A month with rose before the turning of the year
My father grew roses. A man haunted by the life he longed for, and heart-broken when his mother died in his late 30s, he treasured these herbs of the heart. There were two ways to spend time with him — ‘helping’ as he built the next car from two or three wrecks of the same model melded together — or tending the roses.
I have a memory of driving across the moors. We are inching our way up a steep gradient in an old Morris Minor Traveller that would prefer to slip backwards. All of us leaning forward as though it might help with the ascent. Wheels skid on the icy road, sleet slams against the windscreen. How long does it take? Time is suspended. We are heading for a nursery that has a rose my father has been hunting for. I’m eight or nine, Jane three or four. It’s December and the daylight is folding into dusk. Why are we looking for roses in the winter? Why so late in the day?
There’s a litany of the names of roses —
Rosa Mundi
Phyllis Gold
Vanity
Christopher Stone
Peace
Celestial
Henri Martin
Fragrant Cloud
Leda
Superstar
Felicia
Old Bush China
Bourbon Queen
Louise Odier
The car creeps forwards, whines and slips. My mother rants and smokes. My sister pulls the head off a doll. My dad wanted to call her Rose — or Margaret like marguerite daisies — flower names.
The 1920s song ‘Second hand Rose‘ was re-released by Barbra Streisand in the 60s and was playing on the hospital radio when my dad visited. Mum was in hospital for several weeks before the birth with severe oedema and the name lodged in his heart. But it was vetoed and my sister was June for a few days (after her birth month), which got changed to Jane, despite her already being registered as June. She was a rosy little girl, but bullied when she went to school. Increasingly unable to cope, she had a breakdown in her teens and stopped going to school.
Instead of Elisabeth (the name my father wanted for me) and Rose, we are Janet and Jane, clinging to the backseat of a car about to fall off a hill.
But we don’t fall. Dad gets his rose — Fortune’s Double Yellow — no more than gnarly little stems in a pot. They will be beautiful, precious, each pale primrose petal edged in deep pink.
I gave the name to my youngest daughter. She was a rosy little girl, so like my sister when she was young — in looks and gestures and a with a determination that my sister lost. When C was a baby she had paper-dry skin. Rose was one of the few gentle oils I was able to use to nourish and hydrate it. And she has, amongst her tattoos, a rose.
Throughout December, rose has been my companion.
The ancient Egyptians used the petals as air freshener and rose water for perfume. Legend says that Cleopatra had the floors of her palace covered knee-deep in rose petals to welcome her lover Marc Antony.
Rose has a wide range of actions, and it is not only Rosa damascena, the cultivated rose that is rich in medicinal offerings, but also Rosa canina, the humble dog briar.
A syrup of the hips is beneficial for stomach cramps, constipation, diarrhoea, nausea and indigestion. Rose combats infection and promotes normal gut flora. The drying tannins reduce stomach acidity and over-activity of the gut.
The hips are also high in vitamins C, A, B and K and help boost the immune system. They are analgaesic and helpful for osteoarthritis. The leaves and petals are cooling for fevers. As both a pain reliever and for fevers rose has traditionally been used for young children and is sometimes given as a general tonic for children.
The antiseptic and diuretic actions relieve urinary tract infections. And it has an affinity with the female reproductive system. Being antispasmodic aids menstrual cramps and PMS as well as easing heavy or irregular periods. In menopause rose is cooling, helps with hot flushes and night sweats and eases mood swings. Rose hips are also traditionally used for labour pains and a decoction of the roots assists with recovery from childbirth.
An antimicrobial and decongestant, rose helps prevent and treat colds, flu, sore throats, catarrh, coughs and bronchitis. Rose water cleanses and tones skin and helps soothe inflammation, treating spots, boils, abscesses, acne and sore eyes. It is good for minor cuts and wounds and reduces swelling where there are sprains or bruises. Rose vinegar applied to the temples is also an ancient folk cure for headache.
But most of all, I think of rose as herb of the nervous system and heart. Uplifting, soothing and nurturing… rose can help with insomnia, depression, anger and fatigue. An emotional and physical medicine, rose is a cardiac tonic. It cools inflammation in the blood vessels, restores the tone of tissues while relieving stress and anxiety.
When we moved to the forest there was a rose bush, rambling to the size of a small tree, in the orchard at the back of the house by the river. At the end of October and into November., it was still full of red blossoms. It felt like a welcome, an offering from heart to heart.
Over this last month of 2024, I have sat by the bush on a little stone bench in the garden. I’ve sipped dilute rosewater, added rose petals to teas and cacao, rubbed an evening oil made from hips I macerated in the summer into my skin, drunk rosehip and bilberry oxymel with dinner and drunk comforting mugs of delicious rosehip and elderberry syrup diluted in hot water…
Always rose asks:
How is your heart?
What does it take for you to listen to your heart?
But deep in midwinter, her thorns are flags of both warning and protection.
What boundarieso do your need to protect?? she asks.Rose’s uses in folklore and folk magic are vast and, like any plant with piercing thorns, she contains shadows and depths. In midwinter, rose shares her darkness. Any plant that knows darkness, knows how to navigate dark times — grief, trauma, heartache — personal or social — are within her ambit.
What needs mourning?
How will you tender your darkness, your sorrow?
As the year turns I’ll diffuse a few precious drops of rose oil, sit in the dark with her as I did at Winter Solstice, and listen to her voice, before lighting a candle… I will listen to my heart, ask rose to journey with me into the new year.