Blooming Bluebells

Bluebells are in bloom - you cannot fail to be overwhelmed by the carpets of colour dotted around the country side from the beginning of April and into May. Also known as Hyacinthoides non-scripta or woodland hyacinths, they provide a profusion of colour that can range from deep purple to pinks, alongside whites and blues. The fragrant, bell shaped flowers that give the plant its name stand upright when in bud, but hang downwards when fully opened to sway gently in the spring breeze.

Locally you can see for yourself. Take a look at Hole Park Gardens, tucked away in the Weald of Kent, between the pretty village of Rolvenden and the charming town of Cranbrook, lies Hole Park Gardens which has to be one of the best gardens in Kent. An attractively laid out, privately owned 15 acre garden, Hole Park is often referred to as a hidden gem, and there are plenty of treasures to be found within its walls and hedges. The Bluebells are now at their best (22nd April), possibly a few days off their very peak, so come along any time that suits to see them. They are open daily from 11.00am.  

Alternative why not join the 4th Arlington Bluebell Way and Farm Trail, Bates Green Farm, Tye Hill Road, Arlington, Polegate who think from today that “the bluebells will be at their best for the next two weeks, as the weather forecast currently suggests.

The Bluebell by Anne Bronte

A fine and subtle spirit dwells
In every little flower,
Each one its own sweet feeling breathes
With more or less of power. 

There is a silent eloquence In every wild bluebell
That fills my softened heart with bliss
That words could never tell.

Yet I recall not long ago
A bright and sunny day,
'Twas when I led a toilsome life
So many leagues away;

That day along a sunny road
All carelessly I strayed,
Between two banks where smiling flowers
Their varied hues displayed.

Before me rose a lofty hill,
Behind me lay the sea,
My heart was not so heavy then
As it was wont to be.

Less harassed than at other times
I saw the scene was fair
And spoke and laughed to those around
As if I knew no care.

But when I looked upon the bank
My wandering glances fell
Upon a little trembling flower
A single sweet bluebell.

Whence came that rising in my throat,
That dimness in my eye?
Why did those burning drops distil —
Those bitter feelings rise?

O, that lone flower recalled to me
My happy childhood's hours
When bluebells seemed like fairy gifts
A prize among the flowers,

Those sunny days of merriment
When heart and soul were free,
And when I dwelt with kindred hearts
That loved and cared for me.

I had not then mid heartless crowds
To spend a thankless life
In seeking after others' weal
With anxious toil and strife.  

'Sad wanderer, weep those blissful times
That never may return!'
The lovely floweret seemed to say,
And thus it made me mourn.