Joanna sees Welsh daffodils and starts to wonder about national flowers
I was driving to Monmouth last week for the regular local meeting of the Society of Authors. On this occasion, I used the back road which goes through Llancloudy and I was greeted by thousands of daffodils, the national flower of Wales. It’s impossible not to smile when you drive up that hill, especially if the sun is shining as it is in this library image of the village.
I would have taken a pic of my own, but I didn’t want to be late and there wasn’t really anywhere to park safely. That’s my excuse, anyway 😉
The national flower of Wales is definitely a flower, isn’t it?
Llancloudy isn’t the only place where there are masses of daffodils to be seen round here. They’re everywhere in the Welsh borders, lining the verges and filling the gardens. And very welcome they are, too. They are usually in flower in time for St David’s Day, on 1st March.
At this time of year, I make a point of buying cut daffodils every week—mostly brought up from the West Country, I think—and keeping them in a vase in my kitchen. They look very cheery and raise my spirits whenever I look at them. Sometimes, the ones on sale are double varieties, like this bunch here, in an image taken in my kitchen a couple of years ago.
There can be no doubting that the national flower of Wales is a flower. And a beautiful one, too. Mind you, I can’t help remembering a certain Max Boyce, a proud Welshman and rugby enthusiast, who used to come on stage for his comedy routines carrying a huge Welsh emblem. Not, in his case, a daffodil, but an enormous leek (images 8 and 10). He was extremely funny though the leek is not, I think you’ll agree, a flower.
But what about the other national flowers in the UK and Ireland?
Is the Scottish thistle actually a flower?
Opinions differ on the Scottish thistle, Cirsium vulgare, the spear thistle.
The image above was taken in Ecuador, not Scotland, where monarch butterflies are not exactly abundant 😉 But the thistle is a wonderful source of nectar for pollinators. That poor ragged butterfly must be desperate for some life-giving nectar after flying hundreds of miles.
On the other hand, the spear thistle is listed as an “injurious weed” under the UK’s Weeds Act 1959 and as a “noxious weed” in Australia and some other parts of the world. For agriculture, the thistle is seen as A Bad Thing.
Yes, I do know that a weed is just a plant in the wrong place. But calling the national flower of Scotland a “noxious weed” or an “injurious weed” is, you might say, injurious?
You may never have seen a plant of the Scottish thistle. It is striking, partly because it can be immensely tall, growing to as much as 6 feet or nearly 2 metres high. The RHS praises its wildlife value and handsome looks in the garden, though admits it can be a serious agricultural weed.
It has very spiky leaves and stems and flower heads which can do you a nasty injury if you grasp them.
The spikes are very successful at ensuring that grazing animals will not eat the plant.
As a result, while everything around may be nibbled down to ground level, the thistles can reach for the sky, set seed successfully and propagate themselves on the wind.
Survival of the spikiest? (Sorry, couldn’t resist. And apologies to Charles Darwin!)
Noxious and injurious…?
I should perhaps remind you that the motto of Scotland is nemo me impune lacessit which nods to the spiky nature of the national flower. The image above shows the motto above the gate to Edinburgh castle. I suppose a modern rendering would be something like “Don’t mess with me, or I’ll make you sorry.”
So how did Scotland come to choose a noxious weed as the national emblem?
The story goes that, in 1263, a Viking night raid led by King Haakon IV of Norway was foiled when one of the Vikings stepped on a thistle and cried out in pain. The defending Scots, under King Alexander III, were alerted to the raid and won the subsequent Battle of Largs.
The motto of Scotland reminds me of the Schubert song Heidenröslein, the little rose on the heath. The song sets a poem by Goethe.
It’s an exchange between an arrogant boy and the feisty little rose. The boy says he’s going to pluck the beautiful rose. The rose threatens to prick him if he does, so that he will never forget her. He plucks. She pricks. Much pain ensues.
Similar woes sometimes happened to English armies that tried to invade Scotland, most notably at Bannockburn in 1314.
And there are, of course, plenty of other interpretations of the Goethe poem, too. One is suggested by the painting shown here. Make up your own mind on that one.
…noxious or noble?
Nemo me impune lacessit is also the motto of the Most Ancient and Most Noble Order of the Thistle, the second most senior order of chivalry in the UK, dating from 1687. It ranks after the Order of the Garter, founded in 1348.
The image here, from Inverary Castle, shows the green velvet robe and collar of the Order of the Thistle, as worn by the husband of Queen Victoria’s daughter, Princess Louise. Her husband was the Marquess of Lorne and later the 9th Duke of Argyll.
Click on the image to enlarge and see just how fabulous that thistle collar is.
So maybe the Scottish thistle isn’t really injurious or noxious?
Maybe it is noble after all?
A Tudor rose as the national flower of England?
When we hear the word rose in these modern times, we tend to think of a gorgeous flower like this one, from my garden. It is the David Austin rose, Princess Alexandra of Kent, and the scent is glorious.
The rose of England is nothing like that. It’s a bit more like the wild rose, or dog rose, with a simple, open flower. But even that is not the whole story.
Does the Tudor rose actually exist?
You could argue that it doesn’t, that it’s a political construct. And constructed by a wily political operator, too: Henry VII.
I will admit to not being one of Henry’s fans. I’m one of those who suspects he was the real murderer of the Princes in the Tower, rather than poor, maligned Richard III.
Henry’s claim to the English throne was, at best, distant. His mother was the great-great-granddaughter of Edward III, through his son John of Gaunt, Duke of Lancaster, and Gaunt’s mistress (later wife) Katherine Swynford. To be fair, Henry was possibly the last heir standing after the many deaths of kings, princes and heirs in the Wars of the Roses.
Henry was a Lancastrian. In this anonymous portrait from 1505, he is shown holding, appropriately enough, the red rose of Lancaster.
Red and White roses, old and new
Henry was determined to cement his position as King of England. After the Battle of Bosworth Field, the only other real claimant was Elizabeth of York, the daughter of Edward IV. Her brothers, the Princes in the Tower, were dead and, although her claim was much stronger than Henry’s, she was a mere female and no woman had ever been accepted as monarch in England. Henry could have had her killed off. He may even have thought about it? But it was much simpler to marry her and bring together the houses of Lancaster and York. I very much doubt that Elizabeth got a vote.
The Lancastrians hadn’t used the red rose all that much, but the Yorkists had definitely used the white rose, since it was the badge of Edward IV. Henry joined the red and white roses into a new badge, the Tudor rose. You can see it in the top of this illustration, with its constituent parts below. The Tudor Rose officially became the royal floral emblem of England in 1800.
Does such a rose exist in the world? Not that I’m aware of.
However, David Austin Roses did produce a red (pink) and white rose very recently. They didn’t call it the Tudor Rose, though. They named it the King’s Rose, instead, and launched it at Chelsea in 2025 as a tribute to the new monarch, Charles III.
The nearest we’ll ever get to Henry VII’s idea of the Tudor Rose, maybe? The old fox might well have approved.
I believe the new king certainly does, since he was seen viewing it on his royal progress around the Chelsea Flower Show.
What about Ireland? What’s the Irish national flower?
The shamrock is the symbol of Ireland.
But is it a flower?
That depends on your definition of flower, I suppose. According to the dictionary, a flower is the seed-bearing part of a plant.
Shamrock is a kind of clover and clover does have flowers, as shown in this botanical drawing. But the shamrock, as we all know, refers to the leaf of the plant, not its flowers.
The shamrock (leaf) is traditionally worn by the armed forces on St Patrick’s Day, 17th March.
This image shows shamrock worn in the UN beret of a member of the Irish Defence Forces.
The Royal Irish Regiment and the Irish Guards, in the UK, also wear it, on St Patrick’s Day. I remember seeing the Queen Mother wearing a huge bunch of shamrock when she was reviewing the Irish Guards.
Many non-military folk will be wearing the shamrock, too, for traditional St Patrick’s Day parades. They may take place this weekend, or on the day itself, later this week.
Adopting the shamrock
With the 1800 Acts of Union, the shamrock was incorporated into the royal coat of arms of the UK. The Irish shamrock, the Scottish thistle and the English Tudor rose were depicted growing from a single stem. (Note that poor old Wales didn’t get a look in. Not for the first time.)
Three-in-one unity, symbolism worthy of Henry VII, I’d have said. The triple motif shown here is on a gate pillar of Buckingham Palace.
And, in a way, that symbolic triple unity echoes the old Irish story that St Patrick used the shamrock to illustrate the Trinity when he was trying to convert the heathen to Christianity.
If the Tudor rose, which doesn’t exist, can figure as the national flower of England, is there any reason why the shamrock, which isn’t actually a flower, can’t be the national flower of Ireland? Logic, I would contend, has no place in this national flower business.
Lovely post, Joanna. It’s sad that the daffodil has not been incorporated into the coat of arms – or the dragon into the flag. We could with that right now. It’s that old thing about Wales being a Principality. But your post immediately sent me to listen to Flowers of Scotland except, of course, the flowers in the song were not the thistle, or even heather. Not botanical at all, but their brave young men fighting off the English – something they’ve all done, including the Welsh!
I agree with you about Wales which has had a raw deal. Unlike Scotland, Wales didn’t manage to keep its own laws etc and for centuries, Wales wasn’t thought of (by the English) as anything independent. By contrast, Scotland kept its own laws, its own education system, its own religion and still does. So, before devolution, when new laws were passed in Westminster, it was assumed they applied to Wales but there had to be a specific part of any statute to apply the law to Scotland. So often we see references to “the law of England and Wales” which says it all.
Fascinating and very timely, Joanna. I too have had jugs of daffodils around the place since they first appeared a couple of weeks ago. I love them and the elusive scent of spring they bring into the house.
The Scottish thistle clearly earned its place well and early. Though I don’t see anyone wearing it in their caps or anywhere else. Not without protective clothing, anyway.
Not sure I have a lot of time for the English rose. Smacks of the Macchiavellian wing of advertising to me.
And the shamrock is down to earth and charming and smell like fresh grass when you pick them.
So for me that’s a win for Scotland. The thistle keeps its distance and its dignity and is a plant you want on your side during an invasion.
No, the thistle isn’t a plant you would pick and wear. Which rather makes the point, doesn’t it?
Interesting, thank you, Joanna.
I am told shamrock is very invasive in the garden, but it brings back memories of St Patrick’s day, of course.
Any kind of clover can be invasive, I think, Susie. OTOH it’s a legume and its nitrogen fixing can help feed other plants. And it’s very attractive to bees. So on balance, it’s possibly A Good Thing. Happy St Patrick’s Day for tomorrow.