The Holly Bears A Berry

When our great-grandparents built the family home back in the 1920s there was no mains water in our part of Wales.  Water was brought up from the pump at the bottom of the field, or collected in strategically placed rainwater butts.  Against one side of the bungalow they built a wash-house out of old railway sleepers and corrugated iron; with a brick fireplace which held the ‘copper’ boiler.  I have no personal recollection of this; it was something Dad told me about in stories about his grandma who he always referred to as Nana. 

By the time we moved there in 1958 there was mains water and Mum had a washing machine (with its own mangle).

Nana’s wash-house became Dad’s shed.

Grampa had his own shed which opened into the greenhouse, but that’s another story.

A holly tree grew in the bit of ground between the shed and the path, in the shade of one of the rainwater-butts.  It was a straggly thing but it bore berries, a few of which fell to the ground and germinated.

When it became apparent that the family home would have to be sold, Bigbrother dug up and potted some of these seedlings and gave one to each of us three sisters.

In 2003 (ish) I planted mine in the far back corner of the garden.   

Behind the rowan tree there in memory of Phil (my first late husband).   

Next to the variegated ivy Thunderthighs brought home in a junior school planted-bowl Xmas gift (thanks Henlady).   

In what Fester is pleased to call The Woodland Glade.

It’s a straggly thing and is occasionally cut for foliage, but has borne no berries.

Until now.

Imagine my delight, on my morning tour of the estate, to see three little berries on it.

Something hopeful in this present year.