiny fragrant flowers invade the edges of my Mother’s Day memories…

I just noticed on my calendar that Mothering Sunday is coming up. The British version that is, which always brings back warm memories of childhood attempts at scrambled eggs. This was long before anyone in England ever dreamed of leaving the house to eat breakfast, and the concept of a fancy brunch with Buck’s Fizz had yet to be invented.

I grew up in a small market town and, like so many English communities, there was an imposing flint church dominating the bustling streets. The 13th century tower, the loud bells, the large clock, the impressive stained-glass windows, and the leafy shortcut home through the churchyard of St. Mary’s are all woven into the memories of my childhood.

St. Mary’s Parish Church, Diss, Norfolk.

Of course, those ubiquitous medieval churches were central to the original Mothering Sunday festivities, when parishioners would visit the church of their baptism as a celebration of mother church. Fast forward to the 17th century and it became a day for apprentices and domestic servants to spend time at home with their mothers. The traditional gift for mum back then was a rich Simnel cake, a thoughtful supplement to the family’s nutrition at a time of year when pantry supplies might be running low.

Now it seems commercialization has swamped these distant origins with cards and flowers and chocolates – AND brunch, if you’re lucky! Don’t get me wrong, I’m all in favour of a “day off” from motherly chores, but still feel I’m searching for a simpler way to celebrate the fourth Sunday during Lent.

Curiously, as I look back, way back past the overcooked eggs, my most enduring Mother’s Day memories seem to revolve entirely around violets.

I really don’t know if we included such frail flowers in those sturdy posies of spring blooms, but in my memory, their bright purple petals contrast beautifully with the cheerful yellows of the primroses, cowslips and daffodils.

We junior florists always beamed with pride as our handiwork was distributed to the grateful mums in church on Sunday morning. Some bunches turned out better than others. This required paying close attention to those supervising posy pick up, so I could race up the nave as soon as my pew door was opened. Nabbing “a good one,” preferably overflowing with violets, was critical to ensure Mum had a wonderful Mother’s Day.

Sadly, I don’t have any violets in my garden today. But I remember exactly where they grew around my childhood home – along the fence by the pink and white chequerboard terrace, next to the coal shed. This spring, I’m determined to secure my own tiny plants with heart-shaped leaves and vibrant purple flowers so I can give all those warm sunny memories a safe place to grow in my garden.

So, when Mothering Sunday comes around in a few weeks I’ll be sure to keep it somewhat simple and hope my posy making skills are up to scratch.

However, as this will be the first time in many years that Mum and I will actually be together, on the same side of the Atlantic, (fingers crossed, covid willing,) I think a fizzy cocktail will be an appropriate accompaniment to the requisite sweet-smelling violets.

What better way to celebrate Mothering Sunday than to send a copy of The Adventures of Henry the Field Mouse to a mother or grandmother in your life who is keen to encourage their little ones to explore the countryside? Read a few chapters of Henry’s escapades and everyone will be pulling on their wellies and rushing out the back door to hunt for hedgehogs and water voles in their back garden! Buying a book for yourself is also allowed and even encouraged!

Remember to shop local! Henry's Adventures are available direct from the author at henryfieldmouse@gmail.com and from:

Northleach: The Post Office, Cotswolds Pharmacy, and Black Cat Café
Stow on the Wold: Borzoi Bookshop

AND Henry is now available on Etsy

Wishing you a spring bursting with daffodils and of course, a happy, fragrance-filled Mother's Day! 

Cheers!

Sue and Jo

xxx
www.adventuresofhenryfieldmouse.com 

P.S. From one of my most treasured possessions, Sentiment of Flowers published in 1848, I learned that violets signify modesty because:

“its tiny head is so completely hid beneath its humble foliage that it seldom meets the eye of the careless passer by.”