Mothering Sunday. This day always brings with it fond memories of my Nan’s flower shop in the Midlands – The Floral Box.
The build-up to Mother’s Day was always an absolute frenzy; phone ringing off the hook, orders scribbled into the giant log-book. My Nan’s name was Winifred, and even as a small child I remember the whole house being chock-full of bouquets and bunches, a floral fiefdom, each room crammed with deliveries for a different part of town. It was all-hands-on-deck at this time of year, with friends and family mobilised to help with the flower arrangements and deliveries. I did my bit whizzing around the backstreets on Nuneaton and its environs in the green delivery van!
As well as being a real social hub, my Nan’s flower shop was a great example of entrepreneurship and overcoming adversity. Not many women ran their own business when it opened in 1953. Her own family told her it was a crazy idea and not to do it. It was definitely hard work, I remember her telling me of her trips to Birmingham in the middle of the night to buy the flowers, lugging big boxes back on the train and along the streets from the station to the shop. Hard work, but good work; the old till overflowing with bank notes, soggy cardboard on the floor, buckets of flowers everywhere, a steady stream of people dropping in for a natter, Friday lunchtime fish and chips on the counter… The Floral Box was a slice of life that went on for decades, my Nan made it work with her two sisters Esme and Doreen and an army of volunteers on the big days – weddings, funerals, Valentine’s Day and, of course, Mothering Sunday.
BTW The Floral Box is still there, on the corner of Manor Court Road in Nuneaton, many years on from my Nan passing away. I ordered a nice bouquet for my Mum from there earlier! Winifred would approve.