From my childhood scrapbook.

Like little fallen drops of snow,
Fair maidens in my garden grow.

Because they are the first bulbs of the season to bloom in my garden, snowdrops are my favourite. They hold a special place in my heart for other reasons too. I like the idea of them surviving all the ravages of Winter’s mixed bag of rain, hail, sleet and snow, to push their way through the soil and make their journey into the world each year.

They seem to me to be quiet little flowers, not blowsy or garish like some of the other bulbs. And though they look dainty and fragile, they are very hardy little plants. The white heads have a virginal quality about them. I love the green frill on their dresses and the way they seem to dance in the breeze.

We have several varieties scattered around our garden, all growing in profuse little bunches. The first ones we were given by a friendly neighbour from her elderly aunt, who had gone blind, and wanted her bulbs to go to a good home. The others we have bought “growing in the green” from a local man who splits and divides them each year from his great harvest of snowdrops.

As I admire the snowdrops, my mind goes back to an afternoon in my childhood when my mum and I were looking through my scrapbook. I remember telling her that of all the Flower Fairy scraps I had, the Snowdrop Fairy was my favourite. This gave her an idea.

Equipped with white and green crepe paper, scissors, pins, two sewing needles with white and green threads, I watched in the mirror as she cut and pinned and sewed me a costume which transformed me, as if by magic, into a Snowdrop Fairy. Later that evening I won the Prize for Originality at my Brownie Hallowe’en party.