One of the disadvantages of moving around a lot is that you don’t get to hang out with your relatives so often. Today, I was wishing my Aunty Bett was 12,000 miles closer. I had a question I wanted to ask her; “What is the secret to a good hyacinth?” You see, I’ve never grown them before, and I seem to remember Aunty Bett had a few nifty secrets.
For me, December was fragranced by Bett’s bulbs. Rumour had it she potted them in the autumn then put the bowls under her feather bed, to let them grow slowly. Now in a modern heated house, this wouldn’t be much good. But Bett still lives in a tied cottage on the Estate of a large mansion, and heating, in the style of the 1930s and the Puritans, never made it to the bedroom.
Bett’s Hyacinths were the best December birthday gift. She still has the green fingers she acquired in the 1930s and which she perfected during her Land Army days.
She’s also a Game Keeper’s worst nightmare. When the annual pheasant shoot came about at the Castle, many of the young birds took refuge in her cabbage patch and were hand fed from the back doorstep of the cottage. The stray cats from the farm hid their kittens in her woodpile and several of the older females were allowed to snooze on the feather bed upstairs.
So perhaps the Grandma cats dreaming on Bett’s bed know the secret of a perfect Hyacinth?
For me, December was fragranced by Bett’s bulbs. Rumour had it she potted them in the autumn then put the bowls under her feather bed, to let them grow slowly. Now in a modern heated house, this wouldn’t be much good. But Bett still lives in a tied cottage on the Estate of a large mansion, and heating, in the style of the 1930s and the Puritans, never made it to the bedroom.
Bett’s Hyacinths were the best December birthday gift. She still has the green fingers she acquired in the 1930s and which she perfected during her Land Army days.
She’s also a Game Keeper’s worst nightmare. When the annual pheasant shoot came about at the Castle, many of the young birds took refuge in her cabbage patch and were hand fed from the back doorstep of the cottage. The stray cats from the farm hid their kittens in her woodpile and several of the older females were allowed to snooze on the feather bed upstairs.
So perhaps the Grandma cats dreaming on Bett’s bed know the secret of a perfect Hyacinth?
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