Our native type (Hyacinthoides non-scripta, otherwise named common bluebells, English bluebells, British bluebells, wood bells, fairy flowers and wild hyacinth) appears in ancient woodlands and along woodland edges in April and May. The sweetly scented flowers only droop from one side of the stem and have narrow leaves unlike the Spanish invaders which are paler and unscented. This year the lanes are lit up in the ditches and on the Cornish hedges. Maybe the extreme cold weather last year followed by the baking heat of the summer has something to do with it, but the bluebells are magnificent. We are considering driving to a wood or garden, but first thought we’d have a wander around ‘our’ hill as we know bluebells live up there. We were in for a very pleasant surprise.
First the obligatory photo of the coastline looking north to Godrevy and Portreath. The sea a soft turquoise in the evening light.
Instead of taking the first stile and the steep, but short route up the hill, we continued along the lane as far as the woodland edge before entering onto the horse trail through the gate. The air was still. The sky a pure cornflower blue and it was pleasantly warm.
We had a peek into the wood, but although we could see some of the blue stuff in patches of sunlight, we decided to head up the hill following the horse track. It was a slow journey as I was forever stopping to look at the flowers, the rocks, the trees, the views.
Once on the top we slowly circled around making the most of the 360° views. St Michael’s Mount and Mount’s Bay to the south, Hayle to the north, Wheal Alice below and the farmland between the hill and the sea. We struggled to try and identify where the A30 runs in all of this greenery as the road and the houses along the route seem to completely disappear.
Leaving by the west gate we found ourselves in a wonderful little dell carpeted with violet-blue flowers. The air was heavy with the delicate perfume and the light was now changing into the golden hour pre-sunset, both redder and softer. The complete silence that we had been experiencing until now was replaced by the conversation between a pair of crows on the rocks and the songbirds in the trees doing the reverse of the dawn chorus.
The trees and the fields seemed greener and the bluebells more purple as we wound our way northwards along the track strewn with granite boulders and rocks and edged with bluebells, being careful not to tread on any bulbs.