Violets are blue

A little tale To celebrate St Patrick's Day -  prompted by Tess  over at  Magpie Tales  
Happy St Patrick's Day one and all!    

“Flowers?  For me?” 

She sat upright in her hospital bed.  The fall had shaken her badly and she wasn’t sure if she had broken her hip.  It was painful, she was sure of that.  At eighty two she didn’t need this and dreaded all the hassle and inconvenience this would bring to her ever so busy daughter.  Violet, who now referred to herself simply as V!  Ms V Mc Cann was a true career woman, whatever that meant.  Violet wasn’t exactly a name that could be taken seriously climbing the career ladder she had told her mother once.  Violet wasn’t the name that captured the passion, zeal and drive she used to smash through the glass ceiling to get to the top in the dog-eat-dog world of advertising.  V Mc Cann was not afraid to knock anyone down who stood in her way.  She had more or less said so when she last visited her mother.  As a daughter and a successful business woman, she was so busy in her high executive world that she no longer had the time to visit her mother in the best money could afford nursing home.

“You sure you’ve got the right person?” she asked a little nervously.

“Your name is Mrs Mena Mc Cann, isn’t it?” smiled the boy from the flower shop.

“Well yes, yes it is, but no one ever sends me flowers.  Well not for a very long time anyway” she replied

“Well they do today, Mena.  Today’s your day, African violets especially for you”. 

“Thanks, son.  They’re lovely.  But who are they from?” 

“No message.  ‘Just to deliver them to Mrs Mena Mc Cann’ he said.  He paid and then he was gone.

“He?” she asked in a bemused voice.

“He said something about it being a long time ago and that you would remember the violets, the special day and the works outing to the Altnalee Races.”

Mena Mc Cann recalled that trip to the races on St Patrick’s Day many years ago.  It was the tradition back then to celebrate the holiday by going to the local race meeting.  The factory was closed, picnics were organised and everyone went to the races. She recalled the parading of horses before the races, the wearing of bright racing colours by the jockeys and the well dressed owners in the enclosure ring.

She met a boy called Jack there. He had several winners that day and he generously shared his winnings with Mena and the girls. He had given Mena violets and made a date to see her the following week but for some unknown reason never turned up.  But that was over sixty years ago!

Mena turned to the delivery boy to ask him more about the little pot of violets.  But he had gone.

She cleared a space on the locker beside her bed for the beautiful African violets and noted the single shamrock in the pot.  Maybe it was best to simply enjoy the gift and keep her curiosity for another day.