Spring - And Hope Returns...

Where I live on the South Coast of Sussex it has been an uneasy Spring, with early signs of warmth followed by colder spells as if Winter were unwilling to relinquish its grip on the land.

Millions of Daffodils died unharvested on commercial farms, unable to find the human labour to pick these early harbingers of spring.

We have had Crocuses, and I have seen for myself the Bluebells in our ancient woodland. I have had my spies keeping lookout for the perfect time to visit, just on the edge of the small town in which I live.

And my spies reported this week that they had heard a Cuckoo, a sound they had not heard for some time, fearing it had perhaps gone away for good.

It makes the heart feel good to see and hear the sights and sounds of Spring, after Winter has kept us in our homes.

I sometimes wonder if Spring is universal, and if the same sights and sounds greet all of mankind after the Winter. I know that in the northern hemisphere the perturbation of the earth in its cycle brings Spring to all of us, but differently I am sure.

I was shocked to hear recently that in Australia they do not have Bluebells, though they have seen them in pictures. I cannot imagine the Spring without Sluebells. But then, I live in England, and my sight is partial.

It would be sad if the Gulf Stream ceased its warming, as has happened before. 300 years ago. The Thames froze, and Ice Fairs were held upon the ice. Stradivarius made his violins from the close-grained timber that grew in spite of the cold.

It lasted 100 years, that mini ice-age, a long-time to wait for Spring. In Narnia, the White Queen froze the land for 100 years, 100 years of winter without a Christmas. A story spellbinding for adults as well as children, though Spring did come, when Aslan was on the move.

Spring brings hope, for a season of growth and new life from the old. Let us hope that Spring is finally here, and that Summer will follow, and if the urban poor no longer spend their holidays picking hops in Kent, where perhaps my own parents found their first furtive kiss, then at least the farmers will have cause to celebrate another harvest gathered in.