Despite her turmoil, Pansy could hear the concern in Goldie’s voice. And she was grateful. She was so fortunate to have a granddaughter who was so understanding. The girl dressed in a masculine way and acted tough but Pansy could sense her softness and her femininity. Her sisters wouldn’t even think of expressing such meaningful sentiment to Pansy.
For Pansy, the Gardens by the Bay is a treasure trove, a plethora of plants and trees from many different countries and climes, evoking lovely memories. They are her connection to her mother and also to George. Every flower and plant she sees reminds her of George and their happy times together in England, Europe, the USA, Canada and South America, including a gnarled and ancient olive tree that reminds her of their holiday in Roberto in Italy. Without modern technology, the Gardens could not have been created so swiftly. This was LKY’s pièce de résistance. His tribute to nature. He wanted his people to experience and live in nature despite the necessity for a modern metropolis of concrete, steel and glass. Pansy learnt that fully-grown trees, like the olive trees, bottle trees and cacti, were transported from their native lands and craned into place.
Pansy goes to the Flower Dome to enjoy the cool air; the seasonal changes in its floral displays help her to make the transition from summer, then autumn, and into spring. In a country with a consistent climate, which affords no respite from the intense heat and humidity, the conservatories, particularly the Cloud Forest with its mock mountain of alpine flora, complete with artificial waterfall and swirling mists, has a delicious coolness which she loves. She smiles to herself when she sees locals who visit the domes, wearing jumpers, cardigans and hooded jackets, shivering. Using her annual Senior Card, which gives her unlimited entry, she sits for hours, savouring the sound of the cascading water or sitting on a seat under a pergola in the Flower Dome, breathing in the fragrance of the huge display of scented hyacinths, some pink, some blue, and imagines she is back in her own garden in England. If she closes her eyes, their lovely fragrance will carry her back to Bracklesham Bay. Any minute now, George might come out to the conservatory where she is seated, carrying a tray, covered with a white lace doily, the dainty china teacups filled with piping hot Earl Grey, some toasted teacakes, English muffins or scones on the side, with one of her homemade jams—strawberry, blackberry, apricot or quince.
“Tea for my lady?” he would say, acting the butler.
She would lift her face to look at him and the corner of his eyes would crinkle in joy and her heart would turn over. The memory of George both delights and grieves her. She is afraid of forgetting him, yet the memory of their love is tinged with the pain of their separation.
“I thought you were going to get me an apartment with a patio garden?” Pansy had said to Anthony when she was shown into her new home, after he brought her back to Singapore. He looked sheepish, glanced at Emily, then cast his eyes down, wordlessly. Pansy continued, “This place is… so… small. There’s nowhere here to plant my flowers and my vegetables.”
But her voice is frail, defeated by the loss of George.
“Very cheap to buy vegetables from NTUC what. What for plant?” Emily said in her CEO voice. “Here, you have the condo garden what. This way you can enjoy the garden without all the hard work. At your age, you should just relax. What for dig and dig? Do you know what kind of crazy prices they charge here in Singapore for apartments with gardens? All the girls need their own room now so we have to upgrade to a bigger condo. Where to find more money for an apartment with a garden huh? Do you know how many square feet that will be? It’s more than a thousand dollars per square feet in this area, you know…”
People who don’t work with the soil, planting seeds or seedlings and watching them grow, would not know the intense pleasure and joy of gardening. Pansy loves being in the fresh air, loves the digging, the planting, the caring, and even the weeding. There is a deep connection to the rhythm of life when one’s fingers touch the earth and living things. To see something you have seeded and nurtured bloom into a thing that is alive and beautiful is akin to a small miracle. It’s almost like bringing forth a child.
To know how to select and grow flowering shrubs that bring the butterflies or the bees is a delight; to understand the crucial moments to plant seeds before the ground is covered by frost, for them to sprout at the precise season, is a skill. Maybe her mother, Kim Guek, had foresight when she gave Pansy her floral name. Her mother who was not even articulate in English! One of the nuns at the Catholic convent had mentioned that a pansy was a flower in England with a happy face, and Kim Guek had seized on it for her daughter’s name. She had gifted her daughter with green fingers too.
Gardening was also George’s way of relaxing when the weather was kind and the light was still good when he got home from the surgery. He would don his gardening clothes to mow the lawn or trim the hedges. Other times, they would work together in their garden, loving being outdoors. They would chat and discuss what was to be done, which plants needed immediate attention or compost, which needed trimming, which were plagued by snails or moles. But sometimes they would simply work in companionable silence. They would squat by the flower beds with their spades, forks and shears, deadheading wilted flowers and leaves, or just refreshing the earth by
