Dandelion Jam After a snowy but gentle winter with no harsh frosts, the cold has grown tiresome and the longing for green leaves, colourful blossoms, and the chance to cast off heavy coats fills the air. Spring arrives in a small English town, and Tessa, who has lived in her cosy five-storey flat for years, awaits nature’s awakening. Looking down from her third-floor window, Tessa muses, “With these warm spring days, the town feels alive after its long winter slumber. Even the cars grumble differently and the local market has new energy. Bright jackets and coats everywhere, and the birds wake us before our alarms. Ah, spring is wonderful, and summer will be even better…” Nowadays, Tessa shares her flat with her granddaughter Violet, a fourth-year student at the primary school. Violet’s parents—both doctors—moved to Africa for work a year ago, leaving their daughter in Tessa’s care. “Mum, we trust you to look after our Violet. We know she’ll be happy with you,” Tessa’s daughter said when they left. “Of course I’ll take care of her—she’ll keep me company in retirement. Off you go, we’ll be fine,” Tessa replied. “Hurrah, Granny! Now we’ll really live – we’ll go to the park all the time. Mum and Dad are always busy. They never have time,” Violet cheered. After breakfast and seeing Violet off to school, Tessa loses track of the morning in a flurry of chores. “I’ll pop to the shop before Violet gets home from school—I promised her something sweet for her good grades,” she thinks, grabbing her shopping bag. Outside, the neighbourhood bench is already occupied by two locals—Mrs. Simmons, an ageless woman of at least seventy (or perhaps more, as she keeps her birth year secret), living alone in a ground-floor flat, and Mrs. Valentina, seventy-five, vivacious, well-read, and a joyful contrast to the ever-complaining Mrs. Simmons. As soon as the sun returns and the snow melts, this bench is rarely empty—Mrs. Simmons and Mrs. Valentina are regulars, armed with cushions to ward off the lingering chill, busy keeping tabs on the world around them. Tessa sometimes joins them to chat about news, magazine stories, or television shows, with Mrs. Simmons inevitably remarking on her blood pressure. “Morning ladies,” Tessa greets them cheerfully. “On duty already?” “Morning, Tess. Duty calls, otherwise we’d get detention,” Mrs. Simmons replies, eyeing Tessa’s bag. “Off to the shops?” “Just for a treat before Violet gets back from school,” Tessa says, moving on. The day passes with familiar rhythm—school pick-up, lunch, homework, and chores. Violet heads to her dance class, a passion she’s followed for six years, and Tessa beams with pride for her talented granddaughter. Tessa waits on the bench for Violet’s return, joined by Mr. George Ilchester from the second floor. “Lonely out here?” he asks. “How could I be lonely on a day like this? Spring is gorgeous,” Tessa replies. They chat about the sunshine, birdsong, and golden coltsfoot flowers, bright as tiny suns. Suddenly, Violet surprises them, leaping onto Tessa’s neck with a playful bark. “You little rascal! You nearly scared me to death!” Tessa laughs. “Plenty of time before that!” George Ilchester jokes. Tessa tempts Violet inside with grated carrots and sugar, her favourite meatballs waiting. Mr. Ilchester, enticed by the talk of food, heads home too, promising a later stroll. That evening, Tessa returns to the bench. Mr. Ilchester waits, the regular ladies gone to dinner. From that night, their friendship grows—they walk to the park, read newspapers, swap recipes and stories, and share memories. George Ilchester has known hardship; widowed young, he raised his daughter Vera alone, juggling two jobs. As Vera grew and moved away, visits became rare, her affection cold. Divorce left her raising a son alone. “Tess, my daughter’s coming to visit in two days. Just called out of the blue…” George confides. “Strange, we haven’t spoken in years.” “Maybe she misses you. In time, family means more,” Tessa suggests. Vera’s visit is brief and businesslike. She pressures George to sell his flat and move in with her, claiming he doesn’t need so much space. George refuses, uncomfortable with leaving his home for a brisk, joyless household. Vera goes to Tessa, asking her to persuade George to sell. Upon receiving a gentle refusal, Vera grows furious, accusing Tessa of wanting the flat for herself—a spiteful tirade about Tessa and George together, sharing walks and dandelion lore, and she storms out. Tessa feels embarrassed, worried the neighbours heard Vera’s accusations, and avoids George after Vera’s departure. But life has its way of mending fences. Returning from the shop, Tessa finds George by the door, weaving a dandelion crown. “Tessa, don’t run—I need to say sorry for Vera,” he says quietly. “She said awful things, but I’ll always be here for my grandson. Have this dandelion wreath—and you must try my dandelion jam, it’s delicious and healthy. Brilliant in salads too,” he smiles. They make a salad together and enjoy tea with dandelion jam, which Tessa finds utterly delightful. That evening, they return to the park with their favourite magazine, reading on the bench beneath the old English lime tree, losing themselves in conversation, content together. Thank you for reading, subscribing, and supporting me. Wishing you happiness always!

Dandelion Jam

I remember those winters back thengentle, with snow that softened every edge. The chill wasnt harsh that year, just enough to remind you the world could be quiet. Soon enough, though, we all tired of the endless white and longed for the first blush of spring, for green leaves and colours in the hedgerows, and for the freedom to shed our bulky coats.

Spring arrived in our little English town, nestled not far from Oxford. Eleanor always looked forward to spring; shed watch from the third window up, her flat in a sturdy five-storey block thats stood through more than one generation.

With the warm spring days,” shed muse, “its as though the town has woken from a long winters nap. Even the lorries seem to hum differently and the high street feels lively. Market traders are back, and people wander in cheerful jackets. The birds, cheeky as ever, wake us before the alarm clocks. Oh, how lovely it is in springand even better come summer

Eleanor had lived in that building for years, and more recently, it was just her and her granddaughterHarriet, a bright fourth-grader at the local school. Harriets parents worked as doctors and had taken a contract in Kenya last year, so Harriet stayed behind, entrusted to her grandmothers care.

Mum, were leaving Harriet with you,” Eleanors daughter had said. “No sense in taking her so far. We know youll watch over your favourite granddaughter.

Of course I will, Eleanor replied. Itll be lively with her around, and now Im retired, what better to do? Off you gowell be just fine.

Hurrah, Gran,” Harriet had cheered. Well have park walks and adventures, more than Mum and Dad ever have time for. Just us!

After seeing Harriet off to school and feeding her breakfast, Eleanor spent her morning as she always didtidying, tending to little chores, the hours slipping by unnoticed.

Ill nip to the shop, she thought. And Harriet will be home before I know it. Promised her something sweet for those top marks.

Out the door she went, nodding to neighbours already gathered on the bench outsideMaggie and Edith, comfortably ensconced on warm cushions against the chill left in the wood. Maggie was a mysteryher true age a secret, but certainly past seventy, living alone on the first floor. Edith, too, was alone, a wise and well-read seventy-five, ever laughing and livelythe very opposite of Maggie, who, truth be told, found something to grumble about in everything.

Once the snow faded and the sun grew friendly, that bench was never empty. Maggie and Edith were there most days, as regular as clockwork. Lunch was the only excuse to leave, and even then, they’d hurry back. Tales were exchanged with anyone who sat, and no small detail of neighbourhood life escaped them.

Eleanor would sometimes join them, catching up on local news and swapping stories from whatever shed read or seen on telly. Maggie loved a long chat about her blood pressure.

Morning, ladies, Eleanor greeted them, smiling. Already on duty, I see.

Morning, Ellie. Youre off to the grocers, arent you? Maggie noted, seeing Eleanors shopping bag.

Thats rightwant to pick up something sweet for Harriet, celebrating her achievements, Eleanor replied, keeping her errands swift.

The day passed as days do: school run, lessons, chores, telly in the afternoon. Then came the anticipated announcement.

Gran, Im off to dance class! Harriet called, shouldering her bag, phone in hand.

For six years, Harriet had dancedevery recital, every festival, Eleanor proud and glowing with joy at her granddaughters grace.

Thats lovely, Harriet. Off you go, Eleanor called gently, seeing her to the door.

Waiting later on the bench for Harriets return, Eleanor found she enjoyed the soft air, but was soon joined by Mr. George Evans from the second floor.

Lonely are we? he asked, settling beside her.

Oh, you can hardly be lonely on a day like this,” Eleanor replied. “Springs here, the sun is kind, the world is turning green, and everywhere you look theres yellowdandelions and coltsfoot, like small suns dotting the grass.

George grinned, agreeing. At that very moment, Harriet bounded up behind her grandmother and ever playful leapt into Eleanors arms with a bark.

You rascal, thats enough to scare an old lady to death! Eleanor laughed.

Youre not ready for that sort of talk yet, George smiled, giving her shoulder a friendly pat.

Come on, scamp,” Eleanor said to Harriet. Ive grated some carrot with sugarthe way you like. Must be tired after dancing, so I made some of your favourite meat patties as well.

George rose, following them.

Ohoyouve talked me into a snack, too! Perhaps Ill pop home for a bite. Later, maybe another stroll or meet here again? he suggested.

Eleanor was noncommittalso much to be donebut she did find herself back on the bench that evening after all.

Waving a goodbye to George, Eleanor took Harriet inside; he followed behind.

Gran, I think Mr. Evans is rather sweet on you! Harriet giggled as they entered the hallway.

Oh hush, Eleanor replied, waving off the notion.

Seriously, youve noticed how he looks at you. If only Oliver from my class looked at me like that, every girl would be jealous! Harriet sighed, eyes dreamy.

Supper first, my little observer. And Oliverwell, well see Eleanor chuckled.

When she did wander out that evening, George was already waiting. Strangely, Maggie and Edith were gone.

They just left for supper,” George explained, delighted.

From then on, Eleanor and George often spent the evenings togethersometimes wandering to the park across the road, sharing newspapers, recipes, stories of actors and tales from their youth.

Georges life had not been easy. Once, hed had a wife, a daughter named Vera, a grandson. But he was left widowed young and brought up Vera as best he could, working two jobs so she never lacked anything. Still, time was scarce; hed leave before Vera woke, and come home well after she was asleep.

Vera grew up, married, moved away to Manchester, and had a boy of her own. The visits grew few, and each one felt strained. Veras own marriage ended after fifteen years, and she raised her son alone.

Twitch, George confided in Eleanor one evening, Veras coming back soontwo days, she says. Phoned me this morning. Its been years since we really talked.

Perhaps she misses you,” Eleanor suggested gently. “As we grow older, home feels more important.

Im not sure I doubt it, George replied, uncertain.

Vera arrived, unchangedher manner brusque, her smile rare. George anticipated a serious talk and it didnt take long.

Dad, Im here for a reason, Vera said plainly. Why dont we sell your flat? Move in with usyoull have your grandson, more company. Its settled.

But George felt uneasy, not wanting to leave his own patch of the world to be tucked away in Veras bustling home. He declinedhed grown used to solitude.

Unwilling to give up, Vera learned of Georges friendship with Eleanor and promptly paid her a visit. Polite at first, she settled in Eleanors kitchen, accepting tea and biscuits, and eyeing the jar of jam.

I understand youre rather close with my father, Vera began. Would you kindly talk him round to something important?

And what might that be? Eleanor asked.

Persuade him to sell this place. He doesnt need all this space alone. Surely you can think of others Vera finished sharply.

Shocked at Veras calculated manner, Eleanor refused. Veras mood turned instantlyher face flushed, voice sharp.

Oh, I seethe flat, is it? Looking to secure a nice nest egg for your granddaughter? Cosying up on benches, discussing dandelions A pair of dithering old fools. Perhaps youve already made plans at the registrars office! Well, mark my words, youll get nowhereand let me remind you, you old witch, nothing will come of it! With that, Vera stormed out.

Eleanor sat, embarrassed and uneasy, hoping none of the neighbours had overheard. Vera soon left town, but Eleanor couldnt help but avoid George, scurrying indoors if she spotted him.

And yet, fate has its own way of unravelling. Returning from the shop one afternoon, Eleanor found George waiting at the doorway, hands full of bright yellow dandelionsa half-woven garland taking shape.

Eleanor, dont be frightenedsit with me a moment. Im sorry about my daughter. I know what she said when she visited. Weve talked, but Well, it seems shes gone for good now, said she has no father left. But youplease, take this garland. Ive made dandelion jam, you know. Its delicious and good for youyou must try it. Wonderful in salad, too! George smiled kindly.

After that heartfelt exchange, the two prepared the salad together. Eleanor sipped her tea with dandelion jam for the first time, and it delighted her. That evening, they strolled to the park.

Ive got the latest copy of our favourite magazine, George said as they reached the bench beneath their old lime tree. Lets have a read together.

Eleanor settled beside him, and laughter and chatter filled the air, washing away every trouble as if nothing else mattered. Life was sweeter when shared.

Thank you for listening to an old story and may your own days be just as bright. Good fortune to you.