gerard | Philip Strange Science and Nature Writing

Close up view of a hedge woundwort flower showing the art deco-style markings

There’s a path I often take on my way into town. It runs between the back gardens of two rows of houses and is probably an ancient right of way. Much of the path is lined by old stone walls, softened in summer by the pinks and purples of valerian and campanula. Walking along here one early June morning, I was surprised to find a dense mass of flower spikes, some up to a metre tall, rising from a bank usually covered in rough grass. Whorls of purplish red flowers decorated with white art deco-style patterns grew around each stem above heart-shaped leaves, toothed and pale green, nettle-like but without the sting. This is hedge woundwort (Stachys sylvatica). To some, it’s an invasive weed but to me it’s a beautiful wild flower, attractive to insects and with interesting medicinal properties.

Small bumblebees were drinking nectar from the flowers in their lazily laconic manner, pushing their tongue between the three-lobed lower lip and the curving upper lip, acquiring an involuntary dusting of pollen from the hidden stamens. Hedge woundwort is, though, a particular favourite of another smaller bee species, one with a very different personality. One of these was moving edgily from flower to flower stopping very briefly to feed, emitting a distinctive high-pitched buzz as it went. It was about half the size of a honeybee, a non-descript brown except for some orange hairs on the tail and a golden pollen brush on the back legs. This was a female fork-tailed flower bee (Anthophora furcata). While she was feeding, another small bee arrived at high speed, a similar brown colour but with prominent yellow hairs on the face. This was the male fork-tailed flower bee; he hovered briefly behind the female buzzing loudly before pouncing. Both bees ended up falling to the ground.

Hedge woundwort and the closely related marsh woundwort have a long history of use in folk medicine for wound healing. The 16^th century surgeon Gerard once witnessed a man cut himself badly with a scythe. Gerard offered help but the man refused and poulticed the injury himself with woundwort, stopping the bleeding; his wound healed in a few days. Gerard went on to use the plant in his own practice but, his professional pride piqued by the man’s rejection, christened it “clowne’s woundwort”.

A female fork-tailed flower bee feeding from the flowers.

A female fork-tailed flower bee in flight with a glimpse of the orange hairs on the tip of her abdomen.

A male fork-tailed flower bee feeding by pushing his tongue between the two main parts of a flower. His yellow facial markings are showing.

Male fork-tailed flower bee in flight with his tongue ready to feed.

August failed to deliver the holiday heat we expected and the unseasonable cool made us more conscious of the approach of autumn. Looking around, there was palpable change, particularly in the look of the trees. Some showed tantalising hints of autumn tints but, for many trees, the season changed their appearance in a different way. The fresh, bright green leaves that had signalled the headlong rush of spring growth now lacked lustre. Also, from our kitchen window I could see a lime tree that seemed to have been painted with impressionist-daubs of pale yellow-green giving the tree a lighter look. A closer examination revealed that the tree was covered with seeds and pale ribbon-like bracts; these will eventually fall together and the bracts will act as sails to aid seed dispersal. Another tree, a beech, exhibited a mass of fuzzy brown nuts, as if afflicted by a plague of small hedgehogs. Soon, however, the leaves will fall, the seeds will have their chance and the trees will await another spring.

Lime bracts and seeds — lime seeds and bracts

Down in the Leechwell Garden, there was still plenty of interest, especially in the herb garden. Several clumps of hyssop were in full flower and their colour, one sky-blue, the other pretty in pink, caught my eye. In the sunshine these new faces also delighted the bees.

Hyssop and bumblebee — hyssop and bumblebee

Bright pink echinacea and steel-blue globe thistle continued to flower valiantly providing welcome food for insects. I love the symmetry of these two flowers, a tribute to nature’s hidden plans. A tall mullein with a few residual yellow flowers overbalanced under its own weight like a drunk at the bar.

Nearby, I found the massive flower heads of an artichoke topped with their punkish purple fuzz. The oversize blooms look like monster Scottish thistles and indeed artichokes are members of the thistle family cultivated for their edible buds. There is something primeval about the flower heads; fortunately the plants cannot move, otherwise we might have a prototype triffid. The blooms are also bee-favourites and I saw a red-tailed bumblebee seemingly drunk on the nectar.

The water flowing through the Garden from the Leechwell is very popular with visitors but it also attracts its own floral signature. Water mint, noticeable at this time of year for its many mauve flowers, dips its feet in the water and grows here prolifically. Richard Mabey in Flora Britannica tells the story of William Sole who, in 1798, wrote about the different kinds of mint and their particular smells. Sole likened the smell of water mint to “a ropy chimney in a wet summer where wood fires have been kept in winter”. This is too much for my nose and all I could detect was a strong minty smell.

The fragrant, frothy flowers and dark green foliage of the damp-loving meadowsweet were also in evidence growing near the stream. John Clare wrote about this plant in his poem, “Summer”:

The meadowsweet taunts high its showy wreath
And sweet the quaking grasses hide beneath

In the 16th century, meadowsweet was a popular strewing plant; its leaves were spread on floors to provide a crude carpet and a pleasant odour. The foliage of the plant emits a sharp aromatic scent and Gerard, in his herbal, extols the virtues of strewing meadowsweet: “the smell thereof makes the heart merrie, delighteth the senses”; it is said that meadowsweet was the favourite strewing plant of Elizabeth I. In contrast to the odour associated with the foliage, the creamy-white flowers have a different scent which, to me, is sickly sweet.

Meadowsweet has long been used in folk medicine to provide relief against mild pain. We now know that the plant contains chemicals similar to those in willow bark, another natural analgesic. These naturally occurring molecules were used to develop aspirin and the name of this widely consumed drug was derived from the old botanical name of meadowsweet, Spiraea ulmaria.

I wrote last month about the departure of the swifts. It turns out that this was slightly inaccurate as on the evening of August 10 two more appeared over the Garden; I suppose these swifts were on their way to the coast as we didn’t see them again. They were then replaced for a few days by a group of house martins. These are not as acrobatic or as quick as the swifts but it was good to see them swooping and twittering to one another as they harvested the insects.

The featured image at the top of this post shows a pollen-loaded honeybee on mullein.

This is the ninth of my diary entries for the Leechwell Garden; to see the others please put “Leechwell” in the search box.