Foxglove (Digitalis purpurea)

Any Fairies Around?

Foxglove and Sedum

      Foxgloves are normally a biennial plant, meaning that they produce a rosette of leaves in the first year, flower in the second, then snuff it. However, they've not all read the books, so you inevitably get some which decide to go on flowering over the next few years. Perhaps that's just a stage in their evolution or maybe they've always varied like that. Anyway, the point is, that I've usually seen them as a nuisance and a weed when they pop up where I don't want them and this year I gave them a bit more thought: they're an attractive flower and when one appeared growing adjacent a Sedum spectabile I decided to leave it because it flowers early and can be removed when they finish, leaving the Sedum to present its display unimpeded later in the summer. This should be a major rule in gardening: maximise the use of the space you have, so that there is always something of interest.

      The flowers on foxglove (Digitalis purpurea) open first at the bottom and work their way up over a period of weeks. The reasons given for this are twofold. Firstly, it gives security against bad weather which will keep bees, their main pollinators, in bed until it cheers up and secondly, its normal habitat is in areas where tall grasses and other plant are liable to grow up around it and hide the flowers from bees, so later flowering to the tip of its spire ensures they will still be seen. Nectar is secreted at the base of the flower, attracting bees which follow the 'runway' marked out with spots. They have to force their way down the flower to the nectar and, in so doing, rub past the anthers, picking up pollen which gets transferred to the next plant they visit.

Getting Pollinated

      Reasons for the name foxglove remain debatable. One which I may have mentioned before is the closeness to 'folk's gliew', the 'folks' referring to the little folks or fairies and 'gliew' to a Saxon musical instrument made of small bells - fairy bells. I like this explanation but it is poo- poo'd by the experts who maintain that, in Old English, it was called foxes glofa. This may well be, but the fact that it has a number of names, including fairy's thimbles, dead men's thimbles, tod-tails, floppy dock, fairy gloves and fairy bells, suggests to me that it seems reasonable to assume that it was always called a few things. Therefore the choice of foxes glofa proves nothing except that no one really knows the truth of the matter.

Yellow foxglove (Digitalis grandiflora) which arrived uninvited

      The history of medicinal use of the foxglove is quite interesting: a bloke called William Withering, a physician in the mid eighteenth century, came across a remedy for dropsy which contained foxglove. Knowing that heart failure often caused dropsy, he did careful analysis and came up with digoxin, which is still widely used for heart treatment. This finding is recognised as the tipping point from folk medicine into scientifically based modern treatments. I'm always interested in the derivation of names and like to think that Bill Withering's came from a facility to belittle someone with a look rather than a propensity to kill plants.

      As it is throughout life, you can have too much of a good thing and poisonous foxglove is a case in point: the right amount can save your life, whereas a bit too much can lead to the funeral insurance being cashed in.

Fungi

 Funerals

Common puff-ball (Lycoperdon perlatum). Edible when young. Spores puff out when mature

     A work colleague had died and a large number of people from the then Recreational Services section of the council were gathering to give our respects at Blakeley Crematorium. It was the usual conveyor belt, (death being a popular pastime) where everyone gathered outside, waiting their turn in one of the three chapels. It was cold and there were a lot of gloves and even a bobble hat on display. I feel there is a great potential for street entertainers and hot dog sellers to cash in on these occasions but, so far, I've never come across this. No one would have been surprised to hear a hollow clerical voice shout 'next', causing the queue to shuffle forward in anxious anticipation of the awaiting ritual. As was to be expected, the mood was somber - sympathy tinged with the inevitable 'but thank God it's not me' relief.

      Waiting there brought to mind that classic Dave Allen sketch where a funeral was taking place in some Irish village: apparently (according to Dave) it was believed that, if two people should be buried in a churchyard on the same day, only the first one would get to heaven. On this occasion, two funeral parties met, marching along the road to the graveyard. At first they simply try to walk faster, but this evolved to them trying to barge each other off the road as the race hotted up. A lot of things happened. One of the groups found an old pram and stuck the coffin on that, giving them greater speed potential. However, they relinquished their lead when they found it necessary to stop at a pub, leaving the coffin parked outside. They hadn't put the brake on and the pram started rolling downhill, eventually ending up in the duck pond. The other party in the meantime hitched a ride in a car, with the coffin on top. Anyway, to cut a long story short, the two parties eventually arrived at the graveyard at the same time, only to find that a funeral was already taking place. Maybe neither of them got to heaven then, or maybe (and this is more likely), they went back to the pub and animosity was forgotten - a bit like when there is a state occasion and the prime minister and opposition leader can be seen walking together in the dignitary procession, chatting amicably, and sharing their dismay at  their 11% pay rise.

      Hanging around in the cold led to me needing the toilet, so I wandered away from our group in search of relief. When I found it, my old mate Ron was already there and we wandered back a couple of minutes later, just as everyone was filing in.

      It was a big, modern chapel and, as I remember it, the pews were in a semi-circle facing the front. Ron and I found ourselves slap bang in the middle and the service was about to commence when I noticed something strange:

      "Hey, Ron", I whispered. "I don't know many of these people, do you?"

      Ron glanced around then gave a start as a group of heads filed past the window.

      "Bloody hell!", he said loudly. This seemed a bit inappropriate at a funeral I thought, but I didn't say anything because, like Ron, I'd recognised a bobble hat which was, er, bobbling past the window.

      "We're in the wrong sodding funeral", he informed me, rather unnecessarily.

      And so it was that my mate Ron and I donned sickly grins to accompany our apologies and probably became the first people in history to walk out of a funeral.

Shaggy Ink Cap (Coprinus comatus) edible when while still white

      While we're on about death, it's worth having a look at fungi. These are complex organisms which seem to be a form of plant but differ in that they are not green. This is important because the green in plants is due to the presence of chlorophyll, the substance which enables them to produce sugars to convert into energy for growth. The fungi haven't got this ability, so they've adapted to get the sugars from elsewhere.

      They do this in different ways and so we class them as saprophytic - those which feed on dead organisms and parasitic - the ones which feed off living hosts. The saprophytic ones can be seen as the gardener's friend, because they help break down dead material so that it goes back into the soil and enriches it with nutrients and fibrous structure. The parasitic types are often the enemy, feeding on living plants and weakening, spoiling their appearance, or even killing them - examples can be commonly seen in mildews, leaf spots and honey fungus.

      Mushrooms are a type of fungus we exploit as a foodstuff and the magic ones can send you on a trip. Unfortunately it is often difficult to tell the magic ones from similar poisonous species and a mistake could, at worst, lead to your trip being one-way. The field mushrooms we commonly use for eating are best picked in the early morning. I used to think this was simply a freshness issue but, on holiday in Northumbria, ignored this advice and picked a bumper crop in late afternoon. When it came to preparing them I found they were alive with maggots. Now, if I pick them wild, I make sure it is early in the day and that they are newly emerged. Reading up on this, I find that some people dry the mushrooms by hanging them with the flat head upwards and the maggots (and sometimes worms) fall out. Others simply cook them, maggots and all. Well, whatever turns you on.

Scarlet Elf Cup (Sarcoscypha coccinea). Edible

      Identifying fungi is difficult, partly because they are variable in appearance at different stages of growth and so pictures in books can be misleading. Honey fungus is edible but a species very similar in appearance is poisonous, so my advice is that if you're in doubt, give it a miss (or try it on someone you don't like). Some, like shaggy ink cap, are very distinctive and so can be eaten with confidence.

      The most deadly toadstool is the death-cap (Amanita phalloides) and this is closely related to the fly agaric (Amanita muscaria), the red one with white spots often seen with a fairy seated on it. Fly agaric grows prolifically in Siberia and the arctic and is a favourite food of reindeer. It is also consumed by arctic shamans and there is a theory that Santa and his flying reindeer originated with shaman and reindeer on a joint trip through the night sky. If so, this is a dream fortified by the imagination of millions of children who further fuel the shaman with mince pies.
   

Epilobum angustifolium and Dictamnus albus

A Burning Problem

Mysterious footwear?

      Have you ever thought about shoes in the road? The number of times you come across shoes left along the highway seems to have something significant about it. It's possible you haven't noticed this phenomena but, having read this, I can guarantee you will. The odd pair of knickers behind a park bench speak for themselves but shoes? and usually only one (nearly always a woman's)??

      Alien abduction is the first thing that springs to mind - the victim was hauled up so suddenly that the shoe was left behind and I suppose it's conceivable that it could be only one, perhaps because the lace was undone. However, I think this is a bit unlikely, based on the fact that it never happened to Spock or Captain Kirk when they were beamed up. Another possibility is a broken heel.  I saw it happen to a woman in a film once: a heel broke off and she simply took the other one off and walked barefoot, keeping her dignity. That's the 'sod it' factor, how can I walk if I'm listing to port? This solution may work for Hollywood but she wouldn't do that round our way - not with the amount of dogcrap on the pavement. A better solution would be to walk with one foot in the gutter and the other on the pavement, rectifying the uneven elevation. However this could be problematic if it's your right shoe that's lost the heel and the kerb is on the left due to the direction you're travelling: the foot with the heel would then be twice as high. My first reaction to this conundrum was that you'd have to walk the other way round the block in the hopes that you could reach your destination that way. When I think about it though, this, of course, that's ridiculous - you'd just have to walk along the gutter on on the other side of the road.

      And what about the one-legged person? Did Long John Silver have to buy two shoes and throw one away? I should have thought that, in the cause of decency, the shop should  sell them one at a time. Probably there is a balance between one legged people with the left leg and those with the right so, in the long run, they'd be able to sell them both. However, if they do have to buy two, one may end up chucked through the car window.

      These things are possibilities but the most likely answer, I feel, lies in spontaneous combustion. In Bleak House, Dickens describes how Mr Krook is a victim of this. In that case there was nothing left of him but an evil smell, greasy soot, a chunk of burnt thigh and a pool of oil. Although this was a novel, Dickens had done copious research and the story was based on a number of known cases. Lots of theories about how this happens have been propounded, the most widely accepted one being that of the wick effect: having first been ignited by a fag end or something, the person burns and fat from the body works like candle wax, keeping it lit for ages. Whatever the cause, it's a fact that, in 1951, a Mary Hardy Reeser of St. Petersburg, Florida was found almost totally cremated. All that was left was a pile of ash and a foot. The point is though, that the foot was still wearing - wait for it - A SHOE! I rest my case.

      A plant - Dictamnus albus - is also known as 'burning bush'. It produces volatile oils from its leaves and these may become ignited in hot weather. You can hold a burning match close and watch the resulting conflagration. It sounds advisable to only do on someone else's Dictamnus, because it wouldn't do a lot for your herbaceous border. However, the burst of flame is fleeting enough to not damage the plant. It's thought that this was the burning bush depicted in the Bible, when God spoke to Moses on Mount Sinai. I can't remember the rest of the story, maybe Moses used it to light his pipe. It grows to about three foot high, with woody stems, and looks a bit like rosebay willow herb, another plant associated with fire.

Rosebay willowherb or fireweed (Epilobium angustifolium)

      Rosebay willow herb is also known as 'fireweed'. This is due to its characteristic of colonizing areas of woodland which have been burnt down. A perennial herb, it dies out as the trees reestablish but the seeds stay viable in the ground for many years, ready to make another bid for glory should fire or felling again create the right environment. At one time it was a rare plant in Britain and only really exploded onto the scene with the coming of the railways in the 1800's- the bare ground accompanying them suited the plant and the 'wind tunnel' effect of the trains helped spread the airborne seeds. The bombing of the cities created a wealth of new sites and a new name 'bombweed' became popular, as harsh areas of rubble became hidden under a sea of pink.

      The soft, downy seeds become a snowstorm in late summer windy days and, at one time they were used with thistledown in Scotland to stuff mattresses. The fluff was also used, mixed with cotton or fur, to make stockings and other items of clothing. Meanwhile, in the kitchen, the young tender stems can be cooked and eaten as a vegetable and are claimed to be a good asparagus substitute. I haven't tried it yet but will give it a go next summer. The dried leaves are used to make tea and I've heard it said that it's difficult to tell it from the real thing.

      Although it was once considered a garden plant, rosebay willow herb quickly outgrows its welcome: the thick woody roots spread horizontally and its dense clumps suppress other plants, although foxglove seems to thrive happily with it. However the white form - Epilobium angustifolium album - is a bit less belligerent and can be a stately addition to the herbaceous border.

   

Natural Remedies

Just a Minute

Willows in Stratford on Avon - headache cures

      Life happens while you're not looking: ever been sitting at a restaurant table waiting a seemingly interminable period to be served? - nothing happening and you chunner on about  'perhaps the chef's gone mad and murdered everyone in the kitchen. Chefs are very excitable - I saw a TV programme about one once - mind you, it was Lenny Henry and he gets excited about nothing', together with other possible causes  - 'kitchens are death traps, stands to reason doesn't it? All that heat and cooking oil , they used to pour it on the enemy off castle walls, for God's sake', and you ramble on about starving to death and 'we should have got a takeaway', then you nip out to the toilet.

      That's when it happens. You've only been gone a  minute but when you get back to the table I can guarantee the waitress has been, your food is sitting there going cold and your partner is smirking and well into the first round.

      The same if you're fishing: take your eye off the float for a second while you open your flask and pour a cup of hot tea and when you glance up, it's gone. Somewhere in the depths a giant carp is thoughtfully sucking the Spam off your hook while his mates look on laughing. They've been watching you all morning, waiting for this moment. So half the tea goes in your lap while you grab the rod, haul out a baitless hook and end up looking as if you've wet yourself. Well, you have - but not in the way people think, you've done it the more creative way by pouring hot liquid over the parts you didn't want it to reach, ruining your sex life into the bargain.

      Postmen have got the same sense of humour as fish: you're waiting for this parcel and don't want to miss the delivery, so you stay in all morning and he doesn't come. But you're out of milk. Could die for a brew. So you nip down to the corner shop. Only two minutes. TWO SODDING MINUTES and when you get back there's a note in the letterbox saying the postman tried to deliver a parcel but you weren't in - please pick it up from the local sorting office, three miles away, where there's a queue of fellow sufferers flowing right round the corner.

      And so the list goes on: you leave the football match a couple of minutes early in order to beat the crowd to the bus and that's when someone scores. You know they've scored from the crowd's roar but you don't know which side. You've spent one and three quarter valuable hours of your life sitting in a freezing stadium waiting for a moment that only came when you went, and now you've got to go on the internet to find the score; as a kid, you lie in bed determined to stay awake and see Santa when he comes. But you nod off - just for a minute- and that's when he comes. You miss the point that this 'minute' has stretched long enough for it to go light and, when you rush downstairs to check, the bugger's swigged the sherry and eaten the mince pies you left out. Still, he did leave the presents.

      When you aren't there, perhaps time lapse photography takes over: cars and people rush around like speeded up ants; or maybe none of them exist except for in your mind. You are the only reality and all the rest is an elaborate play constructed in your head. Come to think of it, if that's true, you, dear reader, do not exist apart from as an electrical impulse in my brain.

      For some reason that song 'They're Coming To Take Me Away' is constantly going round my mind. Anyone old enough to remember that one? Who sang it? (answer at end of blog).

      Anyway, coming back to time lapse -the same scenario is replaying in the garden: the border was absolutely weed free a couple of days ago and now it looks like a rain forest. You turned away and the time lapse clicked on: seeds bursting open to send writhing snakes of stems upwards, turning the rich soil green and competing with your chosen plants for water and nutrients. This happens with such regularity that the best way to deal with it is by taking the philosophical approach. Those dandelions could be useful in salads and in the health-giving vitamins and minerals they contain see here as can many other wild plants and those we call weeds. Most of our current day remedies originate from plants.

Hops -  to help you sleep

      Our fore-bearers were pretty creative, when you think about it - they had to be. There wasn't a chemist on every corner dispensing cures for most of the usual problems, so they looked around and used what was there: if you had a headache, willow or poplar trees had the remedy. Chew a bit of bark or bud and salicin within the plant changes to salicylic acid, a major constituent of aspirin, in your system. Interestingly this is not only of use to humans: when attacked by disease, some plants produce salycitates to combat it. This has led to the belief that we can actually improve a plant's immune system by watering it with aspirin. The technique is to add one and a half tablets to a gallon of water, plus a small amount of soft soap to act as a spreader, and spray it on every three weeks. Don't know if it works, but there's nothing lost in trying.

      On the same lines, herb pillows were once popular and are still used today to some extent. A herb pillow is simply a muslin bag stuffed with dried herb and placed in your pillow - case. The heat of your head releases the scent of the chosen herb. King George the third had trouble sleeping and pressures of state were becoming so great that he decided to hand over the reins to the Prince Regent. Then friends advised that a herb pillow filled with hops would help with the sleep problem, so he decided to give it a bash. Miraculously he got some good nights sleeps and felt completely refreshed. So improved was he that he changed his mind about handing over power and the prince regent went back to opening supermarkets and whatever else he'd been doing before. Apparently hops contain lupulin (the latin name of the plant is Humulus lupulus), and this is now known to be a sedative, giving scientific basis to the story.

Verbena - an aphrodisiac?

      Verbena is also used in herb pillows because it is believed to be an aphrodisiac. I don't know whether there is any scientific justification for this but, again, there's nothing lost in trying. However I have my own theory about this: if woody stalks are left in the herb mix, there is danger of one piercing your eardrum at the peak of sexual excitement, and this could be the source of that story about  too much of certain things making you go deaf.

      'They're Coming To Take Me Away' was sung by Napoleon X1V. Bit of culture thrown in, eh?

      Is there anybody there?