UNCOMMON WILD FLOWERS,
" rirHE rare flower," says George Gissing, " is shaped apart, in places secret, in the Artist's subtler mood : to find it is to enjoy the sense of admission to a holier precinct." Though we may qualify this fine expression of individual feeling in the knowledge that the rare flower is- oftentimes- no more the outcome of a subtler mood than her sisters freely met with, since the rare flowers of to-day were once frequent and the common flowers of to-day may be rare to-morrow, yet we all recognize that the uncommon flower, if it is beautiful, awakens almost a sense of reverence similar to that which we feel in the • presence of a gracious personality. To ramble on a day when the sunshine is a little fierce and then at evening to trace the Butterfly Orchis by its wonderful fragrance, at length coming upon its cool.white flowers shimmering in the dusk, is to believe that the hours have been spent in pilgrimage, and here is the shrine for worship.
Perhaps these moments of exaltation are seldom because we are jaded, over-wearied with the tasks that seem endless, and yet which never satisfy, which dull the sensibilities until we are truly responsive only to the unfamiliar. Who shall say that the Butterfly Orchis is lovelier or more significant than the Cowslip ? We remember, too, how in the early days of wandering white varieties of flowers were eagerly sought, pale bluebell, self-heal and many another departure from normal colouring, and how interested we always were in news of white blackbird or rook. These things, though appealing manifestations of Nature's occasional lapses, are clearly oddities, and we must confess, cheerfully though it may be, that sometimes a delight in the curious is mingled with our appreciation of beauty. Thus, wild orchids, with their fancied resemblances to insects, are deeply fascinating, gratifying as they do the desire for the curious, and yet also lessening the pangs of that hunger for beauty which in varying measure is the human heritage, impelling us we know not whither.
I If our love be not always as pure as we could wish, the uncommon flower moves the spirit of each according to the passiveness and humility in which he beholds it, and we should be ever tenderly solicitous for its welfare. Buildings and roads are unceasingly damaging the realm of Nature, and men's activities, with all their 'deliberation and design, remain in this direction frantic and ill-conceived, but it is difficult to ascertain if there is a reaLurgency for sanctuaries in _which wild flowers may be protected; as are-those-other inspiring companions of- our troubled journey. Not- infrequently one sees references to flowers as rare which are common to one's special area. Even the late Canon Vaughan, a botanist of considerable knowledge, repeatedly wrote of " the very rare Man Orchis," a description which does not at all agree with the results of my own expeditions. It is regrettably true, however, that an epidemic of bungalow building, distres- sing in its effects upon the appearance of the countryside, is- raging on some of the hill-slopes most favoured by these quaint little fellows, and in a few years one may no longer, to quote the old description, find them swinging as if some great ogre held them by the hair. One remembers also that considerable prominence was given in the Press two years ago to a discovery of Musk Orchis as if it were an extraordinary, event, _whereas -it can be found less than fifteen miles from London, growing in company with the Pyramidal and Sweet-Scented Orchises. Nature, too, is kind enough to perform miracles in an effort to replace what we destroy, as when, a year or two ago the Lizard Orchis simultaneously reappeared in several places after a very long absence, and other extremely rare flowers have been known to recur in like unexpected manner. Certain, the Spider Orchis has gone from my fields of chief exploration, owing, I feel sure, to its station being mentioned in a local flora, ever a source of danger. as well as of enlightenment. It would be interesting if readers would communicate their experienees, without specifying places too closely, since it is important to learn if our uncommon wild flowers are in immediate danger. I noticed last year that the Bee Orchis, still, I think, " locally abundant," had attracted the attention of more excursionists than usual, and if there is any truth in the warning beloved by botanists of other days that
" Orchis cut is orchis still, Orchis plucked is orchis nil,"
we shall inevitably suffer a diminution of these beautiful flowers in the near future. It is a matter for surprise that the bluebells return each year in apparently undiminished masses, when one witnesses the rough treatment to which they are subjected on their special Sunday. Is there any more pathetic sight in the flower world than that long trail of surplus loveliness disdained ?
Ancient handbooks reveal that many specimens have vanished either from particular areas or completely, but whatever be the actual present position with regard to our uncommon wild flowers, a keen observer may, within the course of the year, still find some flower new to Mtn, whose existence in the district searched he did not suspect, and this without resorting to the technical distinctions of thorough-going botanists. For rarities such as the variously named Blue Cowslip, Frog-bit, Fritillary, Snowflake, Spiderwort, Lady's Tresses and the St. Jacob's Ladder (some common, perhaps, to privileged readers) one must go further afield, but the town dweller of limited leisure may make discoveries healing in their freshness, modest though they may be in comparison with those named above. Such flowers are to be found in the neighbourhood of London, meekly challenging as it were that encroaching civilization which, so far, has proved but a poor friend to things of beauty. The seeker will not now find Lilies of the Valley on Hampstead Heath or a rare Mallow where stood Tyburn's Tree, but fifteen miles from the City, and not far from the Musk Orehis previously mentioned, he may find the Blue Pimpernel, as much of a would- be weather prophet as the common Scarlet. I do not know if the distinction between Greater and Lesser Butterfly Orchis is a valid one, but there is a marked difference in the size of specimens to be found in this locality. Further away grows, although not regularly, the Adonis or Pheasant's Eye, most cheerful of flowers, excepting possibly the brave little Speedwell. Three minutes' walk from where the traffic makes noisy progress on a main road the Bird's-nest Orchis, with its rather unwholesome suggestion of decay, grows sparsely and the Fly Orchis freely. The Round-Leaved Sundew can scarcely be called uncommon, but after searching for it on the wilds of Dartmoor, I was agreeably surprised to come upon its insectivorous flowers thirteen miles from London. The Green Hellebore and the allied Setter-Wort, in both of which insects may also be found entrapped, are to be found in two easily accessible places, but I noticed early in the year that a broad drive has taken the place of a former tangled path and that much of the Green Hellebore has disappeared in the process. Here, also, grow clumps of the Foetid Iris, whose richly
coloured seeds provide a striking decoration in winter. A White Mallow was presumably an " escape," to borrow a term from botanists, a term which would also explain, more or less satisfactorily, the Deptford Pinks, White Violets, Columbines and the Snowdrops which have made their home on a wooded bank ; but this cold dis- missal of their claim to wildness does not lessen the pleasure of the unscientific discoverer, himself probably also a delighted " escape " on that one day of the week.
I leave the flowers which can still be found within walking distance of London suburbs to mention in conclusion the flower which most stands out in my memory. Many Nature lovers I suppose have had a similar experience, impressing unforgettably on their memories flower or tree, bird or animal. I was on holiday
at the time of its discovery and put a spray in my ruck- sack, but it was too delicate to survive such treatment and speedily withered. A delicate white cup veined with crimson, I thought at the time that it must be a kind of Crane's-bill, subsequent inquiries strengthened the belief, but I offer no decided opinion. Apart from the fragile loveliness making the flower memorable in any event, it remains clear from an added reason. I found it in the afternoon shyly nestling in luxuriant grass, long after that hour in the morning when I came to an old track, out of use and therefore inviting. Pro- ceeding by it I came to a deserted farmhouse, obviously unoccupied for years. Empty houses, if decay has made an appearance, are always depressing, and here to emphasize decay was loneliness, with outcrops of granite sullenly asserting that barrenness was the rightful condition of the land. It was when I reached the field adjoining the house on the further side that I was startled. Here, close together, were two mounds of familiar shape. Whether they were unmarked graves or not I do not know, but this was the first impression and it remains. Strange things could easily happen at that spot even now, and fifty or a hundred years ago how much more. In the afternoon, ten or fifteen miles away, I came upon the beautiful unknown flower, and the two discoveries so opposite in character and each to me unique of its kind are inseparably linked in my memory.
PERCY RIPLEY.
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