‘But the queen of this part of the Cotswolds is the Red Helleborine’
J. E. Lousley, Wildflowers of Chalk and Limestone (1950)
Gloucestershire
July 2013
The Red Helleborine is on the brink of extinction in Britain. After the success of the Lady’s Slipper reintroduction programme, this orchid is the rarest in the country, save perhaps the Ghost. Yet unlike these two, it is rarely talked of and seldom searched for.
The first record appeared in English Botany in 1797, which stated that it was ‘gathered last June on Hampton Common, Gloucestershire, by Mrs Smith, of Barnham House in that neighbourhood’. For a long time, the Cotswolds remained the species’ UK stronghold. In Wildflowers of Chalk and Limestone, Ted Lousley claimed ‘records for the Red Helleborine, spread over the last century and a half, extend over a great many of the beechwoods from Nailsworth to Birdlip, but it has seldom been seen in quantity and flowering is extremely erratic’.
Many records and herbarium specimens, including orchids, were assembled by members of the clergy. Vicars who had simple rural parishes, a lot of time on their hands and a love for natural history were perfectly placed to observe and document the local flora. It was an ideal pastime: outdoors, at one with nature, while engaging with the parishioners as they wandered down the lane. Writing in 1948, the Reverend H. J. Riddelsdell documents the diminishing number of sites in the Cotswolds as botanical collectors heard of the Red Helleborine’s presence: he ‘saw some fifty or sixty plants together, but only about ten bore spikes of flowers, and somebody cut those before the next morning’. In Gloucestershire, it is currently present in only one known site.
In 1955, three flowering spikes of Red Helleborine were discovered in a wood in the Chiltern Hills of Buckinghamshire. They flowered intermittently and then disappeared in the 1970s, but were found again in the 1980s.
Then a third population was discovered in 1986, this time in Hampshire. Other than a dubious record in 1926, this was a completely new location for the Red Helleborine. It was thought that felling of trees in the area a few years before had stimulated this appearance, and so more felling has been carried out in an attempt to encourage the plant further.
As it is a priority species, a Biodiversity Action Plan (BAP) has been drawn up to keep it from extinction. In the UK, it is now classified as Critically Endangered under the IUCN Red List criteria, while in Europe it is Vulnerable. Local conservation is implemented in the UK at each of the three sites by Natural England, the Berks, Bucks & Oxon Wildlife Trust (BBOWT), and Hampshire County Council.
In 2005, the entire known British population consisted of sixteen plants, less than half of which produced flower spikes. The situation was critical. In order to stop the decline of the plant in the UK, the Red Helleborine Restoration Group was formed, to share knowledge of the plant’s requirements. There were representatives from Natural England, the National Trust and the Royal Botanic Gardens, Kew.
Surprisingly, the three populations that remain contain a significant amount of genetic diversity, meaning it might be possible to restore this species to sustainable numbers. For reintroductions to occur, we must be able to grow the Red Helleborine from seed. Efforts in the lab at Kew Gardens have not been fruitful so far though, and with no success there, instigating a reintroduction programme would be challenging. The Restoration Group is currently looking at French sites where this orchid grows in good numbers to try and determine its exact growing requirements.
To make things more difficult, the Red Helleborine is extremely high-maintenance, even for an orchid. It’s incredibly sensitive to grazing and light levels so site protection and management are crucial. Given the size of British populations, any management has to be handled very tentatively: one wrong move and the population will disappear.
I had been desperate to see the Red Helleborine for years, agonising over photos on the internet every summer. The site in Hampshire was close to where I lived and so would seem the obvious target. Unfortunately, though, they haven’t had a flowering plant there since 2004 and in the last five years they haven’t had any vegetative plants either. That one looked like a dead end. The Gloucestershire site is effectively off-limits, as the plants there are enclosed within a high metal fence and it is not open to the public. If I wanted a photo, this wasn’t an option. In the Chilterns, however, the plants are more accessible. While this site is also within an enclosure, people can obtain permits from BBOWT and join organised pre-booked visits to see and photograph the plants – I’d signed up for one during the winter in anticipation of the coming July.
On the 21st June, two weeks before the Red Helleborine was likely to flower, I received an email from BBOWT. I opened it excitedly, expecting to read details about the visit. Instead, my heart sank:
‘It is with regret that I contact you with the news that the Red Helleborines are not going to flower this year and consequently we will not be issuing any permits for guided visits. The Warden informs me that this is the first time since 1988 that no flowers have been produced. It is very difficult to be certain why this has happened, particularly as many other plants seem to be doing well, if somewhat late. The Warden feels that the probable cause is the lack of sunshine, a factor that does seem to be important for their full development. I would like to offer my apologies for being the bearer of disappointing news.’
I fell onto my bed. For whatever reason, this summer had not been quite good enough for the Red Helleborine and so it had refused to come out to play. First Hampshire had been a dead end, and now so was Buckinghamshire. That left the site in Gloucestershire, an impenetrable compound in the woods. Admittedly, you could see the plants from the public footpath that passes the perimeter fence, but I would need binoculars and wouldn’t be getting anywhere near close enough for photos. It was a huge blow: this rare and beautiful orchid was one of the species I had been most looking forward to seeing.
Over the next few days, I wallowed in frustration, trying to work out a way to see the Red Helleborine. I was desperate. But eventually I had an idea. I called Dom Price. In his role as director of the Species Recovery Trust, he might have some sort of link with the conservation of the orchids. This charity focuses on the species closest to extinction in the UK.
With perhaps the greatest turn of fortune so far, it turned out Dom played a small role in the Red Helleborine Restoration Group. I couldn’t believe my luck. I told him about the distinct lack of floral activity in Buckinghamshire and then voiced my hopeful plea: was there any way he could get me into the Gloucestershire enclosure?
I waited nervously for three days. Dom made phone calls and sent emails asking whether it would be all right for me to be shown the plants.
I was at home when I received the text from Dom:
Red Helleborines are on!
The Cotswold hills begin near Bath and curve north-east past Gloucester, extending almost as far as Banbury in Oxfordshire. It is an Area of Natural Beauty, or AONB, thirty miles across in places. Most of the best sites for plants, and scenery, lie near Gloucester and Stroud, where steep escarpments provide lots of unique habitats as well as extraordinary views.
I drove up to Gloucestershire to meet Timothy Jenkins, the National Trust ranger who oversees the plants. We were joined by his colleague from Natural England, Kate, who had come along to help Tim survey the plants.
We jumped into the back of a huge National Trust 4x4 that stood outside the farmhouse-style offices on the estate and bumped our way down an old dirt track. Suddenly, we were in the wood. My first thought was how enclosed it felt: it was haunted-house dark. To our left the ground fell away and I could see the rough surface of the tree canopy down below. It was a long way down were anything to go wrong. I gripped my seat a little tighter as the truck rattled and rocked. Tall beech trees covered the slope, and delicately filtered the sunlight so that it seemed to float down from the canopy far above. I spotted three ghostly Greater Butterfly Orchids lurking among the vegetation.
We continued deeper into the wood, always moving down the hill, but twisting and turning until eventually we came to an abrupt halt next to a tall wire fence.
The enclosure was a lot smaller than I had imagined: it was the size of someone’s back yard. When told I would need binoculars to see the plants from outside, I had envisioned a much larger compound. The fence was at least two metres tall and topped with barbed wire. It looked ominously impenetrable.
I was desperately excited, craning my neck to see whether I could spot the first helleborines. Tim took out a key and unlocked the padlock, swinging open the large door so that we could all shuffle inside.
Never have I been more terrified of accidentally stepping on a plant. I followed Tim down the hill, taking care to step exactly where he did. What if I stepped on an orchid and made him regret ever listening to Dom?
The enclosure was a jungle of plants. The ground was littered with saplings: ash, beech and sycamore all struggling to thrust themselves towards a gap in the canopy. In among some wild strawberry floated the white jellyfish flowers of common wintergreen. There were yellow hawkweeds, bramble and dog’s-mercury everywhere, all leaning towards the light. This didn’t seem like the home of a rare orchid.
Yet just below us, poking out of the foliage, was a fragile pink spike. Against all the odds, a Red Helleborine.
It is a humble orchid, silently stunning, possessing a spindly stem topped with an elegant rose-pink flower spike. Each inflorescence seemed too big for the plant to support. It was a miracle they could hold themselves upright. Any small breath of wind instigated a drunken swaying. The sepals were fuzzy with small hairs. It was unimaginably delicate. I got the impression it didn’t like the attention and would be quite happy to just be left alone. If this orchid could speak, I’m not convinced it would say much. In Wildflowers of Chalk and Limestone, Lousley writes: ‘But the queen of this part of the Cotswolds is the Red Helleborine, Cephalanthera rubra. It is one of the most elusive of British orchids and many wildflower hunters have spent a surprising amount of time and money in its quest. One of my friends even received a cable from a lady in Monte Carlo who was anxious to fly over to see it.’ Strange, since it’s far commoner in France.
Tim and Kate took out clipboards and began counting the plants, each marked by a pale kebab skewer. There were a lot of non-flowering spikes which were incredibly difficult to spot in the thick vegetation. I was completely engrossed in my photography, aware that I wouldn’t have a second chance at this.
Natural pollination is rare in British Red Helleborines so most of it is done by hand. Interestingly, recent work in Sweden suggests that Red Helleborines and certain species of bellflower share the same pollinators, namely small solitary bees of the genus Chelostoma. Red Helleborines don’t produce nectar. The bees are attracted to the orchids, because of the colour. As they aren’t sensitive to the red end of the spectrum, the flowers appear pale-blueish lilac, like certain bellflower species that do produce nectar. This pollination mechanism might be a clever swindle, except the absence of these Chelostoma bees from Britain means that natural pollination by insects is virtually non-existent.
Most of the plants were numbered, but I overheard Tim saying ‘Bella’s going to flower, four buds’. I asked him why it was called Bella. Apparently, these plants are so difficult to spot that the initial survey fails to pick all of them up. Any plant that is found subsequently gets named after the person who spotted it. Tim’s daughter, Bella, had seen this plant from his shoulders. I was impressed.
Upon learning this, I immediately ducked down and began searching the surrounding vegetation for unmarked helleborines. It would be seriously cool to have a Red Helleborine named after me. Twice I thought I had found one, only to spot the kebab skewer seconds later. The leaves were so narrow and the plants so small that I was sure there must be at least one that they had missed, but after twenty minutes of fruitless searching, it was time to go.
We trundled back up the warren of muddy tracks to the top of the hill, leaving the enclosure and its precious contents in the depths of the woods. I began looking through the photos on my camera and, to my dismay, realised that the plants had been in bud. Extraordinarily, blinded by excitement, I had failed to notice. I returned a week later and observed the helleborines, in full flower, through my binoculars from the public footpath that ran past the bottom of the enclosure, my camera hanging uselessly by my side.
The Red Helleborine is hanging on in Britain. For how much longer it is difficult to tell, but the hope remains that this highly sensitive species could suddenly pop up and flower elsewhere in the country. Such is the furtive, capricious, enigmatic world of orchids.