My maternal grandfather. At one point he was a gardener for the Cartland family (he didn't much like Barbara Cartland). Every time I pick raspberries now, I think of him, having spent many happy times picking and eating the ruby jewels from his garden when I was small.
My mum, who developed her garden from the standard 1970's suburban rows of marigolds and alyssum (and a back garden full of my father's dahlias), into a shrubby and herbaceous riot of colour and texture. And not averse to the odd trick - SomeBeans was impressed by the gorgeous flowers on a hazel the first time he visited chez Mouffetard. They were fabric.
Sadly, only one remains. Apologies for the 'dress' - it was the 1970's. I still love dahlias.
My maternal grandfather. At one point he was a gardener for the Cartland family (he didn't much like Barbara Cartland). Every time I pick raspberries now, I think of him, having spent many happy times picking and eating the ruby jewels from his garden when I was small.
My mum, who developed her garden from the standard 1970's suburban rows of marigolds and alyssum (and a back garden full of my father's dahlias), into a shrubby and herbaceous riot of colour and texture. And not averse to the odd trick - SomeBeans was impressed by the gorgeous flowers on a hazel the first time he visited chez Mouffetard. They were fabric.
Sadly, only one remains. Apologies for the 'dress' - it was the 1970's. I still love dahlias.