This evening at some friends' house enjoying a glass of wine and some olives and watching the sun go down over their cherry tree, my glance fell on some bluebells growing beside the path. As you know from my post from last year, or if you're new readers I'll tell you now that most of the world's bluebells grow in Britain and it is very unusual to see them elsewhere.
Our friends explained that the bluebells were brought back from Scotland in 1945. Their father had been a prisoner of war in Scotland and had fallen in love not only with the Scottish lassies but also with the bluebells. He had planted the bluebells and the whole family considered them an heirloom. Each year a member of the family would take a cutting and now everyone had bluebells in their gardens.
What a lovely symbol of hope and friendship.
It filled my heart with such joy and happiness to see bluebells on an April evening in an Italian garden brought from Scotland with love.
This poem by Leigh Hunt (1784-1859) tells us that it is almost a duty for us to enjoy all the blossoms and the humming and buzzing of the new life around us in both the city and the countryside.
May, thou month of rosy beauty, May, when pleasure is a duty, Month of bees, and month of flowers, Month of blossom-laden bowers, Month of little hands with daisies, Lovers' love and poets' praises, O thou merry month complete, May, thy very name is sweet! May's the blooming hawthorn bough; May's the month that's laughing now.
This poem by Tennyson (1809-1892) is called The May Queen
You must wake and call me early, call me early, mother dear,
Tomorrow'll be the happiest time of all the glad New Year,
Of all the glad New Year mother, the maddest merriest day,
For I'm to be Queen of the May, mother, I'm to be Queen of the May.
The honeysuckle round the porch has woven it's wavy bowers,
And by the meadow-trenches blow the faint sweet Cuckoo flowers
And the wild marsh-marigold shines like fire, in swamps and hollows grey,
And I'm to be Queen of the May mother, I'm to be Queen of the May.
The night winds come and go mother, upon the meadow-grass,
And the happy stars above them, seem to brighten as they pass,
There will not be a drop of rain, the whole of the livelong day,
And I'm to be Queen of the May mother, I'm to be Queen of the May,
All the valley, mother,'ill be fresh and green and still,
And the cowslip and the crowfoot are over all the hill,
And the rivulet in the flowery dale 'ill merrily glance and play
For I'm to be Queen of the May, mother, I'm to be Queen of the May.
So you must wake and call me early,call me early, mother dear,
Tomorrow'll be the happiest day of all the glad New Year,
Of all the glad New Year, mother,the maddest, merriest day,
For I'm to be Queen of the May, mother, I'm to be Queen of the May.
Britain is home to more than half of the world's population of Bluebells. I didn't know that while I was growing up and playing in the Beech woods near my home and marvelling at the carpet of blue that looked like the sea and went so perfectly with the fresh green of the new beech leaves.I just thought they were beautiful. We would pick them and take them home and arrange them together in a big earthenware vase. Now they are a protected species and no-one would dream of picking them. There are hundreds of Bluebell woods all over Britain. Last week my cousin told me that she had been on a beautiful Bluebell and cowslip walk. Cowslips had all but disappeared but are now thriving again due to a ban on picking wild flowers and re-introducing them to woodland areas. Bluebells and cowslips are two of the flowers that my mum loved best and I associate them so much with her.She was like them. When I came to live in Italy I missed that wonderful two weeks when they are in full bloom and make you so aware of the wonder of creation. When my daughter got married our new Italian relatives came to Britain and marvelled at the bluebells. Actually they really gasped in wonder as they walked through the bluebell woods, breathing in their scent and looking up at the shafts of sunlight piercing the new foliage. Then my daughter's mother-in-law told us that she had got some in her garden back in Italy.Her father-in-law had been a prisoner of war in Britain and had bought some bluebell bulbs back to Italy with him.He'd probably get a fine today. Now every year she makes a point of me going to see them while they are at their best. Earlier than in Britain, as the warm weather starts earlier,so they are over now. The beautiful show of the Bluebell woods only lasts a couple of weeks and seems to me like the crowning glory of spring before she waves her hand to us and makes way for summer.
On Sundays we would often listen to Kenneth McKellar a Scottish singer, we all loved Scotland and we all loved being reminded of the heather and the highlands. My mum sang this song called the Bluebells of Scotland to me. It has a haunting melody and the words must surely reach the heart of any lassie that has had to bid farewell to her laddie, and sought solace in a bluebell wood.
Here are the words as my mum sang them.
The Bluebells of Scotland
Oh Where? Tell me where is your Highland laddie gone. Oh where? Tell me where is your Highland laddie gone. He's gone with streaming banners where noble deeds are done And he's so in my heart, I wish him safe at home Oh where? tell me where did your Highland laddie dwell. Oh where? Tell me where did your highland laddie dwell He dwelt in Bonnie Scotland where bloom the sweet bluebells And he's so in my heart I rue my laddie well Oh what? Tell me what should your Highland laddie slay. Oh what? Tell me what should your Highland laddie slay Oh so though love will be his guide and bring him safe again And so my heart would break if my Highland laddie were slayed He's gone with streaming banners where noble deeds are done And he's so in my heart, I wish him safe at home.
Bluebells are also known as wild hyacinths, here there is also red campion
A little moorhen or coot, perhaps his name is Danny
In spite of the torrential rain today the birds were all singing their hearts out. Listening to them was a constant reminder of how busy they are with their nests and preparing for their young. Blackbirds were eagerly snatching titbits from the wet earth and flying back to their nests to make sure Mrs. Blackbird was well fed. Swans were on parade keeping unwanted company well away from their nests. Ducks were swimming around in pairs and keeping the little ones tucked away in the rushes. All the trees looked fresh and green, the clear birdsong and the promise of all the new life hatching out, April is a very lively month.
Here is a poem by Thomas Hardy about the joyful sound of the spring birdsong
Proud Songsters
The thrushes sing as the sun is going
And the finches whistle in ones and pairs,
And as it gets dark loud nightingales in bushes
Pipe, as they can when April wears,
As if all Time were theirs.
These are brand-new birds of twelve- months growing
On this lovely sunny day I was walking round an orchard admiring the trees which still had some blossim, new leaves and the first signs of the succulent fharvest of fruit they will yield. There were peaches,plums,apples,Nespole,pears and apricots.
,
Apple blossom
Even before I knew what it meant I loved the words Tutti Frutti, it was used to describe the flavour for one of my favourite ice-creams. There was a song called Tutti Frutti too in the Fifties that I liked bobbing around to. Today wandering among the fruit trees in the orchard it was a joy to see the first signs of the fruit that is to come.
The Blackbird, Turdus merula merula Linn
The Observer book of birds describes the blackbird as a songster second to none
Chocolate nests - an Easter treat
A little blackbird lives near me . Every evening he sits on the aerial on my neighbour's roof and sings his heart out. He has a rich, sweet, full whistle. When I hear him sing I feel it is like a golden musical ribbon winding it's way round the world, across the centuries and somehow it's a sound that goes through me and all the people I love, binding us together. As often happens, Mother Nature has given the male a splendid midnight black plumage and a brilliant crocus yellow bill. The female is dark brown with a black tail and brown bill.
Their eggs are greenish- blue and speckled with brown. It is quite easy to spot a few broken shells near a hedge once the baby birds have hatched. The blackbird is a Resident bird. I really like knowing that he won't go away, he keeps me company
.Here is a short poem that Thomas Hardy wrote about a blackbird., building his nest.
' I Watched a Blackbird'
I watched a blackbird on a budding sycamore,
One Easter Day, when sap was stirring twigs to the core,
I saw his tongue and crocus-coloured bill,
Parting and closing as he turned his trill
Then he flew down, seized on a stem of hay,
And upped to where his building scheme was under way,
As if so sure a nest was never shaped on spray.
I made some chocolate Easter nests today while listening to the blackbird serenade me.
Chocolate nests
200g chocolate
70g butter
150g Allbran and Rice Krispies
Sugar coated eggs
Melt the chocolate with the butter over a very low heat. Stir until creamy and then tip in the cereal mixture. The Allbran gives a twiggy effect , like a nest. Spoon into cupcake cases and place a sugar- coated egg in the centre of each one.
Most of the time the Italian sky is a brilliant deep blue , all year round. The same colour as the shirt of the Italian National Football team.. In Spring however there can be a bit more movement in the sky and April is probably the best month to see clouds scudding across , to be able to watch the shapes changing and fantasize about what you can see there. Maybe a lion, E.T or an orchestra director, let your imagination run wild.
On an Italian television programme on Sunday', Che tempo che fa, 'the presenter, Fabio Fazio interviewed an Italian astronaut, Major Luca Parmitano. He tried to describe the sensations of being in space, of what the blackness of space looks and feels like. He showed photos of the earth taken from space. When he showed Italy it was upside- down. He said when you are in space north and south have no importance.
Watching the clouds in the sky today I sang Judy Collins "Both sides now". In my head of course. I loved this song when I was growing up. Whenever I hear it, the whole of my youth comes flooding back. Here are the words, for those that can't see my link . It is a lovely nostalgic song, just right for looking at the clouds on a bright,sunny April day.
The sunlight shining through the fresh green of the new leaves
It is a wonderful feeling to be able to walk down a country lane that is few minutes walk from a busy city centre . Yesterday the cuckoo kept us company. Looking at all the fresh green, the shrubs and blossom, even poppies seems to bring out the best in everybody. It was probably on a day like this that Alfred Tennyson wrote this verse while walking along a country lane.
Flower in the crannied wall, I pluck you out of the crannies, I hold you here, root and all, in my hand, Little flower-but if I could understand What you are, root and all, and all in all, I should know hat God and man is.
More crannied flowers
An Italian lane in Springtime, just outside the busy city centre
Garden birds are used to decorate gifts at a wildlife centre
Wise old owl and baby
Blue tits love bacon rind and peanuts
On a sunny spring morning like today my Dad would often recite a poem that starts like this. For me it was another sign that spring was here.
Spring has sprung
The grass has riz
I wonder where
Them birdies iz
I looked it up and it seems to have originated in Boston, Massachusetts.
The birdies certainly are back in town after their winter holidays in the sun. The dawn chorus was out in force this morning. On a nature programme once I heard a delightful story about how pairs of birds had been monitored to study their migration habits. One species of bird, I can't remember which, was particularly interesting. The female had spent the winter in Spain whereas the male had been to Iceland. Come springtime they had flown back to the same place and mated again, the same couple.
I could imagine her packing her suitcase with bikini and sunglasses and waving him goodbye while he muttered something about hating lolling about on a beach, he was off to Iceland to see the sights there. When it came to the important stuff they were back together again.
Here in Italy now we are listening out for the cuckoo. My friends who visit us from Britain are always amazed by how many cuckoos you can hear in Italy. It is probably their first stopover and the first sun they really get to feel on their backs and their song is a sure sign that summer is round the corner.
The cuckoo gets its name from the sound it makes
My Dad and Mum used to sing this song and I sang it to my children and now to my grandchildren.
The cuckoo is a pretty bird, She singeth as she flies, She bringeth us good tidings She telleth us no lies And all the time she singeth Cuckoo, cuckoo The summer draweth nigh.
Thomas Hardy mentions the cuckoo in his poem Weathers. Now Thomas Hardy is probably better known as the author of Tess of the D'Urbervilles and Jude the Obscure but poetry was his first love. Here is the first verse:
This is the weather the cuckoo likes,
And so do I;
When showers betumble the chestnut spikes,
And nestlingd fly;
And the little brown nightingale bills his best,
And they sit outside at "The Travellers'Rest",
And maids come forth sprig-muslin drest,
And citizens dream of the south and west,
And so do I.
These two little birds from an original drawing by Little Lou, are all loved up for spring
Spring and Autumn are the two seasons which are most alike in Britain and Italy. Italian summers are much hotter and the hours of sunshine longer, Italian Winters are much colder than in Britain, even though there is still a lot of sunshine, hence the fur coat and sunglasses look that suits Italian women so well. There are more extremes of climate in Italy. Spring, though warmer on the whole than England can be temperamental here too. In the morning you can step out in bright sunshine and then suddenly clouds will scud across the sky like children in the playground and there will be April showers here too. In Shakespeare's lively play "The two gentlemen of Verona^ he likens Spring to young love.
Oh, how the spring of love resembleth The uncertain glory of an April day! Which now shows all the beauty of the sun And by and bye a cloud takes all away.
Two Gentlemen of Verona is the one about Valentine, Silvia, Proteus and Julia. The story is as relevant to young people today as it was then. Moving away from home, falling in love, falling in love with your friend's girlfriend.
So have a lovely day and take your umbrella with you.
Italian blossom
English cow parsley
An original oil painting by the Italian artist Angela Albera, entitled "Spring"
