June is the month for flowers. At the beginning of June it was just a delight to be out and be inspired by the sheer abundance, variety and daintiness of wild flowers. So this month I am looking at the creativity inspired by our native wild flowers, not the blousey, bright coloured garden varieties, but those that are hidden in hedges and the bottom of ditches and of course, all across our meadows. For a long time I lived down on the Vale of York, arable land of cereals and potatoes and sugar beet, how I missed the wild flowers of the upland pastures and meadows. So I am going to share some of them with you. Now, we are in a period of drought, which reminds us how fleeting this beauty can be. From being a very small child I learnt the names of flowers, and would make expeditions to see particular ones. There were particular places where violets grew, and bluebells, and primroses, and then as the year waxed and waned, milk-maids, yellow flag, soldier's buttons, wild roses, cranesbill, vetches, bird's foot trefoil .... from the first flowers of the coltsfoot in spring, as a child I knew where they all grew. Do we loose this wonder as we grow older ? I hope not. I am still discovering new varieties of wild flowers. This is the old racecourse, just ten minutes away. It used to be mown very short, but there must have been a change in management because now it is left to grow, some parts are just chocked full of flowers, and , oh joy, the skylarks have returned. What can you recognize ? Amongst the yellow buttercups and red clover there is some yellow rattle in the foreground. An important plant in ancient meadows. It has a symbiotic relationship with certain grasses and attaches itself to the roots of other plants. Rhinanthus serotinus has lipped flowers on a spike , which turn into bladder like seed pods which rattle when they are ripe. The meadows were not ready for mowing until the yellow rattle rattled, according to my father. These gorgeous flowers made splashes of orange across the racecourse, they are orange hawkweed, there are many varieties of hawkweeds and hawkbeards, usually yellow, this one is hieracium aurantiacum and flitting around it were some curious little black moths, they did not stay still for me to identify them ! On this particular early June morning I continued on beyond the racecourse and there were flowers in abundance in the hedgebacks. Thank goodness no one had mown the grass verges. Red campion, comfrey and wood cranesbill glowed like jewels in the long grass. Then I found a flower I had never seen before. Tiny little white stars on very slender stems, all tangled in the grass, on the roadside going up to The Beacon, a landmark on a high point. I had not seen these before and nothing so delights me as to find something new. They are called Star of Bethlehem and come in spiked, drooping and common varieties, this is ornithogalum umbellatum, the common variety. Our wild flowers are a joy, and have provided inspiration for many creative people. Potters have been inspired by nature. Fabrics, wallpaper, all kinds of design take inspiration from flowers. Two William Morris designs have tiny flowers hiding amongst the leaves, imitating their habitat. Writers and poets take inspiration too. I know a bank where the wild thyme blows, where oxlips and the nodding violet grows. W Shakespeare in Midsummer Night's Dream. Well I know a bank as well. And tiny little yellow moths were flitting about these banks of thyme above Willance's Leap. I love the writings of Mary Webb, famous for her novel Precious Bane, she wrote many other novels, poems and essays. One essay is called "The joy of motion" in which she says that The story of any flower is not one of stillness, but of faint gradations of movement that we cannot see. She then goes on to describe the movements that she has observed in plants and flowers. This is just lovely, you will want to go out and find some clover. Evening after evening in the summer, I have gone to see the white clover fall asleep in the meadows. Kneeling and looking very closely, as the dew begins to gather, one sees a slight change in the leaves ... as the light falls, the two lower leaves on each stalk gently approach one another, like little hands that were going to clap, but thought better of it, and at last lie folded quietly, as if for prayer. Wild flowers were used as inspiration for songs for small children, particularly Sunday School Songs. These books belonged to my mother, one has her name and is dated with the year 1944, she would have been 19 years old and in the Land Army, she taught in Sunday School (and played the organ) in little chapels in the villages where she was billeted between Barnard Castle and Richmond. The other has her married name, so she bought this later. These two books of "Child Songs" are full or little ditties about flowers, daisies, buttercups, violets, etc and all point the small child to look at their Creator. They were edited by a man called Carey Bonner [1859 - 1938], strange name, he was a Baptist minister and General Secretary of the Sunday School Union, and editor of many hymn books. In the days of Sunday School Anniversaries these provided the perfect type of songs that would elicit lots of "aahs, how sweet" from the congregation. And I still can remember some off by heart. "Little modest violet grows" "God is so loving he gives us the flowers" etc etc June is the month for roses, wild as well as those in the garden. But oh, how fleeting they are. Sometimes they last into July, but this year the sudden heat has shortened their time in bloom. But this aspect of wild roses has inspired some memorable lines of poetry. This is by Robert Herrick Gather ye rosebuds while ye may / Old time is still a-flying/ And this same flower that smiles today / Tomorrow will be dying. Oh how true, one day the wild roses were all in bloom, and a few days later, when I wanted to photograph them, they had gone. However, going further up t'dale, in a shady spot, I found some magnificent bushes on the top road between Marske and Hurst lane ends Dorothy Una Ratcliffe, another of my favourite writers, wrote a poem called Wild Roses - this is one verse - Each bud, unfoldin' wur full grown, / Say on a Monday morn, / By Wednesday eve they wilted an' / Other douce buds were born. / Nobbut two days - a shortish life / dear Luve, our time's as fleet / But scarlet hips and haws i' t' fall / Leet t' hours afore our neet. I hope you can understand her sentiment ! The wonder of wild flowers inspires me too, and here is something that I wrote a few years ago sitting in a meadow. Ranunculus Acris Look not in the crowded city, Not in the strong barred vault, Nor seek the sceptre, crown or orb, Guarded with lock and bolt. But here in a thousand nodding flowers Is gold enough for me, Each polished petal shining bright So natural and free. The dullest day is brightened , when Climbing the stone-stepped stile A field of gold falls at your feet, You have to stop awhile And marvel at the miracle Which turns the fields to gold In Arkengarthdale - Oh! such wealth No bank on earth could hold. c MM 2012 So June is the month of flowers, but already they are disappearing, not just because of the heat and lack of rain, but because the seasons move on. But, they are being preserved - in bales of hay. And next year the miracle will happen all over again.
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AuthorThis is where you can share creativity with me. I believe that everyone has something creative within them, and it is a joy to find ways of being creative. Blogging is NEW to me, so here goes ..... Archives
January 2024
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