Sunday 9th June 2019

I have been snapping orchids for some seven or eight years now, and for the most part, it is a solitary pursuit, although Jools does come along from time to time, she for the majority of the time, does something else whilst I snap away.

There have been meets from time to time, and I have shown people around to a particular site, but the thought of arranging a meeting where a group of people were to gather and see a single spike, at a fragile location, seemed a bit daft.

But there is always something, a situation, that breaks the rules.

So it was on Sunday, when I arranged to have a meeting over the border in Sussex where a colony of Bee orchids, were of a pale green or lightly coloured var. flavecens variety. Instead of being a rarity, these outnumber regular coloured and marked spikes, many times over. Its on a reserve, growing next to a wide concreted path, seemed an ideal opportunity.

So, I created a meeting on Facebook, and waited whilst the orchids grew, and for me, nervously waiting for reports from the site of the spikes I saw the year before would show again. And then there was the weather.

Saturday had been cool and windy, and for macro we needed still weather, with sunny too if I could get it. To make matters worse, a dozen or more said they were coming along, so the pressure was one.

But with the internet and the orchid network there is, I soon saw pictures of the white bees, already in flower, earlier in the week; great news.

And Sunday dawned clear and warm, with hardly any wind; it was going to be a fine day.

We get up early, and I make bacon butties, with extra thick slices from the butchers, which really did the trick.

Those eaten, and we cleaned up, we loaded the car and set course westwards, towards Ashford, then over the Romney Marsh to Sussex.

The Marsh is like a little piece of Norfolk plonked in Kent, all drainage ditches and canals, keeping the ground well drained. And as in Norfolk, the roads don’t go in straight lines, even though the flatness of the countryside would allow it, the road bends this way and that, until we cross over into Sussex, by way of two hairpin bends, slowing traffic down to a walking pace.

And we had to pick up someone from Rye Station, she arrived on the quarter to nine train, and was waiting for us as we pulled up outside the station.

From there it was a fine minute drive to Rye Harbour and the nature reserve, where a lot of photographers were waiting, milling around, waiting for me to lead them.

And I was born to lead.

Maybe.

At nine, they gather round, and I introduce myself, not as Brian Jones, and I have to admit to them, I am not a Bishop either. I explain about the site and the colony of rare orchids.

All happy, we set off, and in a few minutes, we arrive where I could see the spikes, they had all failed to see them. So I pointed out one, then another and another, and so on.

Bee orchids, with sepals of white and lips of green.

Everywhere.

The others were all thrilled. I mean overjoyed, as was I, just not to have let them down. I know nothing can be guaranteed, but still.

There is a huge amount of things to do, mainly so I can do what I want to, and then Jools can go and visit her brother and Jen in the afternoon.

That is the plan.

We nip along the road to Wincheslea, not going to visit Pike’s grave this time, just to see the Wall Pennywort in bloom on the churchyard wall.

That done, we drive to Ashford, with me trying to predict the weather as if the conditions at Hothfield would be worth it. If you looked one way, there seemed to be clear blue skies, whilst 90 degrees in either directions, there were black and brooding clouds threatening rain.

Oh well, nearly there now, so may as well go through it.

Growing on the only acid bog in Kent is a large colony of a nationally common orchid, the Heath Spotted, but found nowhere else in Kent, and with work always getting in the way, and other orchids to visit in the weekends following, I really had to get this one out of the way.

Good thing is, that knowing where the spikes grow and are best, means in an out in half an hour, with several hundred shots in the bag, and on the way back home before half eleven.

We have fruit for lunch, Jools then goes out visiting, and I stay behind to tidy up, write and then watch the England game on TV before the final later.

We have griddled chicken and fried potatoes for dinner, with pink fizz!

It is great.

England win, on penalties, then eyes down for the main event, Portugal v Holland, with the hosts winning out, by which time it was bed time, and almost time to travel again….