Thursday 12th May 2022

The day of the great power cut.

I knew it was coming as National Grid kept sending these automated information messages. I never clicked on "next" to see what we should do. It seemed quite straightforward, boil water on the hob, open fridge and freezers as little as possible.

And so on.

Or go on an orchid-centric road trip with the two mods from the orchid group!

Yes, that's the way to do it.

Which is why Jools was going to drive Jen's car two work, and would drive the Audi.

Arrangements had been made to pick up the boys from Ian's in Wateringbury, then we head west to Buckinghamshire.

I thought that if I was up early, I could go to Marden on the way to snap the last of the Green-wing. In the event, they are still at peak, but at seven in the morning, I had the three meadows to myself.

I was ready to leave before six, so took the chance to call in on the Late Spider site in Folkestone. I parked on the road and walked into the meadow, finding the single spike still not quite in flower, but the first flower open enough so I could see the upturned lip.

I'd count that as open.

I kidded myself.

I walked back to the car, programmed the postcode for Marden in, and set off.

As before, the road through Pluckley was closed, as were others, but I made my way nort and west, coming in time to Staplehurst.

It was a glorious morning, without a coud in the sky, and the splendour of springtide was all around. I should have stopped to drink it all in, but I was on a mission.

Nearing Marden, there was a slight mist too, diffusing the sun, but at the meadow, it was clear again.

I grabbed my camera and walked to the main meadow, then by the circular path I snapped close spikes to the path, including a pale pink one, and a couple of pure white ones. A heavy dew lay on the ground, and my feet were soon soaked, but I was enjoying myself too much to notice.

A couple of 12 car commuter trains sped by to London, seats full and heads bowed, looking at phone screens. I was outside, at one with nature.

I know who was doing it best.

I walk back to the car, and set Ian's address into the sat nav and set off the 12 miles to his house, having to cross the Medway via one of the ld pack bridges, all are single track and a traffic nightmare in the 21st century.

I chose Teeston Bridge, mainly because I was going to visit the village shop and buy supplies, so that would be asy, and before eight in the morning, the cars waiting to go north, which have to give way to those going south, can see just enough of the bridge to guess when its safe to do so.

I get across and go into the village, parking up, I notice my wet feet for the first time. Very wet indeed.

In the small shop there were no sandwiches, just snacks, so I buy two packs of Mini Cheddars, two bottles of pop and a sausage roll. I had 50 minutes before was due at Ian's, so I ate in the car and watched the world go by. I had the sausage roll and one bag of Cheddars, and was happy with that.

Ian lives the next village along, up one of the main roads that meets at the cross roads in the centre, which they are laying new pipes under, or something, so there is traffic lights and long delays. It took ten minutes to edge along the road before turning, and pulling into Ian's drive. I knew it was his due to the horse box and horse van.

I knock on the door and he answers. Terry is not here yet, so we load up Ian's gear, so when Terry arrives, we do that same for him and we are set.

All aboard the Skylark!

We drive up the kill to Wrotham, joining the M26 there and heading west. Traffic was heavy, but we made good time, cruising at 60 or 70, onto the M25 and skirting southern London's suburbs.

We were held up a couple of times, but not too bad, so once we reached Heathrow and the M4 junction, we turned onto that and went further west for ten miles, before turning off again, driving up to Marlow, which claimed to be a village, but is a small picturesque town, with suspension bridge, old houses and pubs and a traffic problem.

I had wanted to stop, but there was nowhere, so we drove on as we were three miles from the reserve.

I should have remembered the last time I came with Jools when she directed me using the directions on the reserve's website, not the postcode. But I didn't. So, in rural areas, postcodes cover a wide area, and after arriving where the sat nav said, there was no reserve.

We drove on and nothing looked familiar.

Then I remembered.

I looked at the website on my phone: turn right at the Dog and Badger pub it said. So we set directions for the pub, turned right, then along. Over a crossroads and down a lane, following an Austin A10 of just post-war vintage, to the small car park.

But we had arrived.

We were here to see the Military Orchids, a close relation of the Monkey and Lady. The Military was once found near Dartford in Kent, but development built over where they grew, and they are in the county no more. In fact they grow at just three sites; two public and one private, and the Suffolk site is only open a couple of days a year.

Which is why we were in Buckinghamshire, one of a number of pilgrims who were coming to pay their respects at the roots of this rare plant. Or these rare plants.

A short walk through the woods brought us to a clearing, and on the far side were cages containing spikes or ones partially in flower. We spit up and went to take shots.

The sun even came out, and we talked to the two other groups that were there at the same time.

I found Fly Orchids too for one of the groups who ahd never heard of such a thing, so I could use terms like pseudo-copulation in polite society. Again.

But enough of the militaries, we had a date of the bastard offspring of two other orchid species; Monkey and Lady.

The Lankey.

A short seven mile drive to the foot of a down, but faced with a one and a half mile walk along said lane to the reserve entrance, as there is no parking.

We park, have a drink and a handul of magical Cheddars, and set off. Only to be hailed as we walked across the car park:

"Ian!"

I wasn't the only Ian in our group of three, so was it me being called?

I looked at the gentleman, and he looked at me.

Don't you recognise me, Ian?

He said, looking at me.

It's me, Duncan, from Gloucestershire.

Then it clicked. But I had suffered brain freeze.

He was leading an orchid tour, and his orchidists were waiting by the minibus he was driving, so we couldn't talk much, and he had to go.

We walked to the lane, then up through the houses into the countryside, the lane climbing upwards, just shallow enough not to set my back off.

We reached the turn in the road after twenty minutes, walked up a track, and there was the entrance. The ground rse up before us, with three tracks leading, the centre one to some steps cut into the down.

I remembered those.

So we set off, the ground climbing, and all three of us gentlemen of a certain age, battling gravity.

Up the steps, holding onto the fence, and in front I could see the fenced off areas where the orchids would be.

Out of the trees, the ground was still steep, so that photography was tricky, and the clouds that had rolled in meant waiting for the light at times.

But we got our shots.

We talked to a couple, about orchids in general, and I said I ran an Kent Orchid group on FB.

You're not Ian Hadingham, are you, Denise asked?

I was struck dumb. Yes, I am, I said.

I read your blogs, she said, your experience with your mother was so like mine.

It always catches me unaware that people read these words, most that do know me in some way, but this was really amazing.

We finish taking shots of the hybrids, and both parent plants, a couple of Lady and at least three Monkey. The hybrids are hyper-fertile, so create a swarm, and are tightly packed in two small areas.

All done, we bid our new friends goodbye and walk down the hill. Sharp-eyed Ian, no the other on, spots two Monkey on the grass at the foot of the down, showing how they are spreading here.

Good news.

It was an easy walk back down the lane to the car, arriving back, we have some more to drink and set off back east to Kent.

We had hoped to have a bite to eat at some historic pub or another, but the one we did see was packed, so we pressed on back to the main road, then onto the motorway at Reading, turning east.

We did stop at the services for food, amazed to find unleaded at £1.89 a litre, and diesel 10p more. I put twenty in and we set off back into traffic, and the M25 which was nearly the start of rush hour.

We hit two jams, but not held up by much, and soon we were out of it, cruising along back into Kent, turning off and driving down into Wateringbury to drop Ian and Terry off.

I got across the Medway again at Teeston, but found more closed roads, so I thought I knew better than the sat nav heading across country, driving by dead reckoning, and coming to the road I was looking for, even if it die mean dealing with the rush hour queues at Langley and in Leeds. Anything was better than Maidstone.

I called Jools saying I would meet her at Jen's at six, or just after, so I got back on the motorway and cruises towards Ashford and then the coast.

I arrived at twenty past six, Jools was waiting, and just wanted to get back home, so we thanked Jen and drove back home, where four hungry cats were waiting.

Toast and brews for supper, then a viewing of the North London Derby, which Spurs won easily. By which time it was nearly ten, and time for bed.