In nineteenth-century England an ecclesiastical
order established the fourth Sunday in
Lent as Mothering Sunday. On this holiday
young men and women who labored in the
cities as servants, apprentices, and factory
workers returned home with gifts, bouquets
of wild flowers, cakes and occasionally a
newly acquired sweetheart for family approval.
As the children performed the household duties
and prepared the dinner, the mothers were
free to attend the mornign church service.
Although the observance of Mothering Sunday
gradually faded out, the custom was revived
in the United States and renamed Mother's Day.
Today, as at the time of the industrial
revolution, this day in honor of mothers
serves to reunite and preserve the family.
England still celebrates the day in March
while the United States celebrates in May.
This page is to honor Dave's Mum, Joyce.

To "His Mother" Author Unknown
"Mother-in-law" they say, and yet, Somehow I simply can't forget 'Twas you who watched his baby ways, Who taught him his first hymn of praise,
Who smiled on him with loving pride When he first toddled by your side; And as I think of this today, Methinks I would much rather say, just "Mother."
"Mother-in-law", but oh, 'twas you Who taught him to be kind and true; When he was tired, almost asleep, 'Twas to your armes he used to creep;

And when he'd bruised his tiny knee, 'Twas you who kissed it tenderly; When he was sad you cheered him, too, And so I'd rather speak of you as "Mother."
"Mother-in-law" they say, and yet Somehow I never shall forget How very much to you I owe Because you taught him how to grow;
You trained your son to look above; You made of him the man I love, And so I think of that today - Ah! with thankful heart I'll say, "our Mother."