The little pimples of yellow in the sticky black bog needed further investigation. Wendy and James, intrepid daffodil hunters, were on the scent – and it wasn’t just the pong from the Galician marshes in northern Spain. It was something new. Something exciting. Something that had to be seen at close hand by someone prepared to wade into the bog.
Sometime later, Wendy, my have-a-go mother-in-law was mid-bog clutching the prize, a daffodil they had never seen before. It’s not a ladylike lark, this daffodil hunting, you know. Over the years, it has involved scaling cliffs, scrambling down scree and falling full-length over hidden fence posts in the name of research. And all gratefully received and recorded by The Daffodil Society.
But this time, they knew they were on to something new, a long-stemmed type with a big trumpet and little sepals. It was officially, James declared, a daffodil with no name. But not for long, not long in botanical terms, that is.
Patience is definitely a key virtue in matters botanical. You can’t just find something, say it’s new and give it a name. For a start, it has to be confirmed it’s new, then grown again to make sure it’s not a freak of nature, then other comings and goings involving people with lots of letters after their names. It takes years.
Well, those years are up and the daffodil with no name will soon have a name. Personally, I think something understated like David. David Daffodil has a ring to it.Or Nancy. Nancy Narcissus. Or maybe The Bog Daffodil, or Wendy’s Wonder or the Akers Bog Daffodil. But it doesn’t work like that, there’s lots of Latin involved, which does sometimes result in snigger-inducing names. So welcome to the world, Bulbocodium Akersianus. Snigger……
If you do want to see BA, as I’ll affectionately call it, there’s none in the wild in the UK, but it’ll be coming to spring flower shows around the country.