In the spirit of Remembrance and hope I scattered some poppy seeds through my garden earlier this year. My delight turned to dismay as I watched the young seedlings wither only to find out that my enthusiastic husband had mistaken them for clover and had been spraying them with whatever herbicide came to hand. I managed to wash the poison from a few of the plants which thrived and they began producing flower heads. Their next challenge was to avoid being drowned with love from my mother whilst I went away for a month. My daughter tried valiantly to tell Mum that poppies like a dry summer but nothing would dissuade my wonderful parents from determinedly watering my garden.

Naturally they burst into flower during that month in the UK so photos were duly exchanged of the beauty that I was missing out on by visiting my other daughter. I was quite sad about that but you can imagine my excitement in finding there were still a few beautiful red heads adorning the garden when I arrived home, very appropriately on 11 November.