Pink Things

I always try to bring up memories of my childhood and once worked out that I remembered all  my Christmases back to when I was one and a half years old.  So it does not surprise me that I also remember wearing nappies. Terry nappies that is, not the modern disposable elasticated things that make happy babies.  No these were quite different, always bulky and rough between the legs.  Walking in them was an ordeal as one had to waddle like a duck with the legs apart.


  That afternoon, I had woken up from my nap and still half asleep had wandered up the corridor from Number 20 to the hall which led into the back garden.  The french doors were open and I stepped out into a small yard with a narrow flower bed running along the left side.  This yard opened out into a huge expanse of daisy speckled lawn.   Far away at the bottom of the garden were the swings and a climbing frame where all the children would congregate until they were dragged off by their parents.  I was born in Room Number 3, Cliff Hotel.  It was my home  but I never knew which room I would be put to bed in.  When they were all full of guests, we were moved into the shed  in the garden.   Once we were even moved into the old chicken shed in the field at the bottom of the garden by the car park.  It was dirty and still smelt of chicken shit. I remember kicking up a fuss as I was frightened of spiders.  I don't think we spent more than one night in there. 


Spring and summer were good for us as the hotel filled up with children.   In winter the place hibernated and I would wander from  empty room to empty room exploring every nook and cranny, trying out all the beds and even venturing into the cellar where it was always too hot and stuffy as the boiler was down there. Mother used to make marmalade in February when the seville oranges were in season and we were roped in to help.  Marmalade is addictive as I subsequently found out when I started making it myself to my mother's recipe.  Bitter orange peel is slightly narcotic, but I won't go into that right now.
 The flower bed by the back door had been colonised by one flower and in the spring and summer was awash with its bright pink blooms and heart shaped leaves.  We just called them Pink Things.  I don't know who started the game, it could have been my sister as she was 18 months older than me but I suspect it was me as I was attracted to plants like old friends. We somehow knew that adults would not like what we were going to do so we made sure every one's back was turned before we did it.  When we wanted a little boost we scurried off to the  Pink Things bed and  pulled up a thick bunch of  flowers and  leaves which grew on the end of long thin stalks. .  When we both had a bundle we would hold them taught between our two hands and  bite on the juicy stalks.  The juice was so tart  we would go off into fits of giggles as we vied to pull the worst face.  We just loved the taste.  Many a times I would pick a bunch and munch on the stalks.  


Years later I discovered that Pink Things are a pink variety of wood sorrel. or Wood Sour, Stickwort, Fairy Bells, Hallelujah, Cuckowes Meat, Pain de Coucou in French.
The substance which we so enjoyed is in fact called binoxalate of Potash which can also be found in Rhubarb  Follow this link to see a picture of this plant. .http://www.map-reading.co.uk/wildflowers/HTML%20files/f0732.htm
  
This plant used to be eaten as a spring salad where the tart taste was appreciated like vinegar.  It's good for those who have sick or feeble stomachs.  Considering the food we were bought up on we probably did. .  It cures fevers and quenches thirst and cleanses the blood.  You can also make a lemonade out of the leaves, beaten with sugar and orange peel.