Page 40 of Hope and Happiness in Bluebell Wood
‘Someone is looking down kindly on you and your school, Jemima,’ I say as I gaze out of the window while I make my breakfast. ‘It looks like it’s going to be a beautiful day.’
Talking aloud was something I’d found myself doing a lot since I came to the cottage. I didn’t feel like I was talking to myself really, more to Merlin or even to my bird visitors outside. I definitely had regulars to my bird table now, and I was learning to recognise them by an odd marking on their feathers or a slightly unusual shape to their head or sometimes even their beak.
Before I’d come to Bluebell Wood all sparrows had looked the same to me, as did all blue tits or robins. But they all had their own distinctive markings if you looked closely enough, and often their own unique characteristics, too.
‘Right, Merlin,’ I say to a comfortable-looking dog who has just had his breakfast and is happily settling down to bathe in the warm sunlight flooding through the window on to one ofthe armchairs. ‘We need to get out early this morning; we don’t want to bump into anyone asking us about the school sale.’
I felt bad now that I’d told Jemima I was going to attend the sale, because of course I wasn’t. There would just be too many people, and I didn’t want to create a scene like I had at the quiz. Outdoor events with lots of people were a little easier to cope with than indoor ones, but I didn’t want to take any chances.
Today when we arrive at the wood, there is the most wonderful surprise waiting for us. ‘The bluebells have bloomed!’ I tell an unbothered Merlin, wriggling to get off the lead. ‘Aren’t they beautiful?’
But Merlin isn’t at all impressed by the carpet of blue heads bobbing gently in the breeze, so I reach down and unclip his lead from his collar, and at once he bounds off along one of the paths that keep us perfectly apart from the delicate flowers.
I follow him at a slower pace than I might normally, stopping to breathe in the heady scent of the bluebells, peppered with the odd patch of wild garlic whose tiny white clusters of flowers had already begun blooming last week.
‘Hold up, Merlin,’ I call as we reach a particularly pretty patch where the path takes a sharp bend to the left so you can see bluebells in front and behind it. ‘I want to take a photo.’
I pull my phone from my pocket, and take a few photos of the landscape in front of me. It’s absolutely glorious, a seemingly endless blue carpet of bell-like blooms. I crouch down so I can get a closer shot of the delicate flowers. Being this close to them is quite overwhelming, their scent is sweet and powerful, and for a moment I feel overcome by their natural grace and beauty. They’re so very fragile, and the way their heads bow in deference to the great trees above them is both humbling and amazing to behold.
‘You’re so small and insignificant, and yet you hold your own year after year against all these other much bigger plants that surround you,’ I whisper. ‘If only I had half your strength and determination.’
‘I’m glad to see you’re not trampling all over them to get that photo!’ I hear Callum’s voice before I see him, and his footsteps jogging along the path behind me.
‘Of course not,’ I say, standing up again. ‘I’m not that silly.’
‘You’d be surprised what people do in the name of getting a good photo to post on social media. You trample a bluebell this year and it can take years for it to fully recover from the damage to its leaves. They can’t photosynthesise properly, apparently.’
‘I know,’ I tell him. ‘I also know it’s illegal to pick them.’
‘Well done!’ Callum says without sounding patronising at all. ‘You know more than most, then.’
I don’t tell him I didn’t know any of this until I read it on the sign as you come into the wood and also in one of Evelyn’s many books.
‘I wonder how long these bluebells have been blooming here,’ I say, looking around. ‘This is ancient woodland, isn’t it?’
‘Yes, I believe so. I think it’s supposed to date back to the sixteen hundreds.’
‘Yes, that’s what I read, too.’
‘But a few folk around here think that there was a settlement here at Bluebell Wood much earlier.’
‘Really?’
‘Parts of the church definitely date to back to the twelfth century, possibly even earlier.’
‘Gosh, how interesting.’
‘Yes, I think so too. Jonah knows more than me, though. He’s always banging on at me to read more about the churchand the history of the area. There just never seems to be time, though – always something to do or somewhere to be.’
I wish I could agree with him. My life used to be exactly like that, but just recently I’ve had all the time in the world to learn new things.
‘Are you going to the sale at the school today?’ Callum asks. ‘Jemima’s hoping for a good turnout. She’s worked very hard on organising it all. I’m sure she’d appreciate your support.’
‘I was thinking about it,’ I reply as non-committally as I can. ‘Are you?’
‘I sure am. Part of the job, isn’t it, supporting local endeavours within my parish.’
I’d almost forgotten for a moment. Callum looks so attractive right now, with a slight flush to his perspiring face, and a damp T-shirt clinging to his well-shaped torso. His appearance didn’t say vicar to me at all. It said something very different. Something I was desperately trying not to think about.
