The wildflowers of the South Wales Valleys

Emily Price

From carpets of fragrant bluebells in ancient woodlands to delicate forget-me-nots growing out of the cracks of old stone paths, this year’s sunny and bright spring has made the South Wales Valleys a wonderful place to spot wildflowers.

As an avid bird watcher, I’ve always been more of a twitcher than a lover of Wales’ flora and fauna. 

But with the ‘No Mow May’ campaign now well underway in my local area, it’s hard to ignore the vibrant blooms and grasses that are now decorating my south Wales town.

Spring wildflowers are a crucial resource for pollinating insects – and without insects, the planet’s ecological systems would collapse.

Worryingly, a recent bug survey showed that insect numbers are dwindling due to habitat loss, pollution, pesticide use and the impact of climate change.

Sadly, the human-centric definition of some wildflowers as invasive weeds is not helping plummeting insect numbers.

Dandelions, for instance, have been given a bad name by many gardeners seeking a perfectly green lawn. 

On a recent weekend hike, I was pleased to see that pockets of dandelions had happily popped up alongside daisies in uncut fields, verges and on roundabouts.

Someone recently pointed out to me that some scientists believe the UK’s native dandelions have a limited nutritional value for bees.

But it is my view that as figures reveal a dramatic decline in pollinating insects, we are in no position to be picky about which wildflowers we welcome. 

Dandelions are often claimed as the first flowers to bloom in spring just as pollinators emerge from hibernation, offering an important food source to early butterflies and hoverflies.

Their seeds are dispersed via the wind once the yellow flowers have transitioned to a fluffy head.

These tiny parachutes of fine bristles can travel over 60 miles in the right weather conditions.

In recent days, the warm and still weather in my area has seen millions of delicate seeds floating lazily on the air like bizarre spring snow flakes that coat the verges in white fuzz.

One of the lovely things about wildflowers is that they can pop up in the most unexpected places.

Only the other day I was walking down the ramp of one of the newly improved South Wales Metro stations when I noticed a cluster of English bluebells growing beside the handrail.

Some of the conical, sweet smelling flowers were pure white.

Although Spanish bluebells can come in a variety of pink, purple and white hues – pure white albino flowers are rare among wild English bluebells occurring approximately once in every 10,000 blooms.

Many years ago, I lived in a very old coal miners cottage beside the Taff Trail and every year in early May I was treated to a confetti of English bluebells in my garden planted long before I moved in. 

Now, I visit an ancient woodland near my home every spring to see swathes of English bluebells coating the floor in a thick mass of deep violet blue.

By the end of May, the leaves begin to wither, turning yellow as the plant stores energy in its bulb ready for next year’s stunning display.

Our native bluebells are under threat from the Spanish variety which can outcompete it for resources like light and space.

The two plants can hybridise – over time changing the genetic makeup of our native species.

I didn’t see any Spanish bluebells during my last visit to the woods – but I did see Rhododendron – an invasive plant that can destroy native wildlife.

Don’t be fooled by the showy pink flowers and thick glossy leaves – this plant will out-compete many native trees and shrubs and can harbour plant diseases.

One chap I spoke to recently about Rhododendrons was so passionate about controlling the spread that he carries a pair of secateurs on woodland patrols to snip the flower heads.

Around the time bluebells begin to die back, merry smatterings of red campion will appear.

These pretty pinky-red five petalled perennials are an indicator of ancient woodlands and an important nectar source for butterflies and other pollinators.

Folklore would have us believe that red campion flowers guard the honey stores of bees and protect fairies from being discovered.

The woods in Cyfarthfa Park in Merthyr Tydfil are a great place to spot red campion and bluebells throughout the spring.

My current home is another former coal miner’s cottage with a very large and old back garden that backs onto the mountainside.

Every spring, a large cluster of delicate forget-me-nots push their way through the cracks of one of the crumbling stone steps leading into the forest at the garden’s boundary.

I love checking the sky blue five petalled flowers to see if their yellow centres have faded to white.

The change in colour serves as a signal to pollinators, indicating that the flower has already been pollinated and no longer has any nectar.

This visual clue is recognised by pollinators that can tell which flowers offer a sweet reward.

Germander speedwell, with its blue petals and white eye can look slightly similar to forget-me-nots – but germander has only four petals, not five like its look-a-like.

Also known as ‘birds eye’ or ‘cats eye’, these pretty little flowers are considered a good luck charm for travellers because they are commonly found on grassy verges and road sides.

I recently spotted some growing near a fence post along a path – the flowers bidding me good fortune as I passed by.

I’ve noticed an abundance of greater stitchwort growing along hedgerows in south Wales recently.

These unassuming star-like white flowers with deeply notched petals hold an explosive secret, earning them the nick-names ‘poppers’ or ‘nanny crackers’.

Disturb a patch of this plant in the summer and the ripened seed capsules detonate like fireworks, blasting their seeds into the air.

Last week, I was enjoying the sunshine on a walk through Aberfan, when an unmistakeable fork tailed shadow passed over me.

Twenty years ago, I would have to travel all the way to Bannau Brycheiniog to get a decent view of a red kite.

But these days, I see them soaring over the villages of Aberfan, Merthyr Vale and Troedyrhiw almost every week.

As this master of the sky angled its trademark tail feathers to catch a thermal, the May sunshine illuminated the bird’s distinctive rust-red body.

I was stood at the side of the road taking in the view when I noticed a flash of pink that had forced its way through a large crack in the tarmac.

An unusual spot for the bonnet shaped flowers of common columbine, as this plant usually prefers damp woodlands, fens or cottage gardens.

I looked around, and noticed that the nearest house had been left completely abandoned, the front door boarded up and the windows coated in dust.

Being a nosey parker, I peered through the overgrown hedge and saw that the garden was awash with colours, including common columbine in various shades of pink and purple.

Roses and ivy climbed out of control up the side of the house.

Dandelions grew in thick clumps between crumbling paving stones, and buttercups and daisies studded a lawn that had grown thick and tall.

The red kite above me starred down at the garden, his eyes clearly fixing on something rustling in the jungle of grasses.

The pink columbine flower growing out of the tarmac was clearly the product of an escapee seed from this garden that had once been someone’s pride and joy.

A faded sign on the old home advertised an auction six months prior – but it was clear that nature had already taken ownership of this property.