by Diana Studer
- gardening for biodiversity
Flowers in my garden came from my mother’s Camps Bay garden. White Pelargonium, electric pink Salvia greggei, Santolina in the little hedge, tuberous begonia with its interesting leaves, a tough Aspidistra, a pot of Nerine bulbs, some cymbidiums and King Arthur's slipper, tangerine Bulbine, bluebells and snowdrops.
If her orchids were in bloom, any visitor left the house with a Cymbidium flower and a little sprig of asparagus fern. If no orchids, then a posy, a nosegay – full of colour, texture and fragrance. Sprigs of herbs and whatever flowers the garden offered as she walked thru it. Her visitors left with eyes and nose lost in a handful of flowers, and a happy smile.
In her last few days, I sat in frail care with her, holding her hand as I read. She slept a lot. Once she woke up and said “I suppose we could settle down and read?” I gave her the little lavender book and she showed me the pictures of tussie mussies.
|My mother here in 2007|
as I remember her with a book or knitting
and Aragon keeping her company
|Kathleen in 2010|
lavender lady with Spiced Coffee rose
Kathleen Jennie Yeates was born in London on the 21st April 1913. On 2nd September 1918 when she was four her father died in a surveillance balloon accident in Northern France. Her life changed from being groomed for university to a dame school. Our grandmother took Kathleen and Eileen to live in Cornwall. By reading widely, history and biography, in fluent French, with some Spanish, Latin and Russian, our mother educated herself. In London she met New Zealander Monty Watkins. They married on 15th October 1936 and came to live in South Africa. Kathleen died on the 23rd January 2013 after her one hundredth Christmas. My three sisters and I, with our families, remember a loving lady, gracious to her last thank you.
|King Arthur slipper orchid|
Psalm 121 - I lift my eyes to the quiet hills - is my mother’s choice, but in the King James Version! In Camps Bay our house was below Lion’s Head, Table Mountain and the Twelve Apostles and above the chilly Atlantic Ocean. An Irish traditional melody from the 8th Century Be thou my vision, O Lord of my heart. A Welsh hymn to the tune St Denio Immortal, invisible, God only wise. The last one we sang at my father’s funeral (drawing together his New Zealand family and the next generations now in England and the USA) The day thou gavest, Lord, is ended.
|Pink waterlily that I bought at a Hout Bay nursery many years ago with my mother|
We thank Thee that Thy church, unsleeping,
While earth rolls onward into light,
Through all the world her watch is keeping,
And rests not now by day or night.
As o’er each continent and island
The dawn leads on another day,
The voice of prayer is never silent,
Nor dies the strain of praise away.
- from the hymn by J. Ellerton
to the tune St. Clement
|When asked my mother always chose yellow flowers|
Casanova in November 2011
My mother and her books Holds upon Happiness.
|Euryops at Ramskop Wildflower Garden in Clanwilliam|
Remembering childhood visits to Ramskop Wildflower Garden in Clanwilliam with my parents.
(This was originally published on Elephant's Eye. I've downloaded your kind comments from there to reread. I'll delete them from the January 2013 post when I close comments on this post in June)
Pictures by Jurg and Diana Studer
of Elephant's Eye on False Bay
(If you mouse over teal blue text, it turns seaweed red.
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