The poem, “Oh to be in England, now that April’s there,” was written 200 years ago by Robert Browning. It goes on to tell the author’s joy at seeing England in all it’s spring glory.

A recent trip to northern England and Scotland, seeing the countryside dressed in it’s spring finery, brought home this poem to me and I felt like I could have sat down and written it myself. So amazingly beautiful is Britain in spring. Although most British towns appear crowded there are hundreds of small green spaces dotted all around, in between various streets and shops. At this time of year, every one of those spaces is filled with daffodils. I don’t mean dozens of daffodils but thousands of them. Every corner, every hillside, every traffic median and the verges at the side of the roads and lanes are brilliant yellow carpets of the dancing flowers.

As a child growing up in northern England, our winters were not too cold but were dark, dreary and wet. Months of this depressing weather would drag on but, as March crept into the calendar, came the daffodils. These bright patches of yellow made the hillsides appear to be flooded with sunshine, the brave yellow flags would wave through the wind and the rain, refusing to be beaten down but danced as though trying to leave their roots and dance across the fields.

Mother’s Day, in England, is in March and our teachers would take us out into the field to gather daffodils, for our moms. Every child would take a dozen flowers home to his or her mom. We were not allowed to take more than our allotted dozen but around one hundred kids would cut the flowers and it would seem to make no difference in the crowd of yellow still dancing in the field.

The wondrous thing about daffodils is that they keep spreading as every year more and more bulbs are formed. They are usually planted freely on town ground as the flowers usually have passed their season, before lawn mowers need to be used on the surrounding lawns.

However, many of the countryside daffs are wild. They have a double bloom and a shorter stem. They spread for miles through the woodlands and over hills. In May, they will be replaced with millions of bluebells which are also an amazing sight but, for an uplifting of the spirit and a sure sign of spring, you have to walk among the daffodils.

Another English poet, William Wordsworth, also fell in love with the English Spring phenomenon and wrote the wonderful poem, ‘Daffodils’. I wish I was a poet so I could explain how my heart soars at the sight of all this beauty, but my humble ramblings will have to suffice.