The magic of spring daffodils

I’ve always loved daffodils. Their powerful fragrance is Spring in a nutshell: breathing it in makes me think instantly of blue skies and the electric green of new leaves and grass bursting into life.

They were out in full bloom in the garden today in all shades of cream, butter-yellow and deep gold, back-lit by the dazzling sunlight of early spring. The sight reminded me of a passage from The Eagle of the Ninth, one of my favourite books of all time (which should definitely be on your quarantine to-read list if it isn’t already):

“It was a wild day of blustering wind and thin, shining rain, and the little native daffodils in the rampart curve tossed and streamed before the gusts like points of wind-blown flame, with the shrill sunshine slanting through their petals …

…Behind them, in the bare swaying branches of the wild pear-tree, a blackbird with a crocus-coloured bill burst into song, and the wind caught and tossed the shining notes down to them in a shower. They turned together to look up at the singer, swaying against the cold blown blue of the sky. Marcus narrowed his eyes into the thin dazzle of sunlight and whistled back, and the blackbird, bowing and swaying on the wind-blown branch, its throat swelling with an ecstasy of song, seemed to be answering him.”

Rosemary Sutcliffe, The Eagle of the Ninth (1954)

The Eagle of the Ninth tells the tale of a young Roman soldier who, with his British former slave, makes a dangerous quest beyond the Wall to find out what happened to his father’s missing legion. The plot is cracking, but what I love most about the book is Sutcliffe’s exquisite descriptions of light in a 2000-year-old borders landscape that seems achingly familiar, brought dazzlingly to life by the prose. To me, this extract captures the windswept freshness of April showers; the icy chill of winter mingling with irrepressible signs of spring erupting on all sides. The combination of wind, rain and sunlight lighting up the daffodils was clearly just as exhilerating for Sutcliffe over 60 years ago as it is to me today.

Right on the cusp of wild fell, all that separates my garden from the rough heathland grasses beyond is a rickety old fence. A cold upland breeze often sweeps through the garden, rattling the branches of the magnolia tree and sending dead oak leaves from last autumn scattering in all directions. But the hardy daffodils pop up again every year in a profusion of light, yellow heads bobbing under the silky buds of the magnolia. So here are some daffodils to brighten the day – there are plenty more still in bud, so they’ll be here to enjoy for a while yet.

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Cover image: author and sister picking daffodils, April 2003 (photo credits: Simon Fraser – https://www.simonfraserphoto.com/).