IT was creation time and God assembled all the flowers to give them names. As He completed his task, one little plant piped up, 'Lord, I didn't get a name. Please forget me not!' The Almighty turned back. Then that shall be your name,' He declared and so it has remained.
Legend doesn't stop there. In another version, the Creator was distributing colours to the flowers. The same plant found itself overlooked and whispered a plea, which He naturally heard-but, with sundry hues generously ascribed to others, only a little blue remained on the celestial palette and thus the forget-me-not acquired its pigmentation.
Christian tradition has one more story to tell. Sitting on his mother's lap, the infant Jesus declared that everyone in the future should behold the beauty of her blue eyes, so he touched her eyelids and waved his hand over the ground, and there the forget-me-not flourished.
These charming fantasies have a Germanic root, that culture offering a further version of how the plant got its name. As young lovers were strolling along the banks of the Danube, the girl saw the plant blooming on an islet and asked her lad to swim across to gather her a bunch. On his way back to the bank, he got cramp and, as he was borne away, threw her the flowers with a final plea of 'Vergissmeinnicht'. She wore forget-me-nots in her hair to her dying day and the flower still bears the romantic name in modern German.
This story is from the {{IssueName}} edition of {{MagazineName}}.
Start your 7-day Magzter GOLD free trial to access thousands of curated premium stories, and 9,000+ magazines and newspapers.
Already a subscriber ? Sign In
This story is from the {{IssueName}} edition of {{MagazineName}}.
Start your 7-day Magzter GOLD free trial to access thousands of curated premium stories, and 9,000+ magazines and newspapers.
Already a subscriber? Sign In
Tales as old as time
By appointing writers-in-residence to landscape locations, the National Trust is hoping to spark in us a new engagement with our ancient surroundings, finds Richard Smyth
Do the active farmer test
Farming is a profession, not a lifestyle choice’ and, therefore, the Budget is unfair
Night Thoughts by Howard Hodgkin
Charlotte Mullins comments on Moght Thoughts
SOS: save our wild salmon
Jane Wheatley examines the dire situation facing the king of fish
Into the deep
Beneath the crystal-clear, alien world of water lie the great piscean survivors of the Ice Age. The Lake District is a fish-spotter's paradise, reports John Lewis-Stempel
It's alive!
Living, burping and bubbling fermented masses of flour, yeast and water that spawn countless loaves—Emma Hughes charts the rise and rise) of sourdough starters
There's orange gold in them thar fields
A kitchen staple that is easily taken for granted, the carrot is actually an incredibly tricky customer to cultivate that could reduce a grown man to tears, says Sarah Todd
True blues
I HAVE been planting English bluebells. They grow in their millions in the beechwoods that surround us—but not in our own garden. They are, however, a protected species. The law is clear and uncompromising: ‘It is illegal to dig up bluebells or their bulbs from the wild, or to trade or sell wild bluebell bulbs and seeds.’ I have, therefore, had to buy them from a respectable bulb-merchant.
Oh so hip
Stay the hand that itches to deadhead spent roses and you can enjoy their glittering fruits instead, writes John Hoyland
A best kept secret
Oft-forgotten Rutland, England's smallest county, is a 'Notswold' haven deserving of more attention, finds Nicola Venning
