Julie arrived late, which is usually a good sign. Arms full of foxgloves, wild carrot, roses, and that particular air that follows anyone who spends their days coaxing beauty from the soil. She is Madge & Ivy Flowers: grower of noble ground and unapologetic instinct. She came to dress the shop for British Flowers Week. Which she did, brilliantly.
It started, as many of our better moments do, with pelargoniums.
Or rather, with wooden trays full of them. Blousy, bright, scented-leafed - lemon balm, rose, soft green leaves that, when crumpled, release that old-world charm we find hard to resist. Each one potted in an original hand-thrown terracotta pot. We’d brought them in to mark the arrival of a new favourite: Geranium No.3 hand cream from C. Atherley. Its fragrance is inspired by the dusky lemon notes of Pelargonium ‘Mabel Grey’. There’s citronella and grapefruit, a whisper of sweet marjoram. Clean, nostalgic, quietly clever.
Of course, the flowers stole the show.
Julie worked her usual magic, placing jugs and jars and baskets just so, then moving them again entirely. She filled them with sweet peas, roses, peonies. Created two huge displays, like hedgerows erupting from vintage galvanised olive-harvesting buckets. In the window stood a Victorian-inspired greenhouse on wheels. She filled it, emptied it, filled it again. It’s the particular gift of someone who sees balance before it happens.
Why British flowers? Because they carry scent. Because they do not arrive wrapped in cellophane and silence. Because a good flower is allowed to wilt. It reminds you it was once alive.
The whole week passed in a haze of “What is that scent?” and “I could move in tomorrow.” Shoppers lingered longer than usual. Strangers paused to take photographs. Pelargoniums, each in its own unique pot, came and went daily, gracing garden tables and windowsills. A very small dog attempted to wee on a tower of peonies.
We took it as a compliment.
Adam
(Shopkeeper, accidental florist, pelargonium lover)
