Finally we get to the cathedral

But I couldn’t bring myself to go inside. I was overwhelmed by the bewildering memory of a sign that someone saw over the Empty Tomb in Jerusalem which said – “He is not here he is risen”. My friend, having queued for ages in the hot sun was rather upset but went in anyway. For me though, the church (and I suppose this applies equally to other faiths) is all too fond of finding a truly holy place and then suffocating the life out of it with stones. So we stayed outside and my heart was lifted by the sounds of jackdaws and rooks playing and quarrelling in the trees and we listened to some singers sitting on the wall rehearsing a folk song. We leaned over the small bridge just beyond the West door and watched a dipper feeding and swimming underwater – quite an achievement.

Whatever spirituality clings to these beautiful stones, it’s contaminated by the venality of its leaders past and present who, I recall from my days as a curate, were quite capable of arguing ferociously about who would go last in a procession – because that was the most important place to be. But I mustn’t go on because mercifully the healing powers of the place cannot be contained and, if you can find a quiet place to sit, you may experience them. For me – because I’m a contrarian by nature – pilgrimage should begin at the holy site and continue all the way home when you’ve had time to work out what you found there. Backwards pilgrimage leads you away from the pile of stones – which can only be a good thing.

On our way to the bus stop in the morning we passed a beautiful adder which was basking in the hedge. I thought he was torpid and risked moving towards him with my phone camera, but he was more than a match for me and disappeared down into his nest like greased lightning.

I bagged a couple more flowers on the way, bringing the total to 65. There’s no place for pride, though, because although I didn’t bring the Vice County list with me that leaves me about 1450 to go! I should’ve started sooner.

Here then, with all the Latin names excised, are my 65 plants in flower, and below them some more of the photos I’ve taken. I particularly enjoyed watching the Lackey Moth caterpillars breaking out of their nest.

1. Red campion
2. Sea campion
3. Scurvy grass
4. Southern Marsh orchid
5. Yellow iris
6. Dandelion
7. Celandine
8. Buttercup
9. Ragged robin
10. Herb Robert
11. Common Mouse ear
12. Marsh marigold
13. Cowslip
14. Navelwort
15. Lady’s Mantle
16. Cuckoo flower AKA Lady’s smock
17. Primrose
18. Common Dog Violet
19. Spring squill
20. Tormentil
21. Gorse
22. Greater Stichwort 
23. Bucks horn plantain
24. Sea plantain
25. Ribwort plantain – three plantains in a short walk is good going, I think
26. Greater Plantain
27. Red clover
28. Oxeye daisy
29. Tall Ramping Fumitory
30. Sheeps sorrel
31. Cow parsley
32. Alexanders
33. Cut leaved cranesbill
34. English stonecrop
35. Sheeps bit
36. Foxglove
37. Bluebell
38. Kidney vetch
39. Tormentil
40. Common Orache
41. Ivy Leaved Toadflax lilac form
42. Ivy Leaved Tadflax white form 
43. Scarlet pimpernel
44. Wild Carrrot
45. Cleavers
46. Cat’s Ear
47. Pignut
48. Selfheal
49. Common Sorrel
50. Broad Leaved Dock
51. Curled Dock
52. Germander Speedwell
53. Common Vetch
54. Prickly Sow Thistle
55. Brooklime
56. Woody Nightshade
57. Hemlock Water Dropwort
58. Doves Foot Cranesbill
59. Red Valerian
60. Honeysuckle
61. Nettle
62. Burnet Rose
63. Dumpy Centaury
64. Lesser Trefoil
65. Greater Birds Foot Trefoil

Author: Dave Pole

I've spent my life doing a lot of things, all of them interesting and many of them great fun. When most people see my CV they probably think I'm making things up because it includes being a rather bad welder and engineering dogsbody, a potter, a groundsman and bus driver. I taught in a prison and in one of those ghastly old mental institutions as an art therapist and I spent ten years as a community artist. I was one of the founding members of Spike Island, which began life as Artspace Bristol. ! wrote a column for Bristol Evening Post (I got sacked three times, in which I take some pride) and I worked in local and network radio and then finally became an Anglican parish priest for 25 years, retiring at 68 when I realised that the institutional church and me were on different paths. What interests me? It would be easier to list what doesn't, but I love cooking and baking with our home grown ingredients. I'm fascinated by botany and wildlife in general, and botanical illustration. We have a camper van that takes us to the wild places, we love walking, especially in the hills, and we take too many photographs. But what really animates me is the question "what does it mean to be human?". I've spent my life exploring it in every possible way and the answer is ..... well, today it's sitting in the van in the rain and looking across Ramsey Sound towards Ramsey Island. But it might as easily be digging potatoes or making pickle, singing or finding an orchid or just sitting. But it sure as hell doesn't mean getting a promotion, beasting your co-workers or being obsequious to power, which ensured that my rise to greatness in the Church of England flatlined 30 years ago after about 2 days. But I'm still here and still searching for that elusive sweet spot, and I don't have to please anyone any more. Over the last 50 or so years we've had a succession of gardens, some more like wildernesses when we were both working full-time, but now we're back in the game with our two allotments in Bath. View all posts by Dave Pole