The ancestors of these primroses jumped into a plant pot in Wales and made a journey…

The last photos I took in March were of primroses: the results are a bit shaky: I’m a little out of practice. That’s OK because I’m prompted by Bushboy’s Last on the Card challenge. And as you may know, the idea is to post, unedited, whatever you discover you’ve taken.

I haven’t posted at all for some while, as my main focus has been on writing, and my current WIP eats up most of my writing time. The story plays out in a world bereft of natural pollinators, so this month, I couldn’t resist showing a photo of precious primroses: to see them thriving gives me hope.

These primroses are mine, in the sense that they are the offspring of flowers that seeded into a large plant pot when I lived in Wales. They moved with me when I came back to Dorset. I love their spontaneous beauty – and how they multiply!

They’ve been been flowering in my garden since before Christmas. They must be hardy as they came through the few frosts we’ve had without trouble. In general, they are usually at their peak from March to May. It’s all happening a little earlier, these years. Mine have spread from the original few and spring up wherever they can. Along the path is a favourite spot, but I find them in odd places, growing in hardly any soil, and sometimes pot them on to give away in the hope that they will spread. Perhaps someone else will pot on the extras and give those away too.

These ‘common’ primroses (Primula vulgaris) are native to the UK and although there are many, there could and perhaps ought to be more. I would love to see primroses everywhere – in shady woods, green verges and all over people’s lawns. Have one plant and more will follow.

We took a neighbour out to look at them in their abundance, on banks by the roadside and in a quiet churchyard. I noticed that some had a green spot in the middle and have since found out, through Wildilfe Gardening Forum and elsewhere, that there are supposed to be two kinds: ‘pin-eyed’ and ‘thrum-eyed’. Only one kind is found on each plant and this is an aid to cross-pollination. The green pin in the pin-eyed type is the stigma: it’s at the top of the flower tube, while the anthers are lower down. In the thrum-eyed it’s the other way around and the anthers look like an orange ring. Can you tell which sort I have photographed?

Apparently, there is another type that is self-pollinating. According to an article in the New Scientist these produce more, but smaller seeds and are less successful than the cross-pollinating types, which produce fewer, but bigger seeds. Perhaps in the future, we’ll be glad that there’s a self-pollinating type.

Primroses are a valuable early source of nectar for bee-flies, and butterflies such as brimstone and small tortoiseshell. I prefer the native primrose, but last year, somehow there was cross-breeding with something else, and a double variety spontaneously appeared. Pretty, but I was alarmed in case all my native ones disappeared. I didn’t need to worry. Given the right conditions and some healthy neglect, your garden can have them in abundance too.

So, unless your lawn is meant for croquet or bowls, why not plant a few common (spectacular!) primroses in a shady spot or in a patch of earth in a border or just in pots – and have the joy of seeing them spread? The countryside around me is green – but that’s mainly grass. Wherever we can, let’s nurture the wild flowers we have and see if we can have them in abundance again, and help nature’s pollinators too, on which we all depend.