It’s been one of those weeks, what with illnesses and birthdays marking another year slipping away. After the Saturday superstore shop in Newtownards, I’ve had enough. I need a break from life’s noise. Now. The solution is under (or rather above) my nose. Looming over the carpark is Scrabo, a volcanic plug topped by the impressively phallic Londonderry memorial.
Ten minutes later I’ve parked the car beside the entrance to Scrabo’s woodland. Before diving in, I admire the view: to the east and south the entirety of Strangford Lough and to the west and north the fertile drumlin plain running to Belfast and the Mournes.
These woods were planted mid-19th century to disguise the remains of ancient sandstone quarries. This explains the steep climbs, overhangs and altar-like stones that characterise the walk. Although the day is glorious, recent rains mean the odd rivulet on the slopes and a floor akin to a baker’s soggy bottom. On the route I encounter frenetic springer spaniels, an old Bernese mountain dog whose best climbing days are clearly behind him, and an occasional jogger.
Largely beech, the trees are in their springtime beauty, the canopy’s new growth contrasting with the grey of old wood and the slow decay of uprooted trees. Above the treeline is a bounty of perfumed whin, which crowns the plug, and ox-eye daisies are repopulating the few patches of open grass.
But what promted this visit is a memory of bluebells. For me, like birthdays, bluebells are a marker of years passing and magnificent swathes of the jewels add sapphire depths to the woodland shade, and aquamarine highlights where sunlight filters through the canopy. I wander through them, using the smaller tributary paths that spread from the well-worn trails. In one clearing, where you might imagine fairies dwell, common celandine provides a carpet of support beneath the bluebells. I rest here for a while.
My last visit to Scrabo was with my now ex-partner, who lives at the other end of Ireland. His mother is also ill. It’s been quite the week for him, too, and I think of him fondly today. We share a love of walking and bluebells and escaping life’s noise.
