So, finally this week I get the royal summons and it's off to the Kingdom of Fermyn Bois for a date with the Emperor, accompanied by Count Clive de Magdalen. It was hot and sunny, just how it was the last - and only - time I was granted the royal audience, in 1982 at Alice Holt Wood in Hampshire. On that day I wandered innocently (not having any idea that the Emperor was in residence there) from the car park down a nearby drive and there he was, His Majesty, resting on the ground, wings out and glinting. A quick shake and he was off, powering over my head and up to the treetops. And that was it for the day.
Thirty-one years later and I had high hopes of my new audience. The omens were good as we walked into the wood through fields and along hedgerows, with clouds of ringlets and meadow browns, small skippers, gatekeepers and burnet moths nectaring on wild privet. A couple of white-letter hairstreak false alarms (ahem, again) - they must be there, as there was a lots of sucker elm - and then we were into the wood....
First up, a speckled wood. Nice but not
quite what we were after. And a tad tatty to boot. But always worth remembering that a decent supporting cast always makes The Star shine brighter.
The rides were busy, with as many large skippers as I can remember seeing anywhere, shooting around and perching up nicely...
A lot of the butterflies were moving up off the low herbage and exploring the tree canopy, so there were flying beasts at every level, including brown hawkers busy chasing some of the smaller butts.
Suddenly we saw a large black-and-white butterfly whizzing around in a glade, first thoughts being white admiral but oh no, much too large. But then gone.
Not to fear. A few metres on, His Majesty made a much more gracious showing, hammering past and then settling nearby to show his fabulous underwing. Anxious not to spoil or overexcite, he refused to give us a flash of his purple robes, however.
The Royal Way at Fermyn Bois
The royal presence now firmly established, we walked towards the main processional ride where surely the chief audience would take place. Suddenly there He was, several incarnations in fact, including one almost trodden on by Count Clive (surely a capital offence). Everything I'd ever heard about the imperial predilection for foul liquids and excrement is all true, with The Majesty descending on to the path to partake of fish sauce - put down as bait - and merrily decomposing horse manure. A close but cautious approach was allowed, and at one point three Emperors supped together, with a Comma acting as diminutive court page.
It was so hot that the Majesty kept his wings tightly closed for most of the time, only flicking them open for a fleeting second at a time. However, by craftily shading The Presence, he was lulled into showing his full splendour and it was then that there was a chance of catching the iridescence. Only one wing at a time it seems, but one is grateful for any royal dispensation...
In total we saw as many as 40 Imperial Highnesses, a remarkable number, although we were some way behind the NT's Matthew Oates, who was on 85 when we last saw him. With the exception of the first one we saw, which
might have been a female, they were all males, which emerge first - the first one was seen on Thursday 11th July and it is proving to be a bumper year. Females should follow in the next few days. Fermyn was always a traditional sight for Emperors, but the small relict population which it is generally agreed survived there was boosted by introductions during the 1980s. If the conditions are right, and you're there at the right time of year, it is hard to imagine how one could go there and not see them. We got there at about 8.45am - terrifyingly early for me - and they were still on the wing when we left at 1.30pm, although in rapidly declining numbers: they move up into the canopy around lunchtime. Memorable moments: the bright lemon-yellow proboscis of HIM, and Count Clive's smelly trousers which proved irresistible....
As for the supporting cast, this included at least three silver-washed fritillaries and up to half a dozen white admirals, these of course usually stealing the show but NOT on this occasion! Another highlight was a beautiful drift of musk mallow, and nearby we also got distant views of up to four white-letter hairstreaks flitting around the top of an ash. A great day, and one of my most exciting butterfly experiences to date.
Green hairstreak in the car park at RSPB Lakenheath Fen
