Life, Miss Marple reflected, is very much like a flower. Its beginnings are hidden and even the earliest shoots are not always visible. One sows seeds of plants of variegated nature and, even as they start to sprout, it is not possible to tell what colour the individual flowers will be.

Then, the first buds begin to form, and like a young life starting to flourish, there are indications of what they might become. And as they open out, in days for a flower, years for a young person, they come into full bloom.

But even then, some flowers will be picked and taken into a house to adorn a sitting room, or as a gift for a friend, perhaps even to decorate a church, and so be admired by the select few. While others will stay in the garden and all who pass by can enjoy the benefit of their colour and their cheeriness.

In the same way, some people are selected for specific tasks and only certain people come to benefit from them. There is nothing wrong with this, doctors and nurses, teachers, even clergymen, are called to work within their own spheres. But others, who perhaps feel they are of lesser significance, may in truth benefit more of those who pass by, with a smile and a helping hand, or a listening ear.

And then, in time, the flower will die off, either producing seeds of its own, or the goodness will return to its bulb. Either way, the species will continue. And so for people. Some will have children of their own, others may have no children but the help they have given to their friends and neighbours will live on in their lives.

Miss Marple surveyed the flower bed before her, which had suffered from a hailstorm the previous afternoon. She had done what she could, picking those flowers which might survive for a few more days in a vase of water, removing most of what was damaged beyond repair. It was disappointing, she had had high hopes for some of her blooms, but such things happened and with luck in a few weeks’ time her current efforts would mean her plants would flower again.

It happened to people, too. Something catastrophic, which they had not expected and could never have anticipated, happens and their plans are destroyed. They too are forced to pick up the pieces. Miss Marple nodded to herself. And sometimes, as with her flowers, someone to help with clearing the debris might just be needed.