How to explain such intensity of colour? Derbyshire’s dales were rich with it, banks of red campion set against pale blue drifts of forget-me-nots at a scale I don’t remember ever seeing before; butterburs hazy with insects, patches of paper-white stitchwort. Perhaps the spring, so long coiled, and the run of fine weather that greeted its late arrival had squeezed more vibrancy than usual into these last few days.
Looking down into Coombs Dale it was the same story. The night had been cold, and long after dawn the sun was still stripping the last shreds of mist from the valley.
On the far side, where the hawthorn thinned near the crest of the slope, banks of bluebells lingered on against patches of yellow gorse. The real treasures were closer, the grass at my feet peppered all around with clumps of early purple orchids, still with their first fresh scent, even now, deep into May.
Coombs Dale has a strange energy, especially towards its top at Longstone Edge, where grazing and quarrying have left the landscape wearied and bare. Yet the cowslips are thriving on patches of restored land that are fenced off from the ravenous sheep. Above me was a broad sweep of them, lemon yellow at a distance, like a cheerful children’s hymn, more complex up close, the inside of the flowers spotted orange. Shakespeare, in A Midsummer Night’s Dream, called these delicate touches “fairy favours”, the secret of the flower’s scent.
Best of all were the small patches of cuckooflower (Cardamine pratensis), a name it shares, in some districts, with campion and stitchwort. It may be common, but it has a simple delicacy, four white flowers deepening to pink, the thin stem and spare flourish of its leaves. It’s also widely known as lady’s smock, which would have earned a knowing wink from Shakespeare’s audience, since “smock” means a woman in the way “skirt” does, and who knew what might happen in the warm spring sunshine after the dark days of winter.
Further south it flowers long before the cuckoo’s return, but here it seems about right, though there was no cuckoo calling, just a stopping of the breeze and the rich song of a blackbird to fill the sudden quiet.
• The main picture on top of this article was changed later in the day on 25 May 2018.
