MY FIRST ORCHID

The moment that sealed my fate was the result of the determination by my father to take me up a nearby hillside, one fine Summer evening. Roach Hills, is a magnesium limestone outcrop, sited between Kippax and Garforth, just east of Leeds. Surprisingly for such a small boy, and I was small for my age, – in fact Paul means small – I distinctively remember the route up and also being shown many plants. 

Having crossed the busy Leeds Road and over the culverted beck we headed through the edge of the housing estate, before dropping onto a small path at the edge of a roughly-ploughed field and followed the beck upstream. Being close to the estate, the path was often used by locals, but less so the further you walked on. Sycamore and Ash trees dotted the edge of the beck and its charming summer trickle glistened amongst exposed stones of the its bed. Sticklebacks and minnows occasionally darted in the deeper pools stirring circles on the waters surface. Dragonflies, such as Darters fleeted past, stopping every so often to rest on a Wild Mint, Speedwell or a bent leave of the Rush. We aimed for the field corner, where there was a wire fence line, and where the beck magically appeared from between the stands of Rush and Yellow Iris. The style was low and prevented little problem, even with my tired legs. With a fence line now to our right we shifted along a slim path that slowly worked its way up the incline. The grass to our feet now grew thick and strong and it was difficult for a young toddler like me. I struggled through overhanging, wet, matted tuffs, twists and tails of rich meadow. It wasn't all grass, there were now flowers, and plenty of them too – I learnt my first plant – 'Dandelion' on that trail. The incline got steeper and the flower studded rising mound I unwittingly was now climbing had become a small hill. I sensed the top wasn't far, but the path still had a few twists and turns. It angled by and through angry Hawthorn, Blackberry and skirts of Nettle, whilst the sprawling arms of lethal Roses with their pink and white flowers caused further panic and torment.  Stones that jutted out were now another hazard – there weren't many of them but they always appeared to be on corners in the path and the vegetation often hid them – My basic shoes took plenty of scuffing at my parents dismay! It wasn't too long, before, like a rabbit with its nose in the air to sniff the day, I had shifted out of dense undergrowth to find myself on an open top of shorter grass. This time the flowers were different! Close by from the spindly arbour where I had emerged, in the shelter of many lush, proud shrubs, amongst the fresh grasses and their seed heads of the summer, was my first Orchid – The Fly Orchid (Ophrys insectifera). 

It was so different than any other plants and flowers I had been shown - it was one of kind.

The Fly Orchid

Thirty years later I went back to the same site again – sadly a Fly Orchid wasn't anywhere to be found!

It wasn't until I was aged 37 did I come to see another Fly Orchid. That story can wait for another time.