Our roses in the garden are thriving at present. I realise that every rosebush in our garden has an individual story. Each story connects and brings memories of stages in our lives together.
  It starts with the magnificent red climbing rose that belonged to Margaret’s Dad and Mum, which I believe was gifted to them on their sixtieth wedding anniversary. We inherited it when Margaret’s Mum passed away.

   Next, there are two rosebushes we bought for each other 15 years ago on our sixth wedding anniversary. One was Margaret’s famous blue rose, the image of which has been shared many times on social media posts over the years. The other is my magical red-orange rose that has also been admired many times from afar.
   Next, we have a couple of random buys which we have nurtured into colourful rose adulthood in the garden.

   Then, we bought a beautiful rose that commemorated 120 years of the Barts League of Nurses. This arrived and was planted in the garden, but sadly, after a few weeks, the top was nibbled off completely by a roving Muntjac deer that got into the garden. I immediately contacted the growers and ordered another which arrived, survived, and bloomed beautifully.
   Then, two years later, to our delight, the original rosebush burst into bloom, and this year we have two excellent rosebushes that commemorate the Barts League of Nurses. This means a lot to Margaret as Barts is where she did her training to become a nurse.

  Finally, two years ago, I bought a new climbing rose that flowered with a burst of bright yellow blooms earlier this year. I have high hopes of this growing up to commemorate a certain octogenarian birthday party.

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