There are certain scents that take you back and bring to the fore deep rooted memories. For me the scent of daffodils always reminds me of the Mother’s Day service in Church. My sister and I were both in Brownies and attending Church Parade each month was a regular occurrence. I remember best the Mother’s Day service, where all the children would be given small posies of bright springtime flowers to give to their Mum. The scent of the daffodils would fill the church and their smell is always a reminder to me of that time.
Too often now, I see adverts for the perfect gifts for Mother’s Day; luxury goods to show how much you care. Growing up in the 70’s my sister and I would have made Mum presents for Mother’s Day. Homemade bath salts would have been a favourite choice with the joy of experimenting with food colouring and Eau de Cologne!
My Mother’s Day will be very similar to all my other Sunday’s. I will take my daughter to her pony lesson. I love this time that I spend with her. We drive through country roads in our small blue 4×4. I point out to her the beauty of the morning, the mist on the hills, the sheep in the fields, the Shetland pony in the garden, the small stone Methodist Chapel that is used only once or twice a year. We pass the natural burial ground and she asks me what it is. I tell her it is like a graveyard but without the stones. Then on past Owlswick and onto Ford where the banks of the yellow daffodils nod and wave with flutes of palest lemon, citron and orange.
So next Sunday, I won’t be one of those Mums waking up to breakfast in bed. I will be getting up at my usual time. But, I know how much I mean to my children. I know this from their excitement about the lead up to the day. The reassurance that I give them that, I will be one of the Mums coming into school Friday afternoon to participate in the Mother’s Day celebration.
At school, Beavers, Cubs and Brownies children will be making homemade cards and presents. These are what I cherish most. Mother’s Day to me is the eagerness of my children to give me those cards. In twenty years time when the scent of the daffodils takes me back to a different Mother’s Day and a different time, it will be those cards that I will remember, not the long-forgotten bottle of bubbly, the scented candle or the designer handbag. It will be those precious, precious cards kept safely in the box by the side of my bed. And the remembrance of bedtime, the little arms tightly wrapped round my neck asking me if I had a good Mother’s Day. Yes my Darling, the best ever.