Dear Readers, the overgrown patch at the side of Muswell Hill Playing Fields continues to be an unexpected source of interesting ‘weeds’ – in amongst the red campion and the comfrey, I spotted some ragged robin, a plant that I have been wanting to write about for about five years. What a strange, exotic flower it has! Looked at closely, each petal  is divided into four lobes: which gives the flower the appearance of a group of small pink men with very long legs joining hands for ‘Ring-a-ring-of-roses’.

Ragged robin is often described as a bog plant, and I suspect that this one is doing so well because under all the plant life there is a drainage ditch. It is a member of the Caryophyllaceae family, otherwise known as the campions and chickweeds. The family also includes carnations and the Antarctic pearlwort, which is one of only two flowering plants that survive in Antarctica. This latter plant hunkers close to the ground to avoid the freezing winds, and produces these tiny yellow flowers – it reminds me of the moss campion that I often see in the Alps, where the climate can be almost as inhospitable.

But, as usual, I digress.

The plant is dedicated to St Barnabas, whose feast day is 11th June. The pink flowers would have been seen amongst the hay which would have had its first cut at around this time (the Latin name ‘flos-cuculi’ means ‘cuckoo call’, which is also a reference to the time of flowering. . St Barnabas is the saint who is said to protect against hailstorms, which would have been devastating during haymaking season. Regular readers will know that practically every wild plant that I write about has some kind of dire warning concerning what will happen if the flower is brought indoors attached to it. Ragged robin is said to cause thunderstorms if picked, which connects rather nicely with the St Barnabas/hailstorms link. How anxiously our ancestors, without the benefit of fairly accurate short-term weather forecasts, must have watched for signs of incoming tempests that would ruin their hay harvest!

The name ‘robin’ was often associated with evil and mischievous goblins, which would have been another reason to leave the plant alone. On the other hand, all bets are off when it comes to romance, as if a gentleman placed a ragged robin in his pocket and it survived, it indicated that he would be lucky in love. What ‘survived’ looks like is anybody’s guess, as this looks like a rather delicate plant to me.

In the Victorian language of flowers, the plant is said to signify ‘ardour, aversion and wit’, which sounds like quite a tricky combination to pull off, even if you have a couple of wilted ragged robins stashed about your person.

In Shakespeare’s time ragged robin (which sounds like a very Shakespearian name) was actually known as crowflower, and as such it appears in Gertrude’s speech describing Ophelia’s suicide:

 

Medicinally, ragged robin has been used to treat snakebite and in infusion as a treatment for wounds. It has also been used to alleviate migraine in some countries in the Mediterranean. Like all campions, ragged robin contains chemicals called saponins in its roots, which have been used to make soap in the past – one closely-related species (Saponaria officinalis) is known as ‘soapwort’. As a result of all those soapy chemicals, it has no culinary uses that I’ve been able to find, although one site did enigmatically refer to the root as ‘tasting like wasabi’.

Ragged robin is a good plant for pollinators, in particular long-tongued bees such as the garden bumblebee (Bombus hortorum) which can reach right into the depths of the flower. In the photo below, I was initially stumped – is that a hoverfly with a bumblebee’s backside? I think there might actually be two insects – a hoverfly at the front, and a bumblebee feeding behind. Either way, it proves that this is a great plant for insects.

Now, here’s something that I found very interesting, and it harks back to my earlier mention of the Victorian language of flowers. In her book ‘Women Poets in the Victorian Era‘, Dr Fabienne Moine refers to a poem called ‘The Flower Girl’ by one Mrs Cobbold. In it, the flower girl of the title offers flowers to the passing gents, summing them up with a quick glance in much the same way that merchants in street markets from Kiev to Marrakesh are able to tell what language to use when approaching their potential customers simply by looking at their clothes and body language.

I have always thought of the language of flowers as being a rather languid and prissy way to think about plants, but this poem has some real bite to it – there is ‘ardour, aversion and wit’ in it. And I love that it has been written from the point of view of a feisty young woman, who obviously brooks no nonsense. The poem has been seen as a possible inspiration for Christina Rossetti’s ‘Goblin Market’, but I think it stands very nicely on its own.

The Flower Girl by Mrs Cobbold (circa 1813)

Come buy, come buy my mystic flowers

All ranged with due consideration

And cull’d in Fancy’s fairy bowers

To suit each age and every station.

 

For those who late in life would tarry 

I’ve snowdrops, Winter’s children cold;

And those who seek for wealth to marry

May buy the flaunting marigold.

 

I’ve ragwort, ragged-robins too,

Cheap flowers for those of low condition;

For bachelors I’ve buttons blue 

And crown imperials for ambition. 

 

For sportsmen keen who range the lea

I’ve pheasant’s eye and sprigs of heather;

For courtiers with the supple knee 

I’ve climbing plants and prince’s feather. 

 

For tall thin fobs I keep the rush;

For pedants still am nightshade weeding;

For rakes I’ve devil in the bush;

For sighing Stephens, love-lies-bleeding. 

 

But fairest blooms affection’s hand

For constancy and worth disposes

And gladly weaves at your command

A wreath of amaranth and roses. 

Photo Credits

Photo One from CC BY-SA 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=557700

Photo Two by By Liam Quinn – Flickr: Antarctic Pearlwort, CC BY-SA 2.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=15525940

Photo Three by Clint Bud from https://www.flickr.com/photos/58827557@N06/42034065484

 

 

 

Dear Readers, what a clever, clever bunch you are! Winning this week is FEARN with 29 out of 30 correct (and you’ll kick yourself when you see which one was wrong). Liz actually answered all the questions correctly, and would have got 30 out of 30 if it wasn’t for getting the answers to questions 17 and 20 the wrong way round :-(, so I have had to give a score of 28 out of 30, equal with Fran and Bobby Freelove, who win the prize for the quickest response of the week. Sarah got a very respectable 15 out of 15 for the photos, but didn’t do quite so well on the second lot of questions. So, thank you to everyone who took part and commented, and watch out for next week’s quiz. It’s going to be a humdinger (whatever that is).

1. Herb Bennet (Geum urbanum)

And here are some additional questions for those of you with stamina! The answer to each question is one of the plants shown above, and you can find the answers in the Wednesday Weed for each species.

16. Which plant has proved efficacious in the treatment of migraine?

Feverfew

17. Which plant has smooth leaves at the top and prickly leaves at the bottom, and why?

Holly

18. Which plant was Wordsworth’s favourite flower?

Lesser celandine

19. Which plant is the foodplant for the orange-tip butterfly?

Garlic mustard

20. Which plant got its common name from the blessing ‘Benedictus’?

Herb bennet

21. Which plant has leaves that taste of cucumber?

Borage

22. Which plant was described thus, in 1913:

‘In bushy places, common; and a most mischievous weed in gardens, not only exhausting the soil with its roots, but strangling with its twining stems the plants that grow nearby’.

Hedge bindweed

23. Which plant is also known as ‘pissenlit’ because of its diuretic qualities?

Dandelion

24. Which plant generates its own heat, to entice insects to pollinate it?

Cuckoo-pint

25. The seedheads of which plant were believed to be used as hairbrushes by the Banshees in the folklore of Ireland?

Teasel

26. Which plant is closely related to chamomile?

Pineapple-weed

27. Which plant is described thus, and is the County Plant of Berkshire?

‘White flowers hanging in severe purity from long stems’.

Loddon Lily

28.Which plant is the larval foodplant of the holly blue butterfly, and has been described as ‘the most divisive wild plant in the UK’?

Ivy

29. Which plant is also known as ‘purple archangel’?

Red deadnettle

30. Which plant is ‘always green’ although its flowers are blue?

Green alkanet

And finally, for bonus points: three of these plants are members of the daisy family (Asteraceae), but which ones?

Dear Readers, what follows is a very idiosyncratic list of my ‘favourite’ plants where pollinators are concerned. I expect a bit of controversy with some of them, but in all cases I have observed the comings and goings of various insects, and have noted that the flower in question is much appreciated. Onwards!

1. Dandelion. I happen to love dandelions: they flower for most of the year, and are an invaluable source of early pollen, just when queen bumblebees and honeybees need the protein to rear their young ones. Plus, they always remind me of my husband’s father, Richard, who died on 11th May: the cemetery that he was buried in, Mount Pleasant in Toronto, was absolutely full to busting with dandelions in flower, and dandelion clocks, their seeds sailing away on the breeze. I thought it was one of the loveliest sights that I’d ever seen. Our local cemetery, St Pancras and Islington, can be just as pretty if the strimmers haven’t been too vigorous.
   

   St Pancras and Islington Cemetery in May 2015

2. Ivy. I know that it can damage brick work and pull down trees, but its Sputnik-shaped flowers are a late-summer feast for all manner of pollinators, including the newly-arrived ivy bee shown below. I have lost count of the number of species that I’ve seen feeding in autumn, when there is little else in flower.
   

   Ivy bee (Colletes hederae)

   3. Mahonia. What a spikey and unruly plant this is! I have a very sad specimen in a pot, which is basically just a stem with a crown of prickles on top. And yet, when it puts forth its few sad yellow flowers as early as January, I can bet that it will be visited by queen bumblebees popping out of hibernation in a warm spell, and the blue tits can often be seen flying off with the berries. Earlier this week a young squirrel was half way up the stem trying to get to the fruit, as the whole plant swung back and forth like a pendulum. I believe that it’s worth having for that early nectar and pollen, if for nothing else. Maybe hide it at the back of a bed somewhere if you’re dubious. Incidentally, the flowers smell rather lovely.

   

   Mahonia

   4. Scabious (of all kinds). This is a lovely little flower, and seems to be particularly favoured by butterflies. I can never get it to grow properly in my north-facing garden, but I’ve seen it positively covered in six-spot burnet moths in Austria. The garden varieties seem to be equally popular, but do let me know your experience…

   

   Field scabious

   5. Buddleia. I know, I know. The RHS is telling us not to plant it, the wildlife books are increasingly advising against it, and yet, for the few brief months when it is in flower it attracts pollinators of all kinds in abundance. And it smells like honey. And it grows alongside railway lines, forming a thicket of flowers in lilac and white and purple. I have two huge self-planted buddleia bushes in my front garden, and in August I sit at my desk with my binoculars and watch the butterflies come and go.

   

   Buddleia

   

   

   Red Admiral (Vanessa Atalanta) and Small Tortoiseshell (Aglais utricae) on buddleia

   6. Cardoon, and thistles in general. I watched entranced at all the bees feeding from these cardoons in Regents Park, but thistles are almost always great for insects. In Austria I look out for the beetles on the melancholy thistles, and for a while I had some very fine thistles in the garden. I have watched bees fall asleep in the flowers as if overcome with all the nectar.

   

   Cardoon (Cynar cardunculus)

   

   Melancholy thistle in Austria

   

   Bumblebees on thistle Cirsium atropurpureum

   7.Hemp agrimony. What a tatty flower this is: it becomes unkempt very quickly and the wild variety goes from a kind of vague pinkish colour to a whitish grey within about ten minutes. However, it loves the damp areas around my pond, and because it is so tall it makes watching the bees a delight, because I don’t even have to bend over or change my glasses. I love the way that the bigger bees seem to fumble through the flowers as if desperate to find the nectar. Much loved by hoverflies and smaller bees as well.

   

   Hemp agrimony

   8. Meadowsweet. I grew this for the first time last year because it was another waterside plant that was supposed to be good for pollinators, and I was delighted – again, hoverflies seemed to love it (I think all those small open flowers make life easy for them), but it also attracted my first ever gatekeeper butterfly. It looks as if it’s going to be even more impressive this year.

   

   Meadowsweet

   

   Gatekeeper (Pyronia tithonus)

   9. Foxglove. I’m not sure there’s anything more redolent of a drowsy summer day than the muffled sound of a bumblebee inside a foxglove flower. I sometimes wonder if they’re relieved when they finally escape!

   

   White foxgloves in my garden

   10. Bittersweet. I love this plant, which has self-seeded in the middle of my honeysuckle, and which provides more year-round entertainment than anything that I’ve ever planted. In the autumn the birds seek out the berries, but in the summer the air is filled with the high-pitched sound of common carder bees buzz-pollinating the flowers. I have rarely seen anything as fascinating as the way that they vibrate the blooms in order to persuade them to drop the pollen out of the cones in the centre. This is the way that other members of the family, such as tomatoes and potatoes, are pollinated too.

   

   Common Carder Bumblebee buzz-pollinating Bittersweet

   And here’s a little film of them doing their work.

So there we go, with my top ten. But I am thinking that this is a most incomplete list. Where are the nettles (food for the caterpillars of many moth and butterfly species)? Where are the umbellifers, like wild carrot and queen anne’s lace? Where are the brambles, probably the most useful plants of all? And more to the point, having shown a picture of comfrey at the top of the page, why is it not included (oops). I can see that this list is just the start, and I’d love to hear from you. What are the most valuable plants in your garden, from a wildlife point of view? I’m sure that I’ve always got room to pop another one in…

 

 

 

To those of you who are worried that someone has already had a bash at the answer to the quiz, can I reassure you that the first person to post isn’t necessarily the one with all the right answers? Also, if you have a better idea for how to provide the answers I’m happy to receive suggestions…

Dear Readers, many of you requested a plant quiz this week, so how could I refuse? All the plants in today’s quiz can be found within a mile of my house, and many of them can be found on several continents, so maybe it will give my non-UK readers a chance. Please include the Latin name if you know it (plants have so many different local names and I don’t want any fisticuffs). We’ll start with an ID quiz, and then I’ll be asking some random questions about the plants in the pictures. Let’s begin! I shall publish the answers on Tuesday to give you a chance to get properly stuck in. Put your answers in the comments by 5 p.m. on Monday (UK time) if you want me to give you a mark, but feel free to play along anyway.

And here are some additional questions for those of you with stamina! The answer to each question is one of the plants shown above, and you can find the answers in the Wednesday Weed for each species.

16. Which plant has proved efficacious in the treatment of migraine?

17. Which plant has smooth leaves at the top and prickly leaves at the bottom, and why?

18. Which plant was Wordsworth’s favourite flower?

19. Which plant is the foodplant for the orange-tip butterfly?

20. Which plant got its common name from the blessing ‘Benedictus’?

21. Which plant has leaves that taste of cucumber?

22. Which plant was described thus, in 1913:

‘In bushy places, common; and a most mischievous weed in gardens, not only exhausting the soil with its roots, but strangling with its twining stems the plants that grow nearby’.

23. Which plant is also known as ‘pissenlit’ because of its diuretic qualities?

24. Which plant generates its own heat, to entice insects to pollinate it?

25. The seedheads of which plant were believed to be used as hairbrushes by the Banshees in the folklore of Ireland?

26. Which plant is closely related to chamomile?

27. Which plant is described thus, and is the County Plant of Berkshire?

‘White flowers hanging in severe purity from long stems’.

28.Which plant is the larval foodplant of the holly blue butterfly, and has been described as ‘the most divisive wild plant in the UK’?

29. Which plant is also known as ‘purple archangel’?

30. Which plant is ‘always green’ although its flowers are blue?

Dear Readers, on Thursday I attended an online talk about London butterflies, given by Simon Saville, who has been studying the lepidoptera of London since 1992 on behalf of the Field Studies Council. You can watch it (and the other talks that have been given during lockdown) here. However, I wanted to summarise the key findings here because they are really quite exciting. Back in the 1980’s, only 22 of the most generalist butterfly species were found in Central London, and apart from a few large areas, such as Hampstead Heath and Richmond Park, no areas within Greater London had seen more than 25 species. Then, there was a big recording effort back in 2019, which revealed more than 30 species, with several butterflies making an impressive comeback.

One of these was the pretty white-letter hairstreak (shown above). This was a butterfly whose life cycle was inextricably linked with the elm tree: it lays its eggs on the leaves, the caterpillars pupate in crevices in the bark, and the adult butterfly can most frequently be seen dancing above the leaves of the tree. When Dutch elm disease struck, the numbers of the white-letter hairstreak fell precipitously, However, just recently it has been staging a comeback: it seems that it is perfectly happy with the disease-resistant varieties of elm that we are planting, such as New Horizon, and so it is now being spotted regularly wherever there are elms (Tooting Common is mentioned as a particular hotspot). I shall have to check out the elms planted on Queen Victoria Street in the City when/if I ever get back to my office.

The second species making a comeback is the marbled white (Melanargia galathea) which, in spite of its appearance, is actually a member of the brown butterfly family (Satyrinae). Simon Saville described it as ‘a caterpillar with a short butterfly phase’ – it lives as a larva for over 11 months, from July right round to the following June, before pupating for about six weeks, emerging as an adult to mate and lay eggs and then dying after flying around until mid August. The larval stage is the most vulnerable, because who can resist a juicy caterpillar? Certainly not the birds in my back garden. But habitat reclamation seems to be working wonders for this creature – the caterpillar lives in unimproved grassland, feeding particularly on red fescue. It seems that all those unmown corners, the reduction in the use of biocides by local councils (who still use such chemicals on street weeds but are largely avoiding them in parks) and a greater awareness of the needs of wildlife by the general public are all having an impact. So, resist the urge to mow every bit of your lawn, and leave some not just for the marbled white caterpillars but for many other butterflies and moths as well.

And finally, the brown argus (Aricia agestis) is also making a comeback in London. This most unlikely species was formerly thought to be a specialist, with its caterpillars feeding only on rockrose (Helianthemum nummalarium) on chalk downland. But somehow this butterfly has switched its foodplant: the caterpillars have discovered a liking for the foliage of wild geranium species, in particular dove’s foot cranesbill (Geranium molle) which can be found pretty much everywhere in the south of England.

So, three success stories, to help to offset all the misery. It has never been more important to keep our eyes peeled, both in the garden (if we have one) and when we’re out and about on our exercise walks (if we’re able). There are discoveries to be made right under our noses.

And finally, I had to share the latest squirrel news with you. I had only just gotten over the fact that my resident squirrel babies were pretty much all grown up when I looked out of the window yesterday to find three new youngsters raiding the bird feeders, digging up goodness only knows what and generally wreaking havoc. What little rascals they are! My jasmine has become a jungle-gym, and they are showing a particular liking for the strawberry tops that my husband throws out, ostensibly for the birds.

Here are a couple of short films of their shenanigans. Enjoy!

Dear Readers, over the years I have used lots of books to help me with the creation of the Wednesday Weed, so today I thought I’d share four very different works. Some are useful for ID, some are full of information, and I use all of them practically every week. So, to start with, here is that old favourite ‘The Wild Flower Key’ by Frances Rose. This is the first book that most people use when they start to become seriously interested in identifying plants, because it is concise without being too simple, and because the illustrations are clear. You can use it as a proper ‘key’ once you know the basic plant terms, but I find it most useful in identifying plants when I already know roughly what they are.

Incidentally, with a surname like ‘Rose’, how could Frances Rose have become anything other than a botanist? In New Scientist they have called this ‘nominative determinism’ – so my plumber is called Mr Boyle, and I once had a dentist called Mr Fang. I’m sure you can find lots of others.

I love Rose, but I have to admit that there is a lot of writing. If I want photos, I always turn to this book.

I often use this in combination with Rose: I find the photos very useful, and it sets out the key ways of telling the difference between different plants by putting the diagnostic features in bold. For example, the position of the buds is a key way of telling the difference between oilseed rape and wild turnip, and I learned this from Harrap. Plus, the photos, though small, are rather lovely.

Another book that I’ve found to be full of useful information is in the New Naturalist series – Stace and Crawley’s Alien Plants. Stace is a master botanist, who produced the definitive guide to plants in the UK, and this work on ‘Aliens’ is fascinating. He explains the various paths by which alien plants have arrived in the UK, the reasons why they thrive, and how they impact on native flora.

He has a list of the most common alien plants found in different parts of the UK, and who would be surprised by the number one plant in London? Yes, it’s that old favourite the buddleia. Who’d have thought that petty spurge would come in at number four though? It hasn’t even made my Wednesday Weed list yet (though sun spurge has). I shall have to pay closer attention.

But finally, here is my favourite book on the folklore, uses and culture surrounding plants in the UK. Richard Mabey is probably my favourite author on plants, and his books will certainly crop up in future when I’m thinking about books on ‘weeds’. In Flora Britannica he gathered information from the four corners of the UK, and you cannot open a page without finding a useful factoid. He reminds us that our plants have a biography and a historical significance too, and, as it was originally published in 1996 it was before its time in its focus on what we were in danger of losing.

In addition to describing the various plant families, Mabey also has special sections on areas such as ‘spring flower festivals’ and ‘plants, places and names’. I cannot recommend this book highly enough for sheer breadth of knowledge. It single-handedly reclaims the history of plants in the UK and reminds us of how long we have been admiring, using and destroying them.

So, that’s a small selection of the plant books that I find most useful for the Wednesday Weed – I could easily add in another half dozen that I use more occasionally. What are your ‘go-to’ plant books? I think there might be room on my bookshelf for a couple more….

Dear Readers, I was sitting in the garden on Sunday when I heard what  I consider to be the first sign that spring is easing gently into summer. Way up above my head, circling in the clear blue sky, were swifts, scything through the air. Their shrill cries may be a way of keeping in contact with one another, but I sometimes wonder if they are just for sheer joy. Swifts fly high as they follow the clouds of insects, but on a hot, drowsy day I have seen them zipping through the garden just a couple of metres above the ground. By the end of July they will be done, these most ephemeral of visitors.

Spring starts for me with the frog chorus, and the sound of chiff chaffs in Coldfall Wood. But what marks the midpoint is the arrival of those papery-skinned nuggets of loveliness, Jersey Royal potatoes. I am a latecomer to asparagus (I think it was a very local, and probably very expensive, crop when I was growing up), but how my family loved a Jersey Royal. My earliest memory of them is my Nan sitting in her navy-blue quilted dressing gown with a yellow plastic bowl on her lap, scraping the skins off with meticulous care. We didn’t have proper cooks’ knives, but we did have a single bone-handled dinner knife with a blade that bent to the left. This knife had about an inch-worth of exquisite sharpness where the metal had thinned, and this was used for anything that required precision. Nan would work over each potato, no matter how small, until its creamy perfection was revealed. Sometimes, enough potatoes for the five of us would take her an hour and a half. Then it was into a pot of boiling water with them, with salt, and some mint thrown it at the end. With an essential knob of butter dropped on to them  and another sprinkling of salt, they were the high point of a Sunday dinner, and I could eat a bowl of them on their own, picking them up with my fingers and blowing on them until they were cool enough to eat.

Later, after Nan died in 1965, it was Mum who took up the mantle of the Jersey Royal scraping. Like Nan, she was a perfectionist, and a potato wasn’t done until there wasn’t a vestige of skin left. When I was in my teens we started on the New Potato wars: I would scrub the potatoes so that most, but not all, of the skin came off, because I rather liked the rustic appearance. Also, I had learned at school that most of the vitamins in a potato are just under the skin, and so why would you risk getting rid of it? Mostly, though, I think I was just expressing my independence in the way that teenagers so often do, by being contrary. Later, when I had Mum and Dad over for my legendary dinner parties, I would serve up the Jersey Royals scrubbed not scraped, and would watch Mum for the slightest hint of disapproval. I can still see her taking each potato in turn, perusing it with a slight frown, and then meticulously removing every scrap of skin before she started eating. As Mum was always a slow eater at the best of times (unlike the rest of us who could shovel it down for England) this could make for a very long meal.

I soon learned that Jersey Royals were either scraped or off the menu. I seem to remember that we came to a compromise and I served peeled King Edwards, roast or mashed, instead.

Now, I see it a little differently. For Nan and for Mum, spending all that time scraping the potatoes, doing something ‘properly’, was an act of love, something that was offered up to a largely unappreciative family. I once asked Mum why she was taking such care over something that she was knitting, when it was in a part of the garment that wouldn’t be seen.

‘They won’t even know, Mum’, I said, as she unravelled a sleeve.

‘Yes, but I’ll know’, she said.

When is something ‘good enough’? I have struggled with this my whole life, sometimes to the detriment of my mental and physical health. It’s as if I have a little voice in my head that judges whether I could have done more, worked harder. I gauge my mistakes against an impossible standard, while forgiving the mistakes of others with ease. And while it is good to be conscientious, it’s also true that some things matter more than others. People matter. Time spent creating matters. Doing things with love and care matters. But breaking yourself on the wheel of a scraped potato seemed a step too far for me earlier this week, as I scrubbed my Jersey Royals and threw them into a pot of boiling salted water, and delicious they were too, though I’m not sure they tasted quite as good as they did when I was a little girl.

Let me tell you a secret, though. I would scrape Jersey Royals with a bone-handled knife until my hands bled to share one more bowl of potatoes with Mum.

Photo Credits

Photo One from https://www.bbcgoodfood.com/recipes/buttered-jerseys