Mark, were going to stay at your cottage all summer, my brother announced, as if it were the most obvious
I shall always be with you, Mother. A Story One Might Believe Granny Edith could scarcely wait for the
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The air in the garden felt like itd stopped ticking. It was heavy, almost oily, as if the summer scents
The Closest of Kin Funny how life turns out. Things could have easily gone another way. The neighbour
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.
Completely forgetting wasnt possible Every evening, I commuted home from work in Londonfirst the Underground
Granny, I need to ask you something. Im really in need of some money. Quite a lot, actually.
The distant chiming of bells, not unlike the ring of Big Ben drifting down the Thames on a misty afternoon
