Letter: Please don’t mow the daisies

For several days in early summer, I felt privileged to enjoy the simple luxury of carefully treading through a wonderful carpet of daisies on a grass verge near Waitrose.

I was literally in clover too as I tried not to step on any of the flowers. There were so many though, it wasn’t easy, with my big feet!

The friendly daisies smiled up at me as I looked down at them, the warm midday sun shining off their thin white petals and yellow tufty centres.

I knelt down a few times to have a closer look, and to gently feel the petals and leaves of the flowers. They were a sight to bring comfort and joy.

But the next day, I returned to find them all gone – the council had been to mow them down in their prime.

Left behind was an ugly, uneven lawn strewn with dying grass mixed with shredded flower stalks and petals. I could have cried but I was too angry to cry.

Apart from daisies and clover, also gone were buttercups, dandelions, speedwell and several unidentified plants, some with tiny purple flowers.

A veritable nature reserve needlessly destroyed.

The daisy carpet never grew back, and since then the council have returned at least twice to remove any new flowers.

Only a handful of stunted dandelions and daisies were visible for most of the summer.

Nothing else grew back.

In a way I am thankful: the mower men have made me realise, painfully, just how much wildflowers mean to me.

I’ve noticed them ever since I was a boy but I didn’t know how much I cared until now.

And how special they are.

Now, when I walk up to mother’s remembrance place, near Weston Park, I look to see if I can see a daisy or suchlike.

There are so few of them.

And if I see one of a normal size, looking resplendent, a feeling of reverence arises within me.