“March is the month of expectation, the things we do not know.”
– Emily Dickinson
Last weekend, I went for a quick wander in Wayland Wood. This patch of ancient woodland is at its best in spring. It’s apparently the largest woodland in South Norfolk; I’m assuming that Thetford Forest doesn’t count because it’s plantation. It also has a recorded history going back to the Domesday Book in 1086. There is a bank and ditch surrounding it that is probably medieval in origin, along with a secondary bank and ditch surrounding an extension area, which is also medieval. There are also ponds and hollows in one area of the wood which are from a later date.
The wood is also Watton’s only claim to fame as it’s thought to be the origin of the Babes in the Wood story, in which two children are abandoned in a wood by their uncle. They wander until they die, at which time they are covered with leaves by robins. It’s a cheerful tale … as are so many traditional fairy tales.
Native trees abound, such as Oak, Ash, Willow, Bird Cherry, and Hornbeam. There is also a large central area made up of coppiced Hazel. In spring, Primroses, Early Dog Violets, Wood Anemone and Celandines splash patches of colour everywhere. As the year progresses, these are replaced by Early Purple Orchids and a luxurious carpet of Bluebells. Rarities such as Yellow Star-of-Bethlehem can also be found here, although I haven’t seen it for a couple of years; probably because the area I normally look has grown quite tall and light levels are correspondingly reduced.
O, it came o’er my ear like the sweet sound, That breathes upon a bank of violets.
– Duke Orsino, ‘Twelfth Night’
In early spring, Honeysuckle vines twine through the undergrowth, their leaves edged in bright sunlit green, giving the whole area a magical, fairytale feel. Pignut creates green lace overlaying the brown crunch of last year’s leaves. The purple flowers of Ground Ivy creep along fallen branches. Barren Strawberry brings little pops of white into the dim light of the paths.
So doth the woodbine the sweet honeysuckle gently entwist.
– Titania, ‘A Midsummer Night’s Dream’
The Dogwood twigs are tipped with bright crimson buds, which split to release reddish green leaf buds. And everywhere, everywhere, there are the glossy, yellow sunshine flowers of Lesser Celandine, watery yellow Primroses, and the sturdy green leaves of the upcoming Bluebells.
Himself the primrose path of dalliance treads, And recks not his own rede.
– Ophelia, ‘Hamlet’
I sit, perched on the trunk of a huge fallen tree, watching the Buzzards wheel overhead, listening to the chorus of Robins (perhaps they’re waiting for me to die so they can cover me with leaves … a chilling thought), trying to catch a glimpse of the Greater Spotted Woodpecker that I can hear drumming in a nearby tree and soaking in the spring. Until I soak it in a bit too much, sneeze non-stop for ten minutes and hurriedly escape to the sanctuary of my car, which is marginally less pollen saturated.
absolutelynotnormal 