Well I didn't got for a long walk in the countryside today. Instead, I headed for Ecclesall Woods - just a mile from this keyboard. On Wednesday afternoon - as I was waiting in the local school's playground to pick up Phoebe, a woman told me she had been to the woods that morning and the bluebells were reaching their peak - a little earlier in the year than usual.
And that is why I headed back to the woods as I have done most years just to see the English bluebells - violet blue hazes beneath the trees. They do not last for long. I have often tried to photograph them but I never seem to capture a definitive bluebell image that wholly satisfies me. The shots that accompany this blogpost are the best of today's crop.
Nine years years ago I wrote a poem called "In Bluebell Time". One or two long-time visitors may remember that I posted it before but most of the people who come to "Yorkshire Pudding" today will never have seen it so I am taking the liberty of posting it again:-
In Bluebell TimeThey 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
As they reclaimed their ancient ground.
What joy and truth was thereby found
To see the bluebells all around.
And a few years before that I wrote a different poem in which bluebells feature. A poem that harks back to World War I:-
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.
Reading those poems again, it's kind of weird. Like reading a stranger's poetry but I swear that it was me. I have always had a "thing" for bluebells - more than any other flower I know.
They are so pretty, and so brief. I can see why they can be described as a mist.
ReplyDeleteYou do get some great crops of blue bells. They are impressive as they are scattered through the forest floor.
ReplyDeleteThose look like pukka ENGLISH Bluebells. Most of the one's we have here are Spanish invaders. It doesn't make any difference to most people, but it does to a nit-picker !
ReplyDeleteI don't remember the poems, maybe I haven't been coming here as long as I thought. I have a few bluebells in my garden, there were more but always got crushed by various types of feet, animal, bird, people taking shortcuts so I dug them up but a few bulbs got missed and they still come up.
ReplyDeleteYour bluebells must be later than the ones here....I was in the woods yesterday and ours are definitely " going over". No rain for ages hasn't helped I guess!
ReplyDeleteWe used to pick them as a child and bring them home for mum to pop into a jug in the kitchen, I loved the smell.
ReplyDeleteThe haze of blue is quite lovely. I've never managed to get a decent photograph of a carpet of bluebells.
ReplyDeleteI love the way the color seems to float above the ground.
ReplyDeleteTerrific photos and I like both those poems!
ReplyDeleteDear friend,your poem is equally beautiful as your images ♥️
ReplyDeleteOver here in the Midwest, our bluebells are at the end of their season. Your first poem perfectly describes the walk I took through a MetroPark covered in bluebells. "What joy and truth was thereby found, To see the bluebells all around."
ReplyDeleteIt IS hard to get a good photo of a single bluebell. I've had the same problem. But your photos of the woods as a whole capture the ambience!
ReplyDeleteI enjoyed a walk through the bluebells in a forest preserve near me this week, too. I do this every year and it always brings me such joy and makes me smile. Even though I live in Illinois, the bluebells that bloom here are called Virginia bluebells and they look a bit different from yours. So gorgeous!
ReplyDeleteAlways difficult to make justice to tiny spring flowers covering the ground like that... Simple and yet breathtakingly beautiful all at once.
ReplyDeleteThese are lovely photos AND lovely words. I'm impressed.
ReplyDeleteI'm dropping by from Hiawatha House. Your poem is so beautiful and I love your photos. It raises our spirits.
ReplyDelete"2016" more Housman than Prufrock.
ReplyDeleteUm, I meant 1916!
DeleteI found you through Red at Hiawatha House. I live in a suburb south of Seattle. Our bluebells are in full bloom here too. They can be thugs in a garden but we let them be where we want them and weed them out where we don't.
ReplyDeleteI‘ve always wanted to see the bluebells at Fountains Abbey or elsewhere, but have never managed to be in the UK at the right time. They are so beautiful and so iconic for spring in England.
ReplyDelete