I could never make daisy chains :,0(

During the long, hot sunny summer days of my childhood (and they were all long, hot, sunny and summer, not like now) one of the greatest skills a 10 year old girl could possess was to be able to make daisy chains. Usually a big sister or sometimes an elegant mother with long finger nails painted red and dark kohl lined eyes initiated the lucky girl.

It took skill, effort and perseverance. You needed to break off a stem long enough to link, but not so long that the chain looked just green.

You needed to softly flatten the stem, such a contradiction, but effectively just to slightly lose the roundness to give a surface into which you could slip a sharp, strong, thin fingernail. Flat nails worked better than curved, unless you were an adept and could curve the stem to match the nail. And nails had to be at least 3mm long to give you a chance to get the hole through the whole stem.

Make the hole about 1cm (in those days we were supposed to be metric; actually we probably worked in cm and feet; such a blend of units) and tease gently apart.
Put the second stem gently through the hole. It helps to remove any leaves or sticky out parts on the stem. Pull through carefully, letting the hole slide up until it is comfortable, not under too much strain but the new daisy is happily nestling into the hole. Repeat. And repeat. And repeat.

How long you made your chain depended on where you were and how long you had. Morning break made bracelets and coronets, just enough to wear back into class laughing and teasing Miss about how you were a Fairy Queen. Dinnertime was Great Gatsby season, with long chains that hung down like strings of flappers' pearls and were swung around gaily to show everyone that you were fast, talented, patient and free to fiddle.

I was never a daisy chain maker. If you have ever seen my hands or nails you know that neither the slim, strong nails nor the uber controlled operation of them is mine. Not now, not ever. But I was a good weaver of tales and some Daisy fairies will make a coronet or a bracelet in return for a story in the rippling heat, as you sit under the shade of the Horse Chestnut or lean back gratefully to soak up the damp coolness of the sandstone wall that separates school from graveyard. And often a ring can be cadged from the excess of flowers poured in tribute on the ground, or from the discards of errors that have split too soon and are left dropped on the path.

And when Miss had smiled and laughed or accepted her offering of watch or posy carelessly tied with green grass, she would cough, and pull the board around to the Maths or English and order the game ended, the crown removed, the jewels discarded. And they would pour onto the centre of the desk to sit and fade as, dry and barren, the classroom desert sucked us in.

Now I prefer to crochet my daisies. It's simple; a chain of 6 joined into a ring, chain 2, treble 9 and slip stitch to form a circle, change to white. Slip 1, then make a petal thus; Working into the next stitch, slip 1, double 1, treble 1, double 1, then slip 1 into the stitch between. Repeat until you have 5 petals, slip the white circle together and fasten off. Simples. A green chain makes the stems and a simple hoop made from the break off yarn makes a hanging daisy. I hung about yesterday waiting for the sun, which proves as elusive this year as it was effusive in my youth, before desperately taking some shots 'as good as it gets' in half light.