Among the blooming legends of field and hedgerow is an enchanting, near ubiquitous plant that is seen, admired and forgotten. The prettiest of flowers with the ugliest of appellations, its unfortunate name after an unpleasant medical condition might explain why it is so rarely lauded. If bluebells had been found to have pandemic-busting properties, would we then say woods in spring are carpeted with covids? Such an unkind fate has befallen the field scabious.
These bobbing barometers of the breeze on overlong stalks are bunched like florists’ sprays along a bare remnant of hedge. No two plants are alike for they cannot agree on a colour – will they show blue, pink or lilac? Not that the insects care. Last month, I inhaled a noseful of vanilla and a dozen or so black pollen beetles, sucked up out of the folds of a floret.
