"Climbing the hill that lead from the dingy grey town to our grandparent's house, the sound of lorries changing into low gear, the dirty deisel smell as they overtook us, we'd look into the garden of plastic towers. It was our treat. The garden of plastic flowers probably only contained four or five such flowers, but it was enough for us to know that someone was trying to con us. With radar sensitivity we could spot an out-of-season tulip, and we laughed at the owner's lack of professionalism. Nonetheless, something in me was kindled, and it was this: the magic in the unexpectedness of things. The plastic daffodil blossoming in November had a potency about it that no evergreen shrub could ever have. Thirty years or so later, there are people and flowers growing in my garden; wooden and plastic ones, and perhaps passing children will see them and store them away somewhere, as one of those half-remembered, half-dreamed images from childhood."

– Lal Hitchcock, 1999