Early May means bluebells. In Sheffield's southern suburbs we have a tranche of ancient woodland known as Ecclesall Woods. That's where you will find the city's best bluebell glades. I must have taken "Yorkshire Pudding" visitors there before.
Yesterday afternoon, I was back in the woods and sure enough our lovely wild English bluebells were out in all of their subtle glory. Experience has taught me that they are difficult to capture with a camera. That dappled light, the shadows of trees, sunlight piercing the canopy. It's tricky.
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| A jay on a log in Ecclesall Woods yesterday |
But I keep trying. There's something magical and other worldly about a haze of bluebells carpeting a woodland floor. They arrive from history and myth, marking the passing of years like a solstice. In spite of climate change, these bluebells will surely crowd the woods and ring silently in countless Maytimes beyond my life.
Two years ago, I wrote this poem after a similar bluebell walk. I was pleased to revisit it and make a couple of tiny changes. I hope you won't mind me sharing it again:-
_______________________________________________________
In Bluebell Time
They came back.
A haze of indigo, purple and violet blue
Swirling across that secret glade
Like morning mist
Drifting the mottled shadows
Under gnarled and timeless trees
Where invisible thrushes carolled
In the heart of those fairy woods.
And it was lovely and it was blue.
Tumbling down to the brook
And all along the margins of the path.
I bent and held a single stem against my palm
Silently pledged no hurt nor harm
To see them dangling like drops of rain
To see the blueness once again.
Yet they made no ringing or jingling sound
Under gnarled and timeless trees
Where invisible thrushes carolled
In the heart of those fairy woods.
And it was lovely and it was blue.
Tumbling down to the brook
And all along the margins of the path.
I bent and held a single stem against my palm
Silently pledged no hurt nor harm
To see them dangling like drops of rain
To see the blueness once again.
Yet they made no ringing or jingling sound
As they reclaimed their ancient ground.
What joy and truth was thereby found
To see the bluebells all around.
What joy and truth was thereby found
To see the bluebells all around.
_______________________________________________________
And five years ago, I wrote this bluebell poem after walking in Ecclesall Woods. I imagined a young man strolling with his sweetheart before going off to France to play his part in what is sometimes laughably known as "The Great War". Cannock Chase was a military training site in Staffordshire where thousands of Yorkshire recruits spent a few days before heading out to the horrors that lay ahead of them:-
_______________________________________________________
1916
I left you in the bluebell time
Afore that summer's foliage
Carpeted those paths we walked
In shadow.
I clasped you by a gnarled beech tree
And felt your urgent heart
Against my chest -
And the lovely bluebells
Hung like mist
And life seemed like a story
Of hope and yes, of love...
But I left you in the bluebell time
For Cannock Chase
And khaki games of war
No bluebell kisses
And no words to say
Those awful things we saw.
I like the way the jay's flash of blue mirrors the bluebells - another great photo. (Shame about your driving.)
ReplyDeleteWell spotted Sue! I wish the jay had hung around a bit longer. He was on that log for five seconds and then flew off. Please don't make me feel worse about my accident you cheeky mare!
DeleteTruly wonderful. Words and pictures both.
ReplyDeleteI was only thinking this morning that I haven't seen a Jay in our garden for a year or more. My father always calls jays, "The policeman of the woods" because they have such a shrill warning call.
Jays behave very much like magpies. They seem to be such intelligent and resourceful birds.
DeleteI love the picture of the jay. His (her?) feathers go so well with the bluebells! They are a poetic sight, and I can see why they inspire poetry in you.
ReplyDeleteAs Sue suggested, that little bit of feathered blue really makes that picture.
DeleteI adore bluebells. I have a photo of myself amongst bluebells in East Sussex on my blog. That day is a previous memory. I liked your poem very much.
ReplyDeleteThank you Kay. Snowdrops may herald the end of winter and daffodils may trumpet the true start of spring but bluebells are for me the true spring flower.
DeleteHaha! Didn't notice that dang tablet put in previous instead of precious. Suppose all memories are previous! My father in law in Eastbourne told me his bluebells and forget me nots were both blooming. He knows I love them!
DeleteOh, that jay on the mossy branch above the flowers! So perfect.
ReplyDeleteHe or she had a partner nearby but they didn't stick around for long.
DeleteThe blue of the flowers in the jay picture is really eyecatching. We have a bluebell patch in our little woodland area in the garden and every year we try to get a few photos. Unfortunately, although the colour is so beautiful in real life, it always seems washed out in photos. I must try a filter perhaps?
ReplyDeleteI don't know what it is about bluebells Ms Nobody, but they are not photogenic in spite of their beauty.
DeleteExcellent photos YP. The last one, especially, captures the intensity of the blue to perfection. The photo with the Jay is worthy of a prize, and maybe the subject of a future painting?
ReplyDeleteHow lovely that you have called round again CG and thank you for your encouraging remarks. It would be quite a task to capture that jay scene in a painting. I am not sure that I am up to it.
DeleteYou can only give it your best shot YP ! I'm sure your efforts will be rewarded.
DeleteI can see that the blue bells would make somebody fell great if they were old or young.
ReplyDeleteI wonder if The Micro Manager can remember wild bluebells from her Yorkshire childhood.
DeleteI keep,telling myself that one day, I'll make it to Yorkshire at bluebell time. this year I was of course way too early, and next year I may be too late, but one year...
ReplyDeleteI will wager that there are bluebell glades within the grounds of Fountains Abbey.
DeleteThose are such beautiful flowers! They really do make the woods look like a fairy land. And the photo with the jay is stunning. :)
ReplyDeleteI wanted to get more pictures of that jay but he/she flew away after one shot.
DeleteYou have gifted us with beautiful photos and lovely poems! I enjoyed both.
ReplyDeleteI enjoy your kind support Bonnie.
DeleteThey are striking flowers en masse, as tiny as they are individually. They remind me of the forget-me-nots I see in a similar wood along my walk this time of year. They are a lake of blue. Well done.
ReplyDeleteI like both of those poems very much.
I have seen such swathes of forget-me-nots here too and you are right - the effect is similar.
DeleteI'm an American who has read often in my Brit mysteries and novels about bluebell woods, but had no image for them till today. Wonderful. Thank you.
DeleteHello Sally. How delightful that my bluebell pictures are now in your head.
DeleteThe bountiful beauty Mother Nature presents does inspire one. And you shared her beauty and your inspiration with us. :)
ReplyDelete