Maundy Thursday, or as it is known in Germany, and many other European countries, Green Thursday. The first time I visited Germany was at Easter time, and my penfriend’s mother made eggs florentine, which I had never had before and was a bit wary of so much spinach, but I was assured that it was tradition. I looked up why it is known as Green Thursday. It seems that in some churches, green vestments are worn on this day. The other interesting explanation is that it is a corruption of the word groan, so it is not Green but Groan Thursday, which seems more plausible, being the day before Good Friday. Nevertheless, broccoli is on the menu tonight. It’s tradition you know.
I went for a walk today as it was 23C and rather hot for digging the vegetable patch. I walked across fields and through woodland, and saw cow parsley and bluebells, and blackthorn flowering at the margins. So pretty. All the fruit trees are in blossom too, it looks as though it could be a good year. A robin hops about with me in the garden, hoping that I will turn up some juicy titbits. Unfortunately nothing much more enticing than the pernicious roots of ground elder.
My earrings today are turquoise glass, which shine wonderfully brightly with the sun. They were a present from my sister, from Belgium. My niece is a talented violinist, and she was playing with a youth orchestra over there, and we went to support. It was a lovely time. Like many other people at this time, I reminisce about amazing holidays, and just wonder if I will get to see any of these places again. I have many photos which could be put into albums, and now when time hangs somewhat heavy, would be the ideal opportunity. But I have to confess that I feel a shade emotional as I look at pictures of a wedding in Austria and speculate as to whether I shall see these dear friends again. Now now: always look on the bright side of life, as the song says. I am exceedingly fortunate to have a beautiful house and garden, and all my family are on good form. I have recently thought a great deal about my mother’s experiences. She was born in 1911, and could remember the Spanish flu of 1919. Uncles who had fought in WW1 had to face another killer when they returned home. She herself survived WW2 in Portsmouth, working in a public library and quartered out to the suburbs with an aunt of her husband’s. My father was abroad as a conscript: she always said she had a harsher war than he did: he was not in the front line because of poor eyesight. Yes, at this time, one tends to recollect what dangers previous generations have had to endure, and hopefully, it strengthens our resolve.