The gifts that keep on giving


I’m always slightly envious when people reminisce lovingly about their mothers, since mine disappeared when I was six, not to be found again until I was in my fifties when it was too late to rebuild bridges.

But when I look back over my memories of the gifts that different people gave me, I realise that my rather erratic mother gave me a gift that is still valuable today. My earliest memories of her are the songs she sang as I went to sleep. I didn’t hear them again for years, but recognised them as soon as the notes rang out…among them, ‘Where the bee sucks, there suck I’, and ‘One fine day,’ from the opera Madame Butterfly, and even: ‘You are my sunshine,’ a pop song from the forties that moved me to tears when I heard it again in middle age.

That gift – a love of good music – has been my pleasure and companion ever since, so I was ripe for Beethoven and Bach, Handel and Purcell as soon as I heard them when growing up, while opera became a passion, which I learned when I met her again, had also been a passion with my mother.

As I mused about this gift she gave me, I remembered all the other gifts that so many other people gave me. When my grandmother came to look after us, she brought with her, her collection of precious Meissen and Staffordshire china, and I learned to love china, a love which anyone visiting my house would recognise.

She also collected books, and many of them were illustrated and designed with prints and patterns from William Morris and fine artists like Aubrey Beardsley and Arthur Rackham, so that from the age of six, my eye was educated by their exquisite artistry. This discrimination meant that when I was introduced to Walt Disney – staple children’s fare – I found the cartoons crude, and the lack of light and shade and detail bored me.

The other gift my grandmother gave me was the love of reading, and for lack of children’s books, I devoured classics like ‘John Halifax, Gentleman’, ‘Robinson Crusoe’ in an original edition, a huge heavy book with engravings protected by flimsy tissue paper, the dreadful ‘Foxe’s Martyrs’, ‘Pilgrim’s Progress,’ ‘Gulliver’s Travels’ – all these in magnificent antique quarto versions, apart from many other history books and even the Bible.

A man gave me my next gift, a dry, elderly, retired history teacher who had taught in boy’s prep schools all his life, and who came to help out at my little private school during a war-time dearth of teachers. At seven, he introduced me to history, and I soaked up every period he ran through with us, from the Beaker people and the Stone Age, to Julius Caesar and the Romans, Boadicea  and Caracticus, Pope Gregory on captured Anglo-Saxon children with blonde hair and blue eyes, dragged through Rome in triumphal marches, saying, ‘Not Angles but angels,’  Alfred the Great, and Aethelred the Unready, Harold and the Conqueror, the Black Prince and English archers,  and all the march of history up to Agincourt and Henry V.

Living in Yorkshire when the war was over, our gardener, Mr Appleby, took a fancy to me, and spent much time teaching me the names of all the flowers…hearts-ease and snow-in-summer in crevices amongst paving stones, the herbaceous borders crammed with red hollyhocks, blue delphiniums and pastel pink and blue lupins, ravishing red peonies and pastel coloured grannie’s bonnets,  multi-coloured snapdragons and delicious sweet smelling pinks, the rose Dorothy Perkins scrambling over the trellis hiding the dust-bins … I revelled in this knowledge and his gift to me.

We didn’t go to school while we were in Yorkshire, and had lessons at home in the afternoon. My new stepmother, who was a physiotherapist and had no idea of how to teach children – or how to bring them up for that matter – gave me an extraordinary gift, apart from teaching me social skills, and that was how to spell. She demanded that at nine I could spell words like phlegm and diarrhoea, rhododendron and diaphragm. This is a gift that keeps on giving, like all the gifts that these adults gave me.

My father returned from the war in ’47, when I was nine, and his gift was to give me all the books he had enjoyed, so I went from a diet of Lord Lytton and books like ‘Harold’ (killed at Hastings) to Kingsley’s ‘Hypatia’, and ‘The Last Days of Pompei’, to Walter Scott’s ‘Ivanhoe’ and ‘Guy Mannering’ ( “go thy ways Ellangowen, go thy ways”… cursed the gypsy) and Napier’s history of the Peninsula Wars with Wellington, to CS Forester’s riveting: ‘The General’, about the First World War, and many more. Enid Blyton and Rupert the Bear were banned !

When I was ten and eleven years old I was put in a train from Yorkshire to Kings Cross, to spend a couple of weeks of the summer holidays with my step-grandparents. My grandfather took me walking around London nearly every day. We explored places like Threadneedle Street and the City, tramped down Constitutional Hill and through Hyde Park Corner, passing No I Piccadilly – Apsley House – the Iron Duke’s home, as well as the King’s home – Buckingham Palace (still George VI then).

We spent blissful hours loitering in front of Duccio, da Vinci and Van Gogh in the National Gallery, and wondering over the Turners in the Tate, gazing at all the statues of historic figures, from beautiful Nurse Edith Cavell at Charing Cross, to tragic Charles I, examined the famous poets and painter’s monuments in Westminster Abbey, and climbed around inside the dome of St Pauls. London was still the bombed, shabby city of the Blitz, with rose bay willow herb flourishing on empty desolate sites. But I know that great and ancient city more intimately than any other. And I have known my way around it ever since.

The following year I went on another solitary journey via Air France to spend the summer with French friends in their chateau in Vienne. There, the gift was an insight into French food and French architecture… while my first mother-in-law, a fearsome lady, was a talented amateur interior decorator. From her, I absorbed a knowledge of antiques, a love of colour, fabric and design and have enjoyed restoring and decorating houses ever since.

As I look back at all these gifts, which have enriched the fabric of my life, expanded my mind, and given me pleasures that never fade, I realise how blessed I’ve been. I’ve had many vicissitudes, bitter sorrows, painful partings, terrible decisions to take, and terrifying leaps off that metaphorical cliff in my life. But I’ve also had some sweet joys and learned how to be happy. And the music, the books, the flowers, the history, the beautiful china are all extra gifts that have made life rich and bearable in the bad times.

I wonder what gifts I’ve been able to pass on to those both near and dear, and even just to those casually encountered. We all have such rich gifts to share with others, and sometimes we do it knowingly, and other times, unconsciously. This is how our civilisation endures, and is handed down from every generation.

And maybe it’s more important than we know… the handing on and handing down of simple pleasures, facts and names, skills and events… these things are the handing on of our past, the hard-won experience and knowledge of our ancestors, and even of the fabric and treasures of our civilisation. That civilisation is changing fast, but it could go into future shock unless we value the past as well as the future. The gifts we can share may be more valuable than we can ever guess or measure or imagine.

Footnote. I took this picture for a blog several years ago. It illustrates perfectly different strands of my life.. the flowers are magnolias, the books are on France and French food, Axel Vervoordt is a famous Belgian interior decorator, the china is antique Crown Derby  Imari, while the portrait in the tiny frame comes from the medieval Book of Hours.

Food for threadbare gourmets

It’s that time of year here in the Antipodes when the delicious  Victoria peaches are available. I always snap them up. I don’t bottle any more, I freeze them instead. They have a different texture but are just as good. Being a lazy cook too, I just take out their stalk and then boil them whole, with a syrup made of water, stevia to taste, and a few star anise and a stick of cinnamon. When the peaches are soft I leave them to cool before parcelling them out into various plastic receptacles (I know, I know, sometimes we have to live with parabens!)

When I want them, I un-freeze them, and gently re-heat them with some brown sugar or maple syrup, and ginger wine, rum or brandy added to the syrup… served with ice-cream or crème fraiche, a whole peach drenched in the unexpected flavours of the syrup is a good easy pudding.

Food for thought

“There is divine beauty in learning… To learn means to accept the postulate that life did not begin at my birth. Others have been here before me, and I walk in their footsteps. The books I have read were composed by generations of fathers and sons, mothers and daughters, teachers and disciples. I am the sum total of their experiences, their quests. And so are you.”

Elie Wiesel, writer, academic, activist, concentration camp survivor and Nobel Laureate


Filed under books, cookery/recipes, culture, flowers, food, gardens, great days, history, life/style, literature, Thoughts on writing and life, uncategorised, Uncategorized

28 responses to “The gifts that keep on giving

  1. Valerie, this is beautiful. It’s not always apparent at first – a conversation with a stranger, a kindly neighbour, letters from a far away grandparent – but as we look back, these people give us so many gifts throughout our lifetime. thank you for putting this into words (and so eloquently)!


  2. Your blog’s a pretty good gift to us all, Valerie.

    Like you I was gifted the love of reading at a very young age; in setting you up for life I reckon reading is a ‘biggy’ – excuse the technical term.

    One of the best gifts I got was thanks to Mrs H’s children and grandchildren not liking classical music so I ended up with shelves of my father-in-law’s classical music and opera.

    And just today a lovely chap from down the road dropped in to gift me a ball of tiger worms and two buckets of silage to start my worm farm 🙂


  3. Rob

    No wonder I have enjoyed your writing so much, with a background like that! I have been a fan since reading your columns (in my grandmother’s NZWW) as a child…


    • Dear Rob, thank you so much for your delicious comment – I was so intrigued to read your remark about NZWW – in one of the many surveys into readership of the magazine, they said that it was the favourite reading for boys between ten and fifteen, which I found hard to believe…. but you have maybe convinced me… it was the favorite reading for all females from the eight to eighty!… Sad that readership has gone .. it was the only national publication which everyone read… apart from TV we don’t have a publication that reaches across the country any more…
      anyway, so good to hear from you…


  4. Another Sunday morning treat, a gift indeed. It’s so lovely that you recognise all these gifts. I too was given reading and while Wooputty Bear was not banned we also had beautiful classics with the fine tissue between the pages. My Mum loved auction sales and acquired many beautiful old books many of which I now have. The peaches sound scrumptious!
    Love to you 🙂


    • Sally, lovely to hear from you… how lovely to have inherited all those lovely old books… sadly my grandmother went slightly loo-loo when she was living alone, and had a great bon-fire all letters and books and photos before she was rescued and went into a retirement home ..
      Love, Valerie


  5. You have been fortunate in the depth of the knowledge legacy you have received. It was, perhaps, a bit too weighted on the ‘serious’ side. I remember the joy it gave me to pass on from books by Dickens and the like (my earlier reading) to Enid Blyton and even Frank W Dixon! Still, I retained a love of reading things like the ‘Bab Ballads’, ‘Alice’, ‘Wind in the Willows’, and finally went back to the classics with greater appreciation than before. Funnily enough, in spite of constant exposure to classical music, it took me quite a while to grow into Bach, Beethoven etc.


    • Yes, I too discovered the’ Wind in the Willows’ after reading all the ‘weighty’ stuff, when there was nothing else to read… and then at nine, I discovered ‘Black Beauty’… which changed my life, and I’ve been sensitive to all animals ever since, the way you are…so good to hear from you…

      Liked by 1 person

  6. “Humans are powerful spiritual beings meant to create good on the Earth. This good isn’t usually accomplished in bold actions, but in singular acts of kindness between people. It’s the little things that count, because they are more spontaneous and show who you truly are.” – Dannion Brinkley

    I have loved your blog (and you) for a long time! Your spirit sing out to each and everyone of us…therefore touching our lives with such joy and goodness.

    For that I thank you!


    • Dear Linda,
      What a simply beautiful quote… it validates all our lives…
      Thank you for it, and also for your loving generous comment … I think birds of a feather flock together even on the internet.. one of the amazing things about it, so naturally your blog gives me sustenance too…
      With much love, Valerie

      Liked by 1 person

  7. The common thread between these gifts, of course, is your appreciation of them. Many children, when faced with similar opportunities, shun them. It’s what we allow to enrich our lives that blesses them. And your blog is a gift to your readers, Valerie. It’s like a beautiful, but different, bouquet with every post.


    • Dear Luanne,
      Your beautiful comment was a bouquet too, thank you, dear friend.
      It is such a gift to be appreciated by those whose opinion we value.
      So thank you again… and please keep me updated on the fate of Terry – oh dear have I got the name wrong… you know who I mean…XXX

      Liked by 1 person

      • Oh poor Perry. You almost got his name right! I posted about him today. I fear I am going to have to foster him. He is NOT thriving at the shelter.


  8. I think these simple, yet vital, pleasures/lessons are more difficult to teach/share these days when technology is too often babysitter, entertainment, and whatever else. I learned to love reading from my parents, mostly from my mom, who read aloud to us every day. We did the same for our girls, now grown up. I homeschooled our girls through high school and we did lots of singing, sometimes with friends, and the girls still remember those songs. We did art and visited the museum/s often and they both love art, one was an art student.

    This blog gave me such pleasure to read and left me so happy for the inestimable, enduring blessings you were given. I’m glad you took advantage of them and they repaid you with years of joy.



    • Dear Janet… what a wonderful comment… how blessed your daughters must have been to experience your teaching, and all the extras like museums art galleries and so on… I loved your reference to singing… we had long car journeys every day, and used to sing, and I was able to teach the children harmony and singing in parts…. such a joy… I know what a commitment it must have been teaching your girls at that level and what persistence and consistency that sort of parenting demands…I admire you greatly.
      It gave me great satisfaction to know that you enjoyed reading my blog, thank you and thank you, Valerie


  9. The best kinds of gifts, Valerie: those you can carry with you for a lifetime! 😉 xoxoM


  10. Hello Margarita… yes, we are agreed, as ever !! XXX


  11. Dear Valerie,

    Once more your words have my mind swirling in all directions. You’ve already inspired one blog this morning. Perhaps another is on the horizon as you cause me to look inside myself and see those who have informed my soul and spirit.
    Quite a few were teachers whom I will never forget. My art teacher, Mrs. Spears, who was a candle flame during my awkward adolescence. One in particular, Señor Scott whose job description was Spanish teacher. I’ll always remember his unprecedented history and geography lessons from his travels. From him I learned about the Incas and the Aztecs. His brown eyes would light up when he shared his experiences.
    I attribute my father with my love of classical music. Every Sunday morning the record player blared with Chopin, Tchaikovsky and Dvorak. It’s a tradition I remember with great fondness.
    On another note…I find it difficult to believe that you’re a ‘lazy cook.’ 😉
    Thank you for so generously sharing your history–this is indeed your gift that keeps on giving.




    • Thank you Rochelle for yet another generous comment… I do appreciate your appreciation !!! Loved the sound of your teachers… they give us more than they realise, don’t they… and such lovely memories of your father…
      So good to hear from you … and yes, lazy in the sense that if I can find an easy way, or a short cut… count me in !!!


  12. I enjoyed this very much Valerie. It is a gift we give ourselves when we are able to appreciate what others have passed on to us. I have nice memories of a rainy day in Vienne. My husband and I were the only two who ventured into the rain for the tour and our guide was a lovely, refined and gracious French woman.


  13. Lovely to hear from you Ardys, and I was so intrigued that you had visited Vienne – did you discover Persac? I stayed in our French friend’s chateau, but all the chateaux on the horizon all round us also belonged to cousins or family, so I was lucky enough to visit them too…
    How is your blogging break going? Do you miss the thinking and refining of your ideas for another post?


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