Strange encounters
On
a recent occasion, as I was taking an idle stroll along a secluded country
lane, I came across a strange phenomenon. In one hedge bounding the lane
was a magnificent clump of white bluebells. Almost exactly opposite, in
the other hedge, was an extensive stand of pink-purple primroses. Neither
of these minor aberrations can be considered rare, but to encounter two
examples simultaneously is to challenge the laws of chance, surely.
(In my part of the country it is not unusual to
encounter tales of persons who have appeared from gateways and then disappeared
from sight without warning, and claims to have met people who obviously
belong to antiquity and are dressed accordingly are frequent; but coincidences
of deviations on the part of nature are another matter.)
In the case of the flowers I came across, it is
difficult to use the popular explanation of global warming as an excuse.
It is possible that fertilisers or pesticides applied in the course of
farming are concerned.
I can remember one location where bluebells of various
colours were mingled with triquetrous leeks (three-cornered leeks) to
compose a confusing mass of blue, pink and white. Some of the bluebells
in my garden have turned pink in the vicinity of an anthill, and this
is a simple matter of pH. And I have found that photographing a bluebell
wood is apt to produce purplish blooms in place of true blue.
Close attention is needed to distinguish between
white bluebells and triquetrous leeks in spring. Pink, purple or liver-coloured
primroses are usually attributed to cross-pollination between wild plants
and cultivars, since most are to be found in the vicinity of a churchyard
or cottage garden. In my experience some of the variants are remarkably
isolated away from civilisation, which suggests that pollen can travel
astounding distances. Meanwhile, I continue to admire the white primroses
that flourish in my own garden plots.
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