Snowdrops in St Pancras and Islington Cemetery in 2022
A series following the 72 British mini-seasons of Nature’s Calendar by Kiera Chapman, Lulah Ellender, Rowan Jaines and Rebecca Warren.
Dear Readers, I have exactly two tiny patches of snowdrops in my garden, and neither is anywhere near flowering yet – the temperatures are below freezing, and look set to stay that way for the rest of the week. And yet, even the sight of those grey-green leaves poking above the frosty soil is enough to gladden the soul. Alfred, Lord Tennyson certainly thought so…
The Snowdrop
by
Alfred, Lord Tennyson
Many, many welcomes,
February fair-maid,
Ever as of old time,
Solitary firstling,
Coming in the cold time,
Prophet of the gay time,
Prophet of the May time,
Prophet of the roses,
Many, many welcomes,
February fair-maid!
Welcome indeed, and do let me know how the snowdrops are doing if you’re in the UK, I suspect that in some places they will be under about a foot of snow, but hopefully none the worse for that.
In Nature’s Calendar, Rebecca Warren describes how ‘our’ snowdrop (Galanthus nivalis, literally ‘milk flower of the snows’ is one of twenty species (and of course these days there are hundreds, if not thousands, of variants).
Here is Galanthus elwesii, or Greater Snowdrop, from the Caucasus…
Galanthus elwesii (Photo By Schnobby – Own work, CC BY-SA 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=19185047)
This is the Pleated Snowdrop, Galanthus plicatus, from Eastern Europe and Western Asia…
Pleated snowdrop (Galanthus plicatus) Photo By V.Kotyak – Own work, CC BY-SA 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=32689756
And this is the Green Snowdrop (Galanthus woronowii) from north-eastern Turkey and the Caucasus.
Green snowdrop (Galanthus woronowii) Photo By 4028mdk09 – Own work, CC BY-SA 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=13292602
Strangely enough, snowdrops are not native to the UK – they probably came with the Romans (cue the ‘What Have the Romans Ever Done For Us’ scene from Monty Python) but as they’ve been here for over 2000 years I think we can safely view them as a welcome part of our ecosystem. They spread easily (in theory, though as my garden shows, not necessarily in practice), and there were probably drifts of snowdrops in woods across the country when they’re first mentioned by John Gerard in his 1597 herbal.
A garden full of snowdrops in Dorchester
Snowdrops seem to have a calmness and austerity that I find most soothing at this time of year. They appear pristine whatever the weather, and they just seem to get on with it, resilient and stoic. They always lighten my heart with their promise of spring.
Sadly, my snowdrops succumbed to our long drought. It is lovely seeing these pictures of them.
I’m lucky to have snowdrops in my garden,my sitting room window looks out across the road to a grass verge where many years ago myself and several neighbours clubbed together purchased and planted lots of snowdrop and daffodil bulbs, I can see today snowdrops are beginning to bloom, also a path down to the river across private land that is also covered in snowdrops, lovely to see .
I photographed the first snowdrops in full bloom on 28 December – a whole month earlier than last year, when we had a bitterly cold December. Unlike most of the country, we’ve yet to have freezing conditions and snow this winter – just one morning of light frosting on the grass.
I haven’t seen any yet, but I haven’t seen much of anything in bloom yet.