Cairndhu - In this frosty winter weather, nobody in our mining village went digging their garden but a lot of time was spent looking at seed and bulb catalogues. My father would mention he thought such and such would be look good and ask for an opinion. My mother might comment on the colour, or ask if it had a scent, which chrysanthemums have but it's not a rose. I was expected to give advice on the shape and any other characteristics. Occasionally, my father would change his mind, if I was VERY insistent. I suppose we used it as an escape, mining could be a grim business at times but at least it was warm underground even in a blizzard.

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People ask where Cairndhu is. Well, I thought it was in my imagination but it turns out there are places called Cairndhu. The one in the book is a thing of the past, a mining village where people were a community, worked together, played together, prayed together. I was lucky to be brought up in that atmosphere. I suppose it was being in the dark for the working shift that made us all appreciate the colours and scents of the flowers.
Sullatober Dalton

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