Mary Nichols, Author of Historical Fiction

The spring-like weather we have had this last week has lured me into the garden. Everything is late this year. The daffodils are only just showing themselves, the phlox and aubretia have yet to show any colour and the tulips are still tight buds. But the hellebores and bergenia are putting on a brave show, as are the primulas and anemone blanda. And the erisimum isn’t far behind. I like that because, unlike its cousin the wallflower, it is a perennial and has a long flowering season. Above their heads the forsythia has suddenly become a golden shower against a pure blue sky. Perhaps we will have a spring and summer after all.

Usually my hanging baskets and pots are planted up by now, still under cover waiting for the last of the frosts before I put them out, but this year the plants are not big enough yet and I must wait a week or two longer. Will they catch up I wonder. I don’t have a greenhouse, but the geranium cuttings I took last autumn are growing strongly in their pots in the conservatory. I can’t put them out yet, either.

Even so, there is still plenty to do in the garden. I weeded everywhere last autumn, but a new crop has appeared as it always does and I spent a morning on my knees with a trowel, digging the little beggars out. I have spread some fertiliser and home-made compost as a mulch and given the grass a first cut

The summer perennials are coming out of the ground: peonies, delphiniums, lilies and poppies. The roses and clematis are showing their shoots too and that is enough to cheer anyone up. I don’t pretend to be a horticulturalist, but I love my garden which is a small one, but as much as I can comfortably manage. It’s where I go when I want a break from sitting at the computer. It never fails to lift my spirits, whatever the season, but especially in the spring and early summer.

Dorothy Gurney wrote:
The kiss of the sun for pardon,
The song of the birds for mirth,
One is nearer God’s heart in a garden
Than anywhere else on earth.