Although the clocks have gone back, the afternoons are growing dark between 4 and 5pm, and winter is clearly approaching, there are still roses blooming in the garden.

I’m particularly pleased about one rose, an Ena Harkness, which has taken ages to get established in our garden, and for the past few years has been producing flowers very tentatively. I chose it because ‘Ena Harkness’ was my mother’s favourite rose. It’s always struck me as the ‘red, red rose’ of Robert Burns’s poem, also a favourite of my mum’s. This month our Ena Harkness has suddenly outdone the other roses in splendour.

‘Oh, my luve’s like a red, red rose
That’s newly sprung in June.
Oh, my luve’s like the melodie
That’s sweetly played in tune.’