I love daffodils.

I was in grade 7 when I had to stay in one afternoon for mucking around.

If you got caught playing up, Mr Marsh, who's now well into his 80's and still going strong, made you learn a slab of poetry, the amount depending on how smart he thought you were and/or the severity of the offence, or both.

I had to learn a few verses of William Wordsworth's 'Daffodils'.

I've never forgotten them. It's stuck in there almost as firmly as times tables, the story of the Three Little Pigs and the Song of Australia.

That year my Dad went to England and on a couple of weekends went up to the Lakes District to sniff around and get back to nature.

He brought home pictures of the daffodils and a photo of himself standing against a gate post.

It was always on my mind to go there and 45 years later, there I was with Christine; wrong time of the year for daffodils, but just a lovely spot to wander around and spend the afternoon cruising up and down a misty Lake Windermere.

And like Wordsworth, when I'm on the couch, 'in vacant or in pensive mood', I think of those daffodils. We've got some in the garden and a couple of weeks ago I planted 100 more.

But that's not the end of the story, keep reading, then click on the link at the end of the page.

Thanks Dad and thanks Mr Marsh.

 

I wander'd lonely as a cloud That floats on high o'er vales and hills, When all at once I saw a crowd, A host, of golden daffodils; Beside the lake, beneath the trees, Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.   Continuous as the stars that shine And twinkle on the Milky Way, They stretch'd in never-ending line Along the margin of a bay: Ten thousand saw I at a glance, Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.   The waves beside them danced; but they Out-did the sparkling waves in glee: A poet could not but be gay, In such a jocund company: I gazed -- and gazed -- but little thought What wealth the show to me had brought:   For oft, when on my couch I lie In vacant or in pensive mood, They flash upon that inward eye Which is the bliss of solitude; And then my heart with pleasure fills, And dances with the daffodils. William Wordsworth (1770-1850)

But that's not the end of the story.

To finish off the story of the daffodils, click here and read the moving tribute by  Jaroldeen Asplund Edwards