Bluebells

Is there anything more beautiful than an English woodland in spring, swathed in bluebells. Personally I think not, although I do love to see a field of red poppies too. For the last few weeks I have been promising myself a trip into the Kent countryside to see the bluebells and finally managed to do so this Sunday afternoon. Even though the day was overcast and the flowers were past their best the experience was still magical and the bluebells impressive.

As we drove to Kings Wood we passed woodland on either side of the road that was drenched in the delicate blue of our native flower.

The most remarkable bluebell experience I have ever had was one very early morning in spring about 6 years ago. It was so early that I hadn't been to bed yet and my husband C insisted that we go and see the bluebells. We were a group of 10 on our way home from a party in Lydd and just wanting our beds and a cup of tea. We complained, we moaned and we tried to persuade him otherwise but to no avail. Climbing out of our vehicles we begrudgingly traipsed behind him resenting the unwanted exercise and longing for the comfort of our cars. And then we saw them. A beautiful spring morning with shafts of sunlight piercing the canopy of the trees and bathing the bluebells in an ethereal light. There was a fine mist on the ground, soft, white and hazy which gave the bluebells a magical, Walt Disney quality and all that was missing from the scene was Bamby. We stopped complaining, we gasped with surprise and wonder and we all knew we had just experienced something we would probably never experience again at 6am on a Sunday morning.