I have a small bunch of bluebells in a vase on the dining table. No doubt one of the grandchildren will tell me later that you are not supposed to pick bluebells. I don’t know whether that is actually the case any longer but certainly for quite a long time they were a protected species and as such were not to be picked.
I didn’t pick these as such. When I came back from running round the village this morning I popped down into the side garden to check on the progress of the little clump of bluebells at the top of the steps connecting the bottom garden and the side garden. It’s just one of those things I do, along with pulling up any remaining small sycamore trees that still try to take over the garden. The bluebells in the corner of the front garden are coming on nicely and the side garden bluebells had been doing the same.
This morning the clump looked as though it had been flattened. I was quite upset. Trampled? By whom? Sat on by one of the local cats who wanted a place to bask in the sun when it came out? Whatever the cause, most of the leaves were bent down and many of the flowers snapped off. Had they been just bent I might have left them to straighten up of their own accord but the stems were actually broken. So now they stand proud in a vase on the table and hopefully will open fully.
I was reminded of the time when my older sister and I went out picking bluebells. We must have been maybe 12 and 10, old enough to be allowed to go adventuring quite some distance from home. There was a place on the road leading down to Ainsdale beach where we knew bluebells grew around a boating lake. We found bluebells in abundance and came home with armfuls of them. We also came home with nettle-stung legs. In that place the best bluebells grew in the middle of nettle patches, which we ignored at the time, oblivious to the stings. We finished the day in a cool bath liberally dosed with Dettol disinfectant. Goodness knows if that is really a cure for nettle stings but we certainly didn’t have enough dock leaves to rub all over our legs!
Now, we’re a week away from coronation day and it seems that we are to be invited to join a "chorus of millions" to swear allegiance to the King and his heirs next Saturday during the coronation service. Apparently it’s the first time this has been included in one of our coronations - not that we have had a lot of coronations in recent years. We are invited to say, all of us together: “I swear that I will pay true allegiance to your majesty, and to your heirs and successors according to law. So help me God.”
Royalists, some MPs among them, are quickly declaring that it is “a lovely idea”, “bringing the nation together” and making sure we know that they will join in. Meanwhile republicans are equally quick to point out that swearing allegiance to Charles’ heirs includes swearing allegiance to Prince Andrew! Oh dear! We need to keep the radio and television turned off next Saturday I think!
I am reminded of back when I was a Brownie, and briefly a Girl Guide, and we used to hold up our right hands in salute and declare: “I promise to do my best to my duty to God and the Queen”. Do Guides and Scouts still do that? I wonder.
By the way, according to this article it will be possible for people in Kent to watch the coronation live at the cinema in the Bluewater shopping centre. Cinemas have been doing this sort of thing recently but mostly it’s been theatre productions rather than royal spectacles. So far I have not heard of Home in Manchester doing the same thing next Saturday.
Life goes on. Stay safe and well, everyone!
No comments:
Post a Comment