This short article has to be dedicated to RJ Evans who published an enlightening, and to my mind endearing article about dandelions. (Of all things)!

As I read his article my wee heart softened and I was transported back to a time when the dandelion was referred to as ‘the wet the bed’ or for the less refined children I played with as ‘the piss the bed’.

The Image of the dandelion is something that evokes childhood memories in me they were, are, a wildflower that was never scarce. When you went hunting the hedgerows for primroses for your mum behind you in the meadow there was a sea of yellows from the dandelions and the buttercups spattered with the white spots of daisies. It was awe inspiring, perhaps not just as awe inspiring as the French fields of sunflowers but awe inspiring in its own way and in the right light! Off course awe inspiring is not just the effect you want to bring home to your mum that is not ‘fantastic’ enough; and you’ve already learned that the dandelion is not a wildflower that is appreciated for its looks. Well, it’s not appreciated full stop. It is too pernicious and persistent to be appreciated.

Primroses were shy and rare enough beauties, a favourite with mum,  when we found them first there would be a bit of a tossle over who was getting the  best beauty and then the dessert spoons would be pulled out of pockets because this was a flower that you’d dig up and present to your mum with roots and all, a trophy for her garden. Pretty cool, pretty fantastic!

The primrose is now on the endangered species list, when I learned that I couldn’t help wondering was that anything to do with children scouring fields with dessert spoons in the sixties. Back then, I thought we were the only family to do such things

The dandelion is not on any endangered list it still manages to pop up between pavements, people still spend time pulling it out of their garden and it is still as pernicious and as persistent as ever. But, it has managed to ingratiate itself into my subconscious. The dandelion and the nettle have both appeared in my poems and writings as though they are as much a part of my life as the people who shared my past. When I am feeling sentimental and hark for the simpler times it is the wildflower meadows, the dams and the swing over the river that come to mind. It is not the hard times or the great times it is the simplest times that I recall and take solace from.