A different Friday flower this week on account of a very special anniversary.
The iris flower takes its name from the Greek word for a rainbow, and is also the name for the Greek goddess of the rainbow. For me Iris is the name of my mother who would have been 100 years old today, had she lived. Instead it is almost 24 years since she died on 07 October 1995.
So for today, as a tribute to my mother, I am going to post a photo of her as a young woman and surrounded by these lovely flowers.
Her parents left Thorne in Yorkshire with their two children to live and work in India during World War One. Iris was born on September 06 1919 in Angus Jute Mills, Gourhati, in the Howrah District of West Bengal, India which at that time was ruled by the French. Her father was a blacksmith/silversmith/gunsmith and at the time of her birth he was a foreman at the mills. The family returned to England when she was still a small child, but she had memories of living in India and her ayah who looked after the three siblings. And she learned from her mother how to make a mean curry.
And it is entirely possible that because of where she was born I grew up being totally fascinated with the idea of travelling to India.