A Bunch Of Violets.

The “Sweet White Violets” (Latin Name: Viola odorata alba), which is expected to appear in late winter or early Spring, arrived exactly on time this year, exhibiting a massive crop of blossoms.

This small hardy herbaceous perennial is also commonly known as ‘Wood Violet‘; ‘English Violet‘; ‘Common Violet‘; ‘Florist’s Violet‘ and ‘Garden Violet’.

Sweet White Violets:
The flowers which are either dark violet or white in colour, are scented, with the species most often found near the edges of forests or in shaded clearings; it is also a common “uninvited guest” found on shaded lawns or elsewhere with in Irish gardens.

Both the leaves and flowers are edible and in the late Victorian period, were used in the production of cosmetic fragrances and perfumes and in the production of medicine.
Interesting to note: The scent somehow has suggested sex, so the violet served as a symbol of a favoured flower of Aphrodite, (latter ancient Greek goddess of sexual love and beauty); and her son, Priapus, (latter a minor fertility god in Greek mythology), who was also the protector of livestock, fruit plants and, yes male readers should note, male genitals. Both the former named Greek goddess and minor god were the deity of gardens.

A Bunch Of Violets Blue.

Lyrics: Attributed to composer, writer John McCormick.
Vocals: Irish country, traditional and easy listening singer, guitarist and saxophone player, the late Tom McBride, (Big Tom 1936–2018).

A Bunch Of Violets Blue.

It was out in a moonlit garden,
Not far from the ballroom grand,
A soldier and his sweetheart,
Went strolling hand in hand.
Tomorrow the war would call him,
And he vowed he would be true,
And from her breast she gave to him,
A bunch of violets blue.
They were only a bunch of violets,
A bunch of violets blue,
Fresh and fair and dainty,
All sparkle like the dew.
Fresh and fair and dainty,
As he pressed them to his heart,
He smiled and said where’er he’d roam,
From them he’d n’er would part.
A soldier boy lay dying,
Upon the cold, cold ground.
A bunch of withered violets,
Upon his breast was found.
Turning to his comrades,
In a feeble voice he sighed.
Take them back and tell her that,
I wore them till I died.
They took the withered violets back,
It been on her wedding day.
An old man’s gold had won her,
From her soldier far away.
An old man’s gold had won her,
From her soldier young and tall,
And this is what he said to her,
One evening at the ball.
They were only a bunch of violets,
A bunch of violets blue,
Fresh and fair and dainty,
All sparkle like the dew.
Fresh and fair and dainty,
As he pressed them to his heart,
He smiled and said where’er he’d roam,
From them he’d n’er would part.

END