“The counterfeit gold of February sunshine, making pale promises that can never be fulfilled”
I particularly like this quote from Bob Copper’s book, “A song for every season”, where he writes lyrically about his Sussex farming family and the traditional country songs they sing. On the rare occasions we have seen sunshine this month it’s usually been misleading and rain frequently followed. Heavy showers and pale sunshine then chased one another around the valley below our house, painting the sky with huge rainbows. The clear separation of the seven bands of colour in these rainbows tells us more about the wonders of science than any school physics experiment with a prism.
From my vantage point overlooking the Leechwell Garden, I watch each day for changes. During the month, some of the trees on the edge of the Garden developed a golden sheen. By the end of the month, this sheen acquired texture as if many small brushstrokes had been applied. The brushstrokes were the plump catkins, bursting with fertility but hanging loosely like pale yellow lamb’s tails. On another tree, I noticed the upper branches acquiring a pale ruddy brown glow in the light of the rising sun. I initially imagined vestigial leaves, but in fact there must have been a change in the colour of the upper meshwork of slender branches.
Around 4 pm on better days, the Garden has been taken over by a group of about 10 young boys from the local comprehensive school. They run, jump and tumble their way about the Garden like a litter of puppies. They seem especially keen on a loosely organised game that resembles rugby but without the ball; the main aim seems to be to knock one another over and scramble about on the ground in heaps. They don’t seem to be doing any harm. It all looks great fun and they can work off energy after a day constrained in the classroom.
Down in the Garden, the lungwort are single-handedly putting on a valiant show. The pink clump is now covered with flowers, some turning blue. Another clump, also with spotted leaves, shows white flowers and a third clump, with narrow green unspotted leaves, sports mostly blue flowers with a few pink.
One of the Garden volunteers told me that lungwort is a favourite of the Hairy-footed Flower Bee, a solitary bee that likes to nest in old walls and in mortar, of which there is plenty in the Garden. She had also just seen a grey wagtail by the running water. I shall have to keep a careful watch for these bees and birds.
Elsewhere in the Garden, there are a few snowdrops and celandine in flower and several clumps of primroses, a sure sign that the year is moving on. I have a soft spot for primroses and I remember their pale yellow flowers and delicate stems when, as a child, I picked them from railway embankments of the old Somerset and Dorset Railway. Primroses also grow well in this part of Devon and in the mid 20th century, local Paper Mills sent primrose-posies to their customers to give them “a breath of Devon air”. Children collected the flowers in return for pocket money and vast numbers were picked. The practice was frowned upon by conservation-minded people so in 1977, the paper manufacturers enlisted the help of ecologists from Plymouth Polytechnic to find out if the yearly primrose harvest was damaging the wild primrose. They came to the conclusion that the harvest was an important community event and was organised in a way that was unlikely to affect survival of wild primroses. Despite this, the practice was discontinued a few years later as public attitudes hardened against wild-flower picking.
The frogspawn I mentioned last month disappeared and I thought that was the end for the frogs. My pessimism was misplaced as not only have the frogs been busy laying more spawn but there are now quite a few tadpoles happily swimming about in the still pools of water in the Garden. There’s no sign of legs yet but it’s early days. How many will survive I don’t know but its good to see some hatched.
Towards the end of the month, there have been several days with sunshine and perhaps it’s something about the light but there was a distinct whiff of spring in the air. We shall see!
The photographs were taken on February 24th by Hazel Strange