Bluebells are a sight to behold during May

There will be bluebells growing under the big trees 

And you will be there and I will be there in May.

These are the opening line of Patrick Kavanagh’s poem, Bluebells for Love. Kavanagh had the fine knack of reflecting on the ordinary and transforming it into poetry – a bit like what a tasty tradesman might do with a piece of timber or a great musician might do with a tune.

I can easily imagine why these wildflowers of late spring inspired Kavanagh; their resilience and beauty are quite remarkable. Their ever-faithful appearance each year, along the tributaries of the Moy and in the wooded areas of the Ox Mountains, is a sight to behold.

Wild Thing 

True bluebells are wild and native to western Europe. They are mostly associated with ancient woodland and indeed their presence in woodland is an indication that that particular place has remained undisturbed for a long time. Within a setting like this, the bluebell is allowed to put on its finest display; a blue scented carpet, a living breathing work of art. If you are aware of such a setting at this time of year, go there and fill up your senses.

Bluebells also grow wild along hedges and in abandoned fields. They propagate easily but be aware of the Spanish bluebell, which is not native, and other hybrid verities that may be for sale in garden centres. The likelihood of cross breeding with these non-native species could, in time, impact on our native populations.

Bluebells reproduce in two different ways; by seed and by natural vegetative propagation (bulb offsets). While the bluebell is a resilient little fellow and is protected under law, its future survival is not guaranteed. Their main threat comes from the possible destruction of their natural woodland environment. As mentioned earlier, it is also under threat from cross-breeding with non-native varieties and from an illegal trade in collecting wild bulbs.

The native bluebell is usually a deep violet-blue in colour. The flowers are bell-shaped with six petals with up-turned tips. These sweet-smelling flowers droop to one side of the stem and have cream-coloured pollen inside. Some wild bluebells can even be white or pink. Many insects benefit from bluebell flowers which appear earlier in the season than many other plants. Butterflies and bees both feed on their nectar.

Talk of the fairies 

The delicate, yet attractive bluebell has given rise to countless folk tales and talk of the fairies. Bluebell woods are believed to be places of enchantment. Misbehaving in such a place, including picking the bluebells themselves, could lead an unsuspecting visitor astray, to be left evermore in a state of wandering.

On the other hand, in the language of flowers, the bluebell is a symbol of humility, constancy, gratitude and everlasting love. It is said that if you could manage to turn a bluebell inside-out without tearing it, you will gain true love. And here is one for our times; if you wear a wreath of bluebells, you will only be able to tell the truth. Would that some of our world leaders were so festooned.

Besides their aesthetic beauty, it seems bluebells have their uses - or at least they had in the past. Their sticky sap was once used to bind the spines of books or to glue feathers onto arrows. The bulbs of the bluebell were once crushed to make starch for the ruffs of collars and sleeves. Interestingly, despite its toxicity, research continues based on the possibility that the bluebell may have a role to play in fighting cancer.

May Altar 

Among my earliest memories is one of my father, arriving back to the house with a freshly picked little bunch of bluebells to be placed at the May Altar - he seemed to have some immunity given to him by the fairies for committing such an offence. Our little altar was positioned outside but more frequently, such displays were within the home. Sr Jo Anne Kelly, writing for the Medical Missionaries of Mary in 2024, gives a lovely account of the May Altar tradition and how it was experienced in her home.

When I was a child, it was traditional for every house to have a May Altar in the month of May. It was the month dedicated to Mary, Mother of God. My mother had a special devotion to the Blessed Virgin Mary so it was special for all of us. There was great excitement about preparing the May Altar. In country houses like ours, some families had the altar in the kitchen but ours was in a bedroom. A special white starched linen cloth covered the top of a chest of drawers. In the centre was the statue of our Lady on either side of which was a candlestick with candle and tall glass vases.

While the wildflowers most associated with the May Altar were yellow May Flowers, the beautifully scented bluebell often paid tribute to Mary as well, their contrast only adding to a display where their blue complimented the blue of Mary’s cloak.

Another memory of spring flowers that I treasure is hearing the hymn, Bring Flowers of the Rarest, which we had at home on an old 78 record. The singer was Sydney MacEwan, a Scottish tenor who later became a priest and indeed, a canon. My father loved the hymn and loved the singer. Approaching home, with his bunch of bluebells, tied with a wisp of grass, would put my father in mind of the hymn and he would sing it with delight as he filled a small jam pot with water, creating an improvised vase for Mary’s blue bouquet.

Bring flow'rs of the fairest, bring flow'rs of the rarest, 

from garden and woodland and hillside and dale; 

our full hearts are swelling, our glad voices telling 

the praise of the loveliest Rose of the Vale.

Along the Moy 

This time of year, there is joy to be found in a walk along a mountain riverbank. In May, before the grass gets too invasive and before the canopy closes in, the hardy bluebell makes its appearance. Its bed of sand and leaf mould may have been disturbed by winter floods or the passing hooves of winter sheep, but the bluebells stand firm. 

It is a flower that does not feel the need for public approval; content as it is to simply be there for the first butterflies and the early bees. Stumble upon such a patch and you will be transfixed; all your senses will be instantly awakened. Wait there and be still, so as not to frighten the bluebells… or the fairies who live among them.

We will be interested in the grass, 

In an old bucket-hoop, in the ivy that weaves 

Green incongruity among dead leaves.

We will put on surprise at carts that pass- 

Only sometimes looking sideways at the bluebells in the plantation, 

And never frighten them with too wild an exclamation.

Patrick Kavanagh – Bluebells for Love.