In Praise of Bluebells

Posted on May 7, 2025 by johnshortlandwriter

Can there be a more delightful spot to linger than a bluebell wood in spring? The intensity of their colour when seen growing in their tens of thousands would hurt the eyes if not offset by the citrus green of the beech trees they favour growing under. With early morning sunlight filtering through the branches to strike the woodland floor below, both leaves of beech and ‘bell shimmer and sparkle in the clear light. As the forest warms the bluebells release their scent but not the heavy, redolent perfume that one might expect. Instead, a fragrance so soft and gentle that for a moment it seems to come from elsewhere; all too quickly it melts away, dispersed by the increasing heat.

Bluebells are one of the key indicator plants of ancient woodland, a term that refers to woodland that pre-dates AD1600, for their bulbs prefer to remain undisturbed where they can slowly establish huge colonies. Here, in the secret valley where they grow in hedge banks, they can be used to trace the line of an equally ancient drove road for it is thought that the hedgerows and trees that line it are remnants of Wychwood Forest. Over centuries, the boundaries of the Forest have shrunk as fields were created and the trees cleared for arable land or pasture. By leaving the field edges untouched the early farmers saved themselves both time and labour and in doing so preserved the bluebells that give me so much pleasure each spring. The drove road – primarily used for herding livestock long distances to market – passes our little stone-built cottage before diverting across open country. It is still used as a public right of way.

*Bluebells line the old drove road that passes my house*

Unsurprisingly for a plant that has been around from time immemorial, the bluebell has numerous regional names – Common Bluebell, English Bluebell, Fairy Bell, Wild Hyacinth to name a few. Perhaps the best has to be Granfer Giggles. In Scotland they are known as harebells although to an Englishman harebell would be a completely different plant that grows later in the summer when the bluebells have long ended. Even the Latin name which is supposed to prevent confusion has changed over time – it is now known as Hyacinthoides non-scripta. I much prefer the earlier name of Endymion non-sciptus, it sounds more attractive as well as having a romantic Greek legend attached to it. Illegal to dig up plants from the wild, bluebells are sometimes offered for sale from cultivated stock under either of these names.

*Occasionally you may find a white, or even a pink bluebell*

For such a well-loved plant – it has been voted England’s unofficial national flower – bluebells do not seem to feature much in poetry. They are frequently mentioned by name but no-one, as far as I can tell, seems to have written poems specifically about the plant. Perhaps it is because they are such a common sight and have none of the delicacy of the wild rose, the scent of the honeysuckle or the diminuity of wild thyme. Shakespeare, who seems to have written about absolutely everything (including thyme), only mentions it once: “the azur’d harebell” in Cymbeline. The Brontë sisters both wrote of bluebells but I’m not sure they weren’t describing later flowering harebells. Emily’s description “waves in summer air”, and Ann talks of a single flower and of its trembling. Bluebells are quite a stiff flower that don’t wave or tremble that readily whereas Campanula harebells fit the description nicely. I can’t recall even my beloved Richard Jefferies, the Victorian naturalist, waxing lyrical over them as he did over so many other things. I may be wrong about this for I can hardly call myself a Jefferies’ scholar, more an enthusiast. However, Cicely Mary Baker created a delightful illustration of the flower in her set of Flower Fairies published in 1923 where she describes the bluebell as the king of flowers.

*The less-common Harebell – Campanula rotundifolia*
*It flowers later in the summer and in more open places*

It is to the Georgians that I have turned to illustrate our love of bluebells for I have found frequent references to them in old newspapers and periodicals not just in published poetry but also in their fashions. This description of the sumptuous gown worn by the Princess of Wales when attending the King’s Birthday in 1795 is worth reproducing here: “A gown of superb, embroidered crepe imitating the rays of the sun and intertwined with embroidered white lilies. Over which a cape of Venetian net embroidered with laurels and Diana’s (presumably the Goddess) crescent”. Finally, there was another over-cape “embroidered with bluebells (yes!) and held in place by rich cords and tassels”. As if this wasn’t splendid enough there was “a long train of silver gauze bordered in purple and silver”. Having spent twenty years in the world of fashion (before I switched careers to horticulture) this has sent me into overdrive! Sadly, I haven’t found any illustrations for this ensemble but I do have photos of the ‘draft’ for equally exquisite embroidery designed by Norman Hartnell for a robe for Queen Elizabeth II.

*Embroidery design by Norman Hartnell for Queen Elizabeth II*

Even earlier, in 1786, Mrs Charlotte Smith was publishing her sonnets. A remarkable woman for the age, she left an unhappy and violent marriage and campaigned for women’s rights and the abolition of slavery. She wrote fiction and poetry to financially support herself and her children. This sonnet reminds me so much of my youth where I roamed the bluebell beechwoods of the Chiltern Hills, for which they are renowned.

“Ah, Hills belov’d! where once a happy child,
Your beechen shades, your turf, your flowers among,
I wove your bluebells into garlands wild,
And woke your echoes with my artless song.
Ah! Hills, belov’d! your turf, your flowers remain;
But can they peace to this fad’ breast restore?
For one poor moment soothe the sense of pain,
And teach a breaking heart to throb no more?

I’m glad to say that my heart is no longer breaking so perhaps the bluebells worked their magic!

*A very old photo (hence the strange colour!) of me and my two deerhounds in a Chilterns beechwood at bluebell time*

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Discovering the Five Senses in Lockdown

Posted on April 19, 2020 by johnshortlandwriter

It sometimes takes a crisis to make us re-evaluate what is of importance in our lives and the present one of Coronavirus/Corvid-19 surely has to be the greatest that we will collectively face. Now, several weeks into lockdown we have all been developing new patterns to our daily regime, one of which may well be taking more exercise. Never before have we placed so much value on fresh air and being able to walk freely whether it be in our parks, gardens or open countryside.

Riverside path, Higginson Park, Marlow (before social distancing). The river is the River Thames in Buckinghamshire

Living where I do in the Cotswolds surrounded by fields and with woodlands and the river close by it is relatively easy for me to enjoy the open space. For others able to take advantage of their enforced free time, it may involve a longer walk and I have certainly noticed an increase in the numbers of walkers and cyclists here in the valley. I have also noticed that for many of them one aspect of their lives hasn’t changed: as they walk their eyes are glued to the screen of their mobiles and headphones are clamped to their ears, seemingly unaware of their surroundings. It has made me think all the more of our five senses and how we use (or should use) each one of them when out exercising.

Cycling in the Chiltern Hills

SIGHT For those of us blessed with the gift of vision, perhaps sight is the most important sense we use and perhaps the one we most take for granted. Without it, it is still possible to enjoy one’s surroundings for the other senses become heightened but I doubt if anyone would deny the pleasure of seeing the beauty that surrounds us on our daily walks. Even within cities there is much nature to be enjoyed although I admit that sometimes it has to be sought with more vigour and awareness.

Look everywhere – self-sown violas peep out from overhead guttering!

At this time of year, more than any other season, there is much to see. Tight leaf buds unfurl into an explosion of vivid green foliage, iridescent wherever sunlight filters through; young ducklings tumbling into the park pond to take their first swim. But it isn’t just the natural world to be seen anew, there are other things too. Although it had been there for more than a hundred and forty years (and I’d walked past it very day for twenty) the date scratched into the stone on this wall had gone unnoticed.

Who scratched this date into the old stone wall and why?

HEARING Along with sight the second most important sense we use on our daily amble. Apart from the glory of birdsong there are other sounds that bombard us when out walking. The wind flurry that makes the catkins tremble and shed their pollen, the stronger breeze that make the twigs and branches clatter gently against one another. Then there’s the rustle in the undergrowth. Stop and wait silently and with patience you may be rewarded by the sight of a little field mouse going about its daily chores or a rabbit venturing out to feed.

patience was rewarded when this little field mouse ventured into the open

… and also this rabbit

The sound of the river alters constantly. The smooth, barely audible glide of the water changes to a tinkling of soft musical sounds, its flow interrupted by a fallen branch. A few yards further downstream they rise to a crescendo as they crash and tumble over the old millrace before returning to silence as the flow stills in the calm of the millpond.

The old millrace

the calm of the millpond

TOUCH In the present crisis we are sensibly being discouraged from touching things unnecessarily. Out on walks perhaps care may be advisable when opening gates or climbing stiles but, if you do, take a moment to think about what you feel. Heed the cold steel of the metal five-bar gate and the way it slowly warms beneath your hand; feel the rough timbers of a stile worn smooth from much use over the years. Of less concern health-wise – and all the more pleasurable for that – become aware of the softness of new horse chestnut leaves; later in the year they will become as harsh as sandpaper. Run your fingers across the twisted, grooved bark of the sweet chestnut tree and stroke the furry softness of the aptly named ‘Lamb’s Ears’, the favourite garden herbaceous plant Stachys byzantina.

The deeply grooved bark of the Sweet Chestnut tree

Stachys byzantina Lamb’s Ears

SMELL The scent of spring is everywhere at the moment and to be delighted in. However, the sense of smell is also a powerful trigger of long-forgotten memories. In a few weeks’ time the sweet scent of drying hay in the meadows may recall childhood farm holidays but for now there is the unique smell of new-mown lawns. Both start off as freshly cut grass yet their scent is so surprisingly different. Likewise, compare the subtly differing fragrance of apple and cherry blossom, both in their full-blown glory right now.

Drying hay before baling

The smell of freshly-mown grass…

Without even leaving home, squeeze the leaves of the herbs on the kitchen sill and notice their variation in scent, their colours and textures too. Early morn in the woodland, especially after warm rain, the delicate perfume of bluebells quickly disappears as the sun becomes stronger. Half-close your eyes and glory in their colour, in the silence and in their perfume and leave all cares behind you – if only for a while.

discover the different textures & scents of herbs

The vivid greens & blues of an English beechwood in spring

In town, the scents are also there just waiting to be noticed. Rain falling on roads and pavements or scorched by hot sun both produce delightfully tarry smells, one mild, the other strong. In the formal beds of the local park flowering bulbs stand in regimental rows; each have a unique scent which rises in the air to mingle with the vanilla fragrance of wallflowers. The wallflowers, their dull green foliage barely noticeable throughout the winter, now shout out the arrival of spring through the colours of their flowers of brick red, orange and yellow.

Tulips & wallflowers – a favourite park bedding combination

TASTE In shaded places where the soil stays moist you may be greeted – even before you arrive – by the pungent scent of wild garlic. A prolific carpeter of the woodland floor its leaves and flowers make a useful ingredient to spring salads. Wild garlic or Ramsons to give it it’s country name, is fickle where it will grow. In some places that would seem suitable, not a single plant can be found. A less common member of the onion family to be found in the wild are the chives of our gardens, they grow along road edges and field boundaries locally. It is thought that they were spread by the old drovers of centuries ago so that they could harvest them along the way to liven up a bland meal. There is no doubting its identification, disturb the tubular green leaves and the familiar scent is immediately released.

Ramsons grow in damp, shaded places

It is not only the onion family that can be nibbled en route. Richard Mabey in his book Food for Free, published many years before foraging became a ‘craze’, suggests nibbling on the half-open buds of hawthorn. Many a country child has done so over countless generations and perhaps that is how they got their old name of Bread and Cheese. To me, they only have a slightly nutty taste and texture.

Hawthorn leaf buds are not really worth eating!

As a boy, brought up close to the River Thames, the hollow stems of the common reed were a regular source of pleasure for the soft pithy centre could be drawn out by pulling the stems through clenched teeth. Close to my present home there is also a small reedbed. These tall reeds have something to offer every one of the other senses too: sight – the pleasure of watching petrol-blue damsel-flies sunbathing on the stems; hearing – as they sway and rustle with the slightest breeze; touch – the coarseness of the leaves, a contrast to their smooth stems; smell – those of the river as it seeps around the roots, a heady mix of wet mud and wet greenery.

Only the male of the Beautiful Demoiselle damsel-fly has petrol-blue wings & body

So, within the bounds and restraints of the Covid-19 advice when out on your daily exercise, remove the earphones, place the phone in your pocket and use, really use, every one of your senses. Not only will you notice more, you will wonder how you never managed to notice them before. Stay safe, stay alert and take this unique opportunity to discover a new world on your doorstep.

Finally, one word of warning. Only try tasting wild plants if you are confident they have been identified correctly. If you decide to forage, do so responsibly and only pick a few leaves at a time. Make sure that all plants for consumption are free of pesticides and other contaminants, especially those growing in or near water.

The Glories of a Beechwood

Posted on May 31, 2019 by johnshortlandwriter

Buckinghamshire, one of the so-named Shire counties, lies to the north-west of London. A long, narrow county; the southern part is renowned for its beech woodlands. Although greatly diminished in size over the centuries, many of them are still there, remnants of the ancient woodlands that once covered much of Britain, although the industries that they supported are long gone.

In the Chilterns the beechwoods can almost engulf the lanes

Straddling the Buckinghamshire/Oxfordshire borders the Chiltern Hills extend diagonally northwards into neighbouring Bedfordshire where they change character from dense woodlands to more open downland. It is within the shadow of the southern woodlands where I was born and where I lived for the greater part of my life before moving to the secret valley in the Cotswolds. Inspired by Enid Blyton’s The Children of Cherry Tree Farm, my childhood was spent crawling around the fields, woods and hedgerows learning as much as I could about the wild birds and animals that lived within them. john david shortland 1965 watermark

Although nowadays the woods appear mostly deserted, they are still made use of. The old tracks and paths that were once used by the men and women that worked and lived there are trodden by walkers, and by the wildlife that remains elusive for only those that move quietly have the pleasure of seeing anything other than a glimpse of a fleeing animal.

This centuries old track leads down into a deep valley

Fallow deer can often be seen at rest in clearings if you walk quietly

The making of chair legs to keep the flourishing furniture industry of High Wycombe, the local market town, was carried out within the woodland by men who would set up shelters there. Known as chair-bodgers, a local dialect word originally confined to this immediate area, they were highly skilled craftsmen who could earn relatively high wages for their work. The Second World War virtually ended the centuries old tradition, the last being Samuel Rockall who died in the early 1960s. I had been unaware of Rockall’s life until I researched for this blog post and it seems as if we may have been related for I have Rockalls in my family tree. In the 1851 census return one of my ancestral cousins is described as a chair turner living in the village where I spent much of my adult life. More research required!

Jonathan Rockall, chair turner and ancestral cousin in the 1851 census return. His wife, Ann, a lace maker,- another local craft

Some of my cousins?! Photo from an old book ‘English Country Life & Work’

It is, perhaps, springtime when the beech woods are most visited for the forest floor is carpeted with bluebells. The intensity of their colour plus the iridescent green of the tree’s unfurling leaves almost hurt the eyes. With early morning sunshine the scent is unique and difficult to describe – gentle is the best I can come up with. As the day progresses the scent is quickly lost. Chilterns Beechwood copyright

During midsummer, the woods become visually silent: the leaves have turned a dark, leathery green and the bluebells gone to lie dormant for the rest of the year. With autumn, the trees become alive once more with colour, this time as their leaves turn into every shade of copper, gold and brown before they drop to the ground for winter. It is then that the smooth bark of the trees come to the fore with a silvery sheen that catches the low light of a winter’s day. Although it may seem as if the woodlands are sleeping, in places the first bluebells are starting to poke their noses through the leaf litter. Spring is on its way. Autumn colour watermark Ibstone 1984 watermark

The Year in Review: January – June 2016

Posted on December 28, 2016 by johnshortlandwriter

As always the year has flown by to leave us with much uncertainty and sadness in the world. Fortunately, life in the secret valley continues pretty much the same – it is easy to find relief from everyday stresses when surrounded by unspoilt countryside. Rarely does a day pass when I don’t count my blessings for having had a rural upbringing and the opportunity to continue to live and work in such beautiful surroundings. frost-4-copyright

However, I am no hermit and I enjoy visiting other places – even cities! One city I loved when I visited it some years ago was Stockholm, the capital of Sweden and I began the blogging year with a post about the Skansen open air museum. Skansen was the first tomove and preserve traditional, threatened buildings; it was founded as early as 1873. As well as buildings it also houses a zoo, concentrating on breeding native wildlife for reintroduction schemes including the European Bison which had become extinct in the wild. To see more of the buildings click on the link here. 8 Sweden. Skansen copyright 13 Sweden. Skansen copyright

Exmoor is a second home to me and features regularly on my blog. In March, with some misgivings – for why would I want to share such a magical place – I took readers on my favourite walk, one that wouldn’t be found in any guide book. The walk encompasses all that is best on Exmoor: open heather moorland, deep wooded combes, rushing streams and traditional pubs. It also passed the door of the hill farm where I turned up as a lad looking for work after leaving school. I was taken in and cared for – and made to work hard – and, well read the story by clicking on the link here.

April saw me back on the Continent (as we Brits call Europe). This time in the south of France visiting the ancient town of Lombez. It is far from the tourist routes and we discovered it quite by chance. With its ancient, timbered buildings and wonderful, brick built cathedral it deserved a longer visit than we were able to give it. An excuse for a return trip, perhaps? In the meantime, you can visit it by clicking on this link here. Lombez (22) copyright Lombez (4) copyright

If April saw us travelling slowly through France, May saw us travel at an even slower pace – by longboat on the Oxford Canal. Passing through traditional buttercup meadows – we were miles from the city of Oxford – and in glorious sunshine it was the perfect way to relax as well as to see the wildlife that seemed oblivious to our passing. Click on the link here to see more. 016 copyright 076 copyright

Our native butterflies struggle to thrive but I have been fortunate in living in places where they prosper reasonably well. As a gardener, (both my hobby and my profession), I probably see more than most and in June I wrote about the species that visit gardens. See how many you can identify in your own garden by clicking on the link here and don’t forget to record them with your local conservation trusts or online. Comma Butterfly (2) copyright

2017 may well prove to be a year that none of us forget too easily. Travel abroad or in the countryside – and the British countryside is second to none – always helps to refresh the spirits. I have numerous plans for the year ahead and hope that you will be joining me month by month. In the meantime, the review of the second half of this year will follow shortly and don’t forget that images of the Cotswolds and other places I visit are updated regularly on my Facebook page and on Flickr. You can also find me on Twitter @johnshortlandwr a typical Cotswold scene copyright

A Hidden Exmoor Walk

Posted on March 20, 2016 by johnshortlandwriter

I have misgivings about sharing this walk for it is a favourite of mine: in the 48 years that I have known it I have rarely met anyone other than those that work the land here. Do I want to encourage others to discover its beauty? I’m not sure.

This circular walk begins with the open expanses of Brendon Common but follows more sheltered winding lanes before descending through beech woodland to Rockford and the East Lyn River. A steep climb past Brendon church returns you to the moor. How long does it take? There’s no easy answer to this – allow two hours although experience tells me there are so many distractions along the way, including the Rockford Inn, that it can take much, much longer. Whether you want a quick sprint or a leisurely amble good supportive footwear is essential as is the ability to climb hefty hills.

Brendon Common

There is plentiful parking at Scobhill Gate, the cattle grid on the B3223 that denotes the westernmost boundary of Brendon Common. From here walks radiate across the 2000 acres of heather moorland but our route takes us over the cattle grid into farmed country and turns right by the hairpin bends at Brendon Manor Stables.

Scobhill Gate

After a few hundred yards the road, which is flanked by hedges of hazel, ash, furze, bramble and bilberry (known locally as wurts), meets Gratton Lane. This is very much ‘home’ territory for me, for it is here at Brendon Barton that I arrived as a lad to work and play in 1968. Opposite the farm there are fine views of Brendon church and in the far distance Countisbury Common and the sea.

Brendon Barton 1968

Brendon Church 1968 (2) copyright.jpg

Walking along Gratton Lane is lovely at any time of the year but is at its best in spring when the beech hedges are bursting into leaf and primroses and bluebells nestle at their feet. These banks are an ancient method of providing shelter, as well as a barrier to livestock, from the fierce gales and snowstorms that sweep in from the Atlantic. The banks stand about five feet in height, lined with stone with the beech planted above.

Gratton Lane

Just as the lane starts to descend it enters woodland and it is here – just past the warning sign denoting the ford that crosses the road – that a footpath is taken to the left. The path follows a pretty stream as it tumbles over rocks down to join the East Lyn River. It is here that the unwary walker can also take a tumble as the path crosses outcrops of rock that become quite slippery when damp. This stream has everything a larger one would have – cascades, waterslides, ferns growing from niches – but all in miniature. Despite its diminutive size it once powered a sawmill. Waterfalls (2) copyright.jpg

The mill has long been a ruin and is now fenced for safety but the rusting ironwork is still visible. Just beyond the old building the path joins the road. Turn left and follow the lane to the hamlet of Rockford. You are now walking in the Brendon valley with its beechwoods clinging to the steep hills high above, home to a number of rare rowan trees (Sorbus) unique to the area. The East Lyn River is a major river; when water levels are low it is difficult to imagine its ferocity when in spate. In 1952 it destroyed bridges, houses and lives as it passed through the valley culminating in the flood disaster at Lynmouth where thirty-four people lost their lives and over one hundred houses were destroyed. The Rockford Inn is a good place to stop for a beer; they also serve cream teas. Just make sure that you put the cream on the scone before the jam in the Exmoor tradition! It is possible to extend the walk to Watersmeet (where there is a National Trust tearoom) by crossing the river.

The Old Mill nr Rockford

East Lyn River

Once past Rockford the road starts to climb until it reaches Brendon church. The hill is a killer – it’s not called Church Steep for nothing! The church which nestles into the hill and looks out across the combes looks as if it has been there for centuries. In reality, it was moved stone by stone from nearby Cheriton in 1738. It is simply decorated inside but has some attractive stained glass. Brendon Barton, passed earlier, can be seen from the steps of the church. Follow the lane back to the farm; from there retrace the original route back to Scobhill Gate.

Brendon Church (5) copyright.jpg

Brendon Barton, view from the church

Happy walking!

Exmoor is a National Park in the southwest of England and straddles the counties of Devon and Somerset. Apart from miles of wonderful moorland walks, it also has the highest sea cliffs in England, pretty villages and spectacular wildlife including the majestic Red Deer. Native Exmoor ponies roam the open moor. Now a rare breed they remain virtually unchanged from pre-history.

2014 in Review: the first six months

Posted on December 21, 2014 by johnshortlandwriter

So another year is almost over and it certainly has been a busy one for me. Living and working in the spectacular Cotswold countryside, a classified area of Outstanding Natural Beauty (AONB) is a great treat and one of which I never tire. It’s also nice to go off exploring other places so 2014 found me in other parts of the UK and Ireland too. One of the first places I visited, however, was only twenty miles down the road but light years apart in reality!

typical Cotswold countryside

Like many people that live close to tourist attractions I don’t often visit the ones on my doorstep but last January found me walking the streets of Oxford. I hadn’t come to explore the colleges but the covered market which dates back more than two hundred years. The history of the market and the building is fascinating and is well worth making the time to visit – especially if you like a bargain. To read more about it and to see other photos click here.

One of the fathers of ecological writing died tragically young and in February I matched quotations from his work to images I had taken (to see them, click here). My favourite was noticed by the Society that bears his name and reprinted in their journal. I felt very honoured!

Wild and rugged scenery is often best appreciated over cake and coffee and at Watersmeet in Exmoor National Park you can do just that. Two rivers collide spectacularly besides the Victorian fishing lodge that is now owned by the National Trust and run as a café. March found me walking through beautiful scenery as well as indulging myself and the link to this remote but very accessible place is here.

Dublin, the capital city of Ireland is a favourite place of mine and in April I visited the Casino Marino, one of the most impressive and perfect neo-classical buildings in Europe. Everything about it was designed to deceive so although you only see one window on each side you actually have – well, click here to find out what plus all the other deceptions the Georgian architect managed to fit in.

Planting trees is a long term project for they rarely mature during the life of the planter. Of all the hundreds I have done in my professional life none has given me as much pleasure as this particular one. I have waited for years for it to flower and in May it did so for the first time. I felt quite emotional – it was a case of finding a handkerchief. Take a look by clicking the link here.

The Cotswolds are world renowned for their ‘chocolate box’ village scenes and Lower Slaughter must be one of the contenders. Despite its name it is a beautiful and tranquil place to visit for it has everything from crystal clear trout streams to olde-world stone cottages to a mill complete with working water wheel. If you choose the right time to explore you can have the place to yourself. To learn more click the June link here.