Greeting me this morning as I enter the kitchen is the beautiful fragrance of hyacinths, a Christmas gift from my good friend, Christine, now in full flower they are as easy on the eye as they are on the nose. The Victorians planted them in their flowerbeds in rows of different colours for a striking effect. Blue ones were thought to symbolise constancy, purple sorrow, white loveliness or prayers for someone and yellow for jealousy. Originally from the Mediterranean and now mostly grown in Holland its meaning is said to be derived from a Greek legend about a boy named Hyakinthos who was slain by the God of the west wind Zephyr. The word Hyacinth is believed to be derived from the word jacinth meaning a blue gemstone. They never fail to cheer and brighten the day and for me they trigger lots of happy memories.
I have always loved their ostentatious appearance and heady scent at a time of year when a bit of a boost is needed to help you through post-Christmas gloom and set you well on your way to that first glimpse of lengthening days or the first snowdrop checking in to Spring. Getting them to come out before Christmas was always a keen contest between me and my Uncle Harry. We used to buy the bulbs at Nidderdale Show then plant our chosen varieties in bowls of three keeping our techniques a secret from each other. I used to hide mine at the bottom of the airing cupboard which was usually quite successful apart for one year when we had a little mousey visitor and they provided him with a hearty meal and left me with an empty bowl and Uncle H with an easy victory. Another time my Uncle had read somewhere that he would achieve excellent results if he planted them as normal but then buried the bowl underground until December then dig them up and bring them into the warmth. Fortunately for me that year he forgot where he had ‘squirrelled’ them and we unearthed them by chance when we were digging trenches for potatoes the following Spring, so victory was mine.Strangely after all the lengths he would go to grow them, Harry would always give them to my Mum because their ‘stink’ as he used to call it ‘interfered with his breathing’ but I think secretly he wanted his favourite sibling to have them all along.
Uncle Harry made everything such fun and certainly let you get away with far more than Mum and Dad did and our hyacinth contests were no exception and to this day they evoke such happy memories whenever I see their flamboyant blooms or get a whiff of their potent aroma I always think of funny old Uncle Harry.
