Whenever I see bunches of statice flowers, in pink, purple, white and yellow, I think of them growing wild and wonder from whence they came, those colourful wanderers, down by the stilled and mounted steam train across the road from my childhood house in Wycheproof, and less mysteriously scattered throughout the cemetery in Rushworth.

I have a purple bunch on my mantelpiece, amongst those other objects of enchantment, trinkets of memory and love and stories…