Mother’s Day
One day we will remember how lucky we were to have known their love, with wonder, not grief ~Elizabeth Postle
PORTCHESTER MEMORIAL GARDENS
Mothering Sunday
Dear Garden Families,
Today, on this special occasion of Mother’s Day, we come together to celebrate the enduring legacy of mothers who have passed on and honour the families left behind.
Cherishing the Legacy of Mothers
In the quiet corners of our hearts, we are reminded of the timeless bonds of love that transcend the veil of time, cherishing the memories of those special women who have touched our lives in the most profound ways. Even in absence, their love, wisdom and unwavering strength continue to inspire and guide along the paths of life.
United in a tapestry of shared experiences; in the quiet serenity of our garden, let us take comfort that love knows no bounds, transcending all barriers.
To the families left behind, you continue to carry the flame of remembrance, the guardians of legacy. They continue to live on in our hearts.
On behalf of the PMG Team, we would like to wish you all a very reflective Mother’s Day!
It Was Long Ago
by Eleanor Farjeon
I’ll tell you, shall I, something I remember?
Something that still means a great deal to me.
It was long ago.
A dusty road in summer I remember,
A mountain, and an old house, and a tree
That stood, you know,
Behind the house. An old woman I remember
In a red shawl with a grey cat on her knee
Humming under a tree.
She seemed the oldest thing I can remember.
But then perhaps I was not more than three.
It was long ago.
I dragged on the dusty road, and I remember
How the old woman looked over the fence at me
And seemed to know
How it felt to be three, and called out, I remember
“Do you like bilberries and cream for tea?”
I went under the tree.
And while she hummed, and the cat purred, I remember
How she filled a saucer with berries and cream for me
So long ago.
Such berries and such cream as I remember
I never had seen before, and never see
Today, you know.
And that is almost all I can remember,
The house, the mountain, the gray cat on her knee,
Her red shawl, and the tree,
And the taste of the berries, the feel of the sun I remember,
And the smell of everything that used to be
So long ago,
Till the heat on the road outside again I remember
And how the long dusty road seemed to have for me
No end, you know.
That is the farthest thing I can remember.
It won’t mean much to you. It does to me.
Then I grew up, you see.
