|Bluebell Wood meandering path|
Bluebell Woods Dalcrue
Well if you’re in Perthshire over the next few weeks you’re in for a glorious and enchanting sight as our native Bluebells – Hyacinthoides non-scripta are starting to bloom. They’re an iconic spring bulb that en masse turn our local ancient woods in May into a haze of purple and blue spires. The wildflowers take advantage of the leafless canopy from the native broad wood trees. As a consequence they grow, flower and finally set seed just as the foliage canopy above cloaks the woodland floor.
|Bluebells – Hyacinthoides non-scripta | Endymion non-scriptus|
|Bluebell Woods Dalcrue – Native Broad Wood Trees|
|A blue haze of native wildflowers with a faint scent of honey|
The Poetic Touch
Panpipes or trombones with overhung necks and crisp ruffled bells.
|Bluebell Woods Dalcrue – Crisp ruffled bells|
“They give one a fancy of panpipes and of some instrument with stops, a trombone perhaps. The overhung necks – for growing they are a little more than a staff with a simple crook put in water, where they stiffen, they take stronger turns, in the head like sheephooks, or, more is waved throughout, like the waves riding through a whip that is being smacked – what with these overhung necks and what with the crisp ruffled bells dropping mostly on one side and the gloss these have at their footstalks they have an air of the knights at chess.” (Hopkins, Journals, Ideas and Poetry).
|Bluebell Woods Dalcrue – Fairy Flowers|
“Bluebells in Hodder wood, all hanging their heads one way. I caught as
well as I could while my companions talked the Greek righteousness of
their beauty, the lovely – what people call – ‘gracious’ bidding one to
another or all one way, the level or stage or shire of colour they make
hanging in the air a foot above the grass, and a notable glare the eye
may abstract and sever from the blue colour – of light beating up from
so many glassy heads, which like water is good to float their deepest
instress upon the mind.” (Hopkins, 1873)
|Falls of sky colour|
“In the little wood opposite the light they stood in blackish spreads or sheddings like spots on a snake. The heads are then like thongs and solemn in grain and grape-colour. But in the clough through the light they come in falls of sky-colour washing the brows and slacks of the ground with vein-blue, thickening at the double, vertical themselves and the young grass and brake-fern combed vertical, but the brake struck the upright of all this with winged transomes.
It was a lovely sight. – The bluebells in your hand baffle you with their inscape, made to every sense. If you draw your fingers through them they are lodged and struggle with a shock of wet heads; the long stalks rub and click and flatten to a fan on one another like your fingers themselves would when you passed the palms hard across one another, making a brittle rub and jostle like the noise of a hurdle strained by leaning against; then there is the faint honey smell……..”(Hopkins, 1871)
|A Sea of Bluebells|