The Baynhams

I'm loving the smell of wild freesias growing alongside the roads where I live. They bring me back to being a teenager and walking down Henry street and Moore street where the women of inner city Dublin would shout out their wares from displays precariously balanced on milk crates and old fashioned baby prams with big wheels. "Bananas 5 fer a powund" "Come an get yer apples" "Wrappin paper 5 fer 50" Your ears would be assaulted by each woman calling louder than the next.

Then there were the flower stalls where you could buy simple small bunches of flowers for a few pounds. Tulips, Carnations, Iris's and Freesias. My Mum loved the yellow ones. The small yellow freesias with a heady perfume. I sometimes bought her some, just because.

It's not so easy when you live across the seas. I could go on Interflora, get out my credit card and order a fancy bouquet of roses, liliies, have them delivered to her door. I'm sure she wouldn't complain but they wouldn't be the same. They would never beat the small bunch of stems wrapped in cellophane and with a bit of patterned paper scrunched around them, damp and dripping down my jeans all the way home on the bus.

Last week in a fit of sentimentality I went detouring on my way to drop the kids to tennis. Down a small side road where I had seen some fresh blooms in the steep banks lining the road. I jumped out of the car, engine running and grabbed a couple of stems before jumping back in. The sun was dipping in the sky and the last few rays were about to go below the horizon. I knew it would be dusk as we arrived at tennis. The light would be fading and I realised I wouldn't be able to get a good photo of the flowers to send Mum. I pulled the car in again . Jumped out with freesias in one hand and mobile in the other. I held the flowers high into the last ray of sunshine and took a photo on my phone as cars whizzed past. The kids were dying of mortification in the car. "Mum, What are you DOING?" "Everyone will see"

But it was worth it. The photo was bright and vibrant and I got to email it my mum that night with a message telling her to pretend they were from Henry Street. It didn't cost a fortune. She can look at them again in coming days and they won't wilt and fade. I get the sweet smell of them every time I walk past the little vase in the kitchen and they bring me home. Back to the streets of Dublin...

"...Get your Freesias, any colour now, only a fiver love"