Dancing with daffodils
OVER in Herefordshire, close to the Welsh border, the wild daffodil has made a comeback. Once, it was so common that it was picked in its tens of thousands and sent by rail on the ‘daffodil line’ to London. The much-loved harbinger of spring brought to the city its message of hope and renewal until, squeezed out by modern farming, its numbers plummeted and the few fields that remained had to be fiercely protected if the native daffodils were to survive.
Now, the efforts have been rewarded and, this year, after lockdown’s interruption, the villages of Kempley and Dymock were once again able to show their golden fields of flowers, first introduced here by the Romans. Over the border, its cousin, the equally rare Welsh daffodil, has also begun to flourish again. Its name in Welsh—cenhinen Pedr (St Peter’s leek)— links it firmly with Wales’s other horticultural symbol, the leek.
The daffodil has much wider symbolism, reaching well beyond the Principality. In China, it is still associated with good fortune and characterises the Chinese New Year. In Greek mythology, it is narcissus, the flower that was all the beautiful young man left behind when, entranced by the water’s mirroring of his own beauty, he leaned forward to kiss his face in the pool, fell in and was drowned. The Romans prized its medicinal qualities, but, in later centuries, it was seen as toxic, until today, when it is gathered in the Welsh uplands to provide galantamine to treat Alzheimer’s.
Its most enduring value is in its ever-renewed promise that winter is over and spring and summer are on the way. This has made the daffodil particularly prized in dank and dark Britain and it is not surprising that it is here that 90% of the world’s daffodils are cut.
Of these, more than three-quarters come from Cornwall, where, in 1875, on the Scilly Isles, William Trevillick dreamt up the idea of using the new steam trains to get the earliest flowers to London. He saw that daffodils grown in this, the southernmost part of the UK, bloomed earlier than near the capital. His idea was turned into an industry by local landowner Thomas Dorrien-smith and, by 1889, 198 tons of flowers were being sent annually from Penzance.
These were not native daffodils, but early cultivars and from them and imported bulbs came the huge number of different blooms bred by enthusiasts all over the country. Churchmen seem to have been notably keen on hybridisation and it was Dean Herbert who, in 1847, encouraged amateur gardeners to take up the challenge. Chief among them was the Revd George Engleheart, who produced hundreds of named varieties and even left his parish to give his life to the pursuit.
As a result of this, the daffodil season was extended as growers planted them further and further north, so the pickers would start at New Year in Cornwall and move up country until they reached Scotland in May. Brexit partially broke this well-organised routine and many daffodils were left to rot in the fields, as there was no one to cut them. Nevertheless, there can be few times when daffodils will have been more welcome than this year, after Covid and the invasion of Ukraine, when reminders of hope and renewal are so poignant.
Indeed, it’s apposite that the daffodils’ folk name is Easter lily; they are at their height now as we begin the 50 days of Easter, from Easter Sunday through to Pentecost. The humble daffodil comes into its own and, with Wordsworth, our ‘heart with pleasure fills and dances with the daffodils’.
Its most enduring value is in its everrenewed promise that winter is over