Signs of the times: Summer #10

More comparisons between the British countryside of today and that from 1959-1961 in the paintings of Charles Tunnicliffe in the Ladybird "What to look for..." series of books.

"Foxgloves

She foxed him, slipping silently away

into the willow-shaded afternoon

where creamy elder blossom wandered down

as though this should have been her wedding day

He stares about him, sharp-nosed, yellow-eyed.

Nothing is moving. Poppies in the sun

hold their soft soot untouched. Where has she gone?

What sleeping leaves conceal his errant bride?

Tall by the cherry tree the foxgloves stand

pale in their purpleness, their long bells sweet

and profligate. Each one of them could fit

a lady's narrow, faithless, foxy hand."

Alison Prince, from The Whifflet Train (Mariscat, 2003)

(Copyright: Ladybird Books)

Summer Picture 10
I couldn’t improve on the text used to introduce this quite dramatic picture in the original Ladybird book: “Thunder-clouds have darkened the northern sky. In the foreground, sunshine is still bright on the bramble flowers, the foxglove and the pink campion. From the clouds, a fork of lightning flashes to earth, and nearby the thunder crackles. The farmer is just in time to stretch his tarpaulin and keep the rain from his newly-stacked hay. The clouded-yellow butterfly that is flying near the bramble will have to seek shelter if it is not to be beaten down by heavy rain – and possibly drowned.” A perfect description of the scene!


Earlier pictures in this series have featured brambles, but without much comment. The bramble (Latin name: Rubus fruticosa aggregate) is a deciduous or semi-evergreen shrub which grows across a wide range of habitats, including woodlands and scrub, bankings, heathland, hedgerows, waste ground and around old settlements, abandoned habitations and ruins. The New Atlas of the British and Irish flora describes brambles as: “a taxonomically intractable aggregate of over 320 microspecies in Rubus subgenus Rubus”, so, a genetically confusing picture that hasn’t yet been (and might never be) resolved. It is native over most of the British Isles, except Shetland and Orkney on both of which, it has been introduced) and the highest central Highlands of Scotland. The New Atlas identifies that the distribution of the brambles “aggregate” hasn’t changed since the original 1962 Atlas.

 Foxgloves (Digitalis purpurea) are a very widespread biennial (or, sometimes, a short-lived perennial) native plant, found all over the British Isles. The New Atlas describes its habitat preferences thus: “in hedge banks, open woods and woodland clearings, on heath and moorland margins, river banks, montane rocky slopes, sea-cliffs, walls and waste land. It is often found in great abundance in disturbed or burnt areas, such as recently felled forestry plantations”. So, nearly everywhere then! And it is also widely grown as a garden plant, often little altered from the original wild form. The distribution of the Foxglove is stable since 1962, a major factor in its success being its prolific seed production and persistent seed bank. I spend a measureable proportion of every Spring’s time in the garden relocating foxglove seedlings, from the generally inconvenient locations where they have seeded in, to new spaces where I group them together in big drifts for the greatest striking effect once they flower. The foxgloves shown here are a purple-pink colour but a purely white form occurs quite commonly in the wild. There is an excellent paradox about the foxglove - it has a hightoxicity but despite this was widely used in folk medicine. Indeed, as described by Richard mabey in Flora Britanicca, the floxglove is responsible for the first experiemnts and observation that led to the formation of modern pharmacology in the 18th Century when the botanist and physician William Withering explored the treatment of dropsy using foxglove leaves. But, pharmacologically speaking, the foxglove is best-known as the source of the drug digitalis, originally extracted from foxglove leaves and still used widely in conventional medicine as a heart stimulant drug. This is also described quite well here..


The final wild plant shown on the picture is the pink campion, or as it is more commonly known now, red campion (Silene dioica), which the New Atlas says is a short-lived perennial herb found in a wide range of habitats throughout the British Isles,and the distribution of which hasn't changed since the 1962 Atlas.  I introduced this species into my garden as part of a biodiversity seed mix and it flowers for up to 7 or 8 months year.


The clouded yellow butterfly (Colias croceus) is one of the truly migratory European butterflies and a regular visitor to Britain and Ireland. Butterfly Conservation reports that: "Although some of these golden-yellow butterflies are seen every year, the species is famous for occasional mass immigrations and subsequent breeding, which are fondly and long remembered as ''Clouded Yellow Years." Butterfly Conservation's report on the State of British butterflies reports that, for this species, it's long-term population trend is massively upwards, between 1979 and 2004, an increase of 1117%, and since 1970, its range has increased by 144%. These increases are thought int he report to be "probably due to climate change."


The final element of this picture that I want to mention is the haystack that the farmer is so busy protecting from the impending rainstorm. This is the final reference in the Summer book to the hay-making process and, while I remember seeing haystacks like this when I was very young, haystacks are now typically composed of hay bales (and, as discussed previously, largely of round bales nowadays) or, in fact, hay-making, in many cases, has been replaced by the production of silage.

Signs of the times: Summer #8

More comparisons between the British countryside of today and that from 1959-1961 in the paintings of Charles Tunnicliffe in the Ladybird "What to look for..." series of books.

“No bees, no honey; no work, no money”

Anon. proverb

(Copyright: Ladybird Books)

Summer Picture 8

It really is all about the birds and bees this time – literally – as Summer picture 8 shows a scene where three house martin nests under the eaves of a building, busily attended to by several house martins, are also being eyed up by a male house sparrow, potentially with a view to taking possession of one, while the nearby sweet smelling flowers of a lime tree are alive with visiting bees. In the background, in a logical progression from the previous picture, the next stage in the hay-making process of 1960 is being shown, with a farm-hand standing a-top a hay stack, arranging bundles of hay delivered up an elevator.

The house martin (Latin name: Delichon urbicum) originally nested on cliffs but seems to have adapted extremely well to nesting now under the eaves of buildings. The picture shows three nests – each has been made by a pair of house martins from up to a thousand beakfuls of mud from a nearby pond or other source of mud and, typically, house martins do prefer to nest in loose colonies. Like their close relatives, the sand martin and the swallow, house martins are aerial hunters, feeding, on the wing, on flies and aphids. The British Trust for Ornithology identifies that their loosely colonial habit and association with human settlements actually makes them extremely difficult to monitor, as the loss of a colony is no guide to decline overall as those birds may simply have joined up with another colony. The BTO reports that the available long-term data for this species suggest a rapid decline, although their Breeding Bird Survey results show an overall increase since 1994. Here is the graph for the population in England:

(From: British Trust for Ornithology)

The species “was moved from the green to the amber list in 2002, because of moderate decline in the CBC [Common Bird Census] trend for 1974–99, and is newly listed as of European concern following declines elsewhere in Europe”. Yet, in Scotland, between 1995 and 2007, Scotland’s house martin population increased by over 100%.

(From: British Trust for Ornithology)

Similar to what I discussed previously for the swallow and the sand martin, the success of house martins in Europe seems to be linked with the record of rainfall in West Africa, where they over-winter. I find it a pretty joyful Summer experience to watch groups of house martins, often mixed with sand-martins and swallows, busy feeding on the wing, chirruping away noisily.

The house sparrow (Passer domesticus) has to be one of the most popular species of bird in this country, probably not least down to its personification in popular culture as a “cheeky chappy” bird, the “cock sparrer”. Probably not for nothing was the happy-go-lucky pirate hero of the “Pirates of the Caribbean” films was Cap’n Jack Sparrow. Unflashy brown and grey plumage, perhaps the simplest of all songs – the house sparrow call literally is just “chirp” – and a habitat selection for many sparrows in the vicinity of houses and gardens in our settlements, where they nest in noisy colonies in hedges, under eaves, etc, all contribute to our familiarity with this little bird. So, a major decline of the house sparrow in Britain in recent decades has been something of a cause celebre for the conservation movement. The British Trust for Ornithology points out that there are inadequate data for monitoring trends in house sparrows before 1976 but, as the following graph from the BTO shows, since that date there has been a significant and dramatic decline in the population of this species.

(From: British Trust for Ornithology)

The BTO summarises the suggested possible causes of the decline of the house sparrow as including: a general reduction in food supply - less grain being spilt during agricultural operations and tighter hygiene regulations - increases in predation, and toxic additives to unleaded petrol.

There is, however, a more complicated picture – the above very strong decline at the UK level masks different trends at regional level. In Scotland, for example, as the graph below shows, in Scotland, there has been a strong recovery of the house sparrow population here since 1995 (84%).

(From: British Trust for Ornithology)

I think I have noticed the effect of this increase here in Stirling. When we moved to our present house in the late 1990’s, I did not see a single house sparrow in this area, until about 4 years ago, when they appeared in considerable numbers, perhaps a consequence of rising populations out in the surrounding farmland.

A potential effect of a warming climate, the average date of egg-laying by house sparrows in the UK is now eight days earlier than in 1967. My favourite house sparrow moment was while growing up on a farm in East Lothian when, one day, I found two male house sparrows on our gravel path, beaks locked together in some battle for what-I-don’t-know. And they stayed like that for about another minute, unmoving, as I stood next to them until I touched one gently on the back and said “Hello”, at which point they let go, shook themselves and fled in a panic!

The lime tree in flower in the top let of the picture is the most common lime tree species in Britain, “the Lime Tree” (Latin name: Tilia cordata x platyphyllos). I learned something new in looking up information for this post. I hadn’t known that the common lime tree we see planted in parks, streets and avenues everywhere is actually a fertile cross between two other native lime tree species, the small-leaved lime (Tilia cordata) and the large-leaved lime (Tilia platyphyllos). As native trees, these latter two species have a largely southern distribution, although there are pockets of native populations of small-leaved limes in southern and western Scotland. As a native species, the fertile cross which is so widely distributed as a planted tree actually does occur in a few woods in England where both parent tree species are found. The relative size of the leaves and flowers on the lime in this picture suggests that it is the common lime hybrid. Lime flowers are wonderfully sweet-smelling and are the basis of the lindenblumen (lime-flower) tea beloved on continental Europe. We collected and dried some lime flowers last summer and kept them in an airtight jar. The addition of boiling water to a few flowers makes a subtle honey-ish tea (which apparently was used as a mild sedative during the last war). We’ve been too busy at just the wrong time this year and missed the chance to collect some fresh flowers but, a year on, the lime flowers we dried in summer of 2009 still smell sweet and are still perfectly useable.

The New Atlas of the British and Irish Flora reports the distribution of this hybrid lime species as stable since 1962. In Flora Britannica, Richard Mabey writes: “All groups of lime trees, of whatever species, are wonderfully fragrant when in full blossom in July. They are also the noisiest of trees at this time, and the roar of bees in them can often be heard 50 yards away.” I can confirm this – our neighbours have two mature common lime trees over the wall from us and on dry days this Summer, particularly when sunny, they have been alive with bumblebees and honey bees. The loud hum reminds me of a high power electric cable and is the collective sum sound of thousands of insects harvesting nectar and pollen. And, by the way, honey produced from lime flowers is delicious.

And so, neatly, on to the bees in the picture, which look to me like honey bees (Apis mellifera). Since the Ladybird Summer book was published, coverage of honey bees has moved from specialist bee-keeping literature to the front pages of national newspapers, on account of the global decline in honey bees. This is an issue of major global concern as bees, including domestic and wild honey bees, as well as other bees such as bumblebees are responsible for pollinating the agricultural and horticultural crop responsible for one in three mouthfuls of our food. Similar to the problems in the USA, Europe and elsewhere, some 15-30% of Britain’s honey bees may have died in recent years. Proposed causes so far range from the likely to the plain wacky-sounding, from parasites like the verroa mite, diseases like the bacterial foul brood (of which there has just been an outbreak in Scotland), pesticides and other artificial chemicals, to GM crops and mobile phone signals, all hypothesised to have led to collapses of bee colonies. In practice, perhaps there are several causes all leading to colony or hive collapses alone or in combination. Such concern is there over this issue in Britain that, in a new initiative, up to £8m will be made available for research into bees by the Biotechnology and Biological Sciences Research Council (BBSRC), the Natural Environment Research Council (NERC), the Wellcome Trust and the Scottish Government. The new funding is in addition to the £2m announced previously by the Department for Environment, Food and Rural Affairs (Defra) to help bee research. The funding increase will be a big rise in government spending on bee research, which previously amounted to £1.2m annually in the UK, much of which was spent on bee inspectors.

Finally, just a quick word about the next stage in the annual hay-making process in 1960, shown in the picture’s background, where the farm-worker (Flatcap? Of course!) is loading hay bundles from an elevator on to a hay stack. Hay hasn’t been made this way done for decades, since the advent of, first, “square” (cuboid, actually) and then round hay bales, and the rise of silaging instead of hay-making.

Signs of the times: Summer #7

More comparisons between the British countryside of today and that from 1959-1961 in the paintings of Charles Tunnicliffe in the Ladybird "What to look for..." series of books.

 

"Many a long hard-working day

Life brings us! and many an hour of play;

But they never come now together.

Playing at work, and working in play,

As they came to us children among the hay,

In the breath of the warm June weather.

Oft with our little rakes at play,

Making believe at making hay,

With grave and steadfast endeavour;

Caught by an arm, and out of sight

Hurled and hidden, and buried light

In laughter and hay for ever."

Dora Greenwell, Haymaking (1865)

(Copyright: Ladybird Books)

Summer Picture 7

I’m a bit excited. I accept that, as sources of excitement go, this is pretty tame but this picture, Summer picture 7, is the one selected to represent all of Summer’s glory as the cover picture for the book “What to Look for in Summer”. And I contend that it would be difficult to argue with swallows, roses, elderflowers, butterflies and hay-making as iconic images of a British summer scene. For the farmer in the picture, on his little tractor, is indeed making hay while the sun shines, as high Summer flourishes all around him.

Swallows were featured in an earlier post, when their arrival was noted in Spring picture 12, so I’ll say no more here except to note that, as they are very busy hawking flies in midsummer, they are probably feeding young, perhaps by now a second brood, the first having flown the nest already. The Meadow Brown butterflies in the foreground (Latin name: Maniola jurtina) are identified in my copy of the State of the Butterflies of Britaina dn Ireland report (produced by a partnership led by Butterfly Conservation) as the most abundant butterfly species in Britain (i.e. the most individuals recorded in surveys), as well as the second most widely distributed (in terms of the number of 10 kilometre squares where the species is recorded), after the Green-veined White butterfly (watch out for your cabbages, missus!).  Since the Summer book was first published (my copy says 1960, exactly 50 years ago this year), the Meadow Brown has been doing well. A generalist species of grassland habitats including downland, heathland, coastal dunes and undercliffs, hay meadows, roadside verges, hedgerows, woodland rides and clearings, waste ground, parks, gardens, and cemeteries, its population is estimated to have increased by 28% between 1976 and 2004 (although there was a slight decrease of -5% in the final few years of that period).

Of the wild plants featured in this picture, the accompanying text says: “The wild, briar rose and elder are the flowers that most distinctly speak of June and midsummer.” The fact is that, as you’ll notice, we are in July and midsummer is nearly three weeks behind us – a typical condition of this series is me struggling to keep up with the timetable of the books, consoling myself only with the fact that the timing of natural events in a Scottish summer is likely to be lagging behind those down south by at least a couple of weeks. As such, even last week, I could look out of my window and see numerous elder bushes in the park, resplendent with their umbrellas of creamy white flowers. And yet,only this weekend, the lovely O and I struggled to find the few remaining accessible flower heads on those elder bushes, to make a final batch of elderflower cordial.

The elder (Sambucus nigra) is indeed an important food plant in the British countryside, which I talked about in Spring here, and promised to talk about in more detail once it appeared in flower in this current Summer picture. The black shiny elder berries that occur later in the year in great bunches like miniature grapes have long been a mainstay of the home-made wine manufactories of rural Britain. But it is the flowers that O and I relish and cherish – in particular, we make litres and litres of fragrantly-scented elderflower cordial every June and July, aiming to produce enough to see us through the long, cold winter with regular tastes of summer sunlight captured in golden liquid form. We’ve managed to produce about 15 litres this year. We use a recipe which includes the use of citric acid powder to prevent any fermentation.

Last year, for the first time, we also made elderflower champagne, which IS, obviously, allowed to ferment. I confess that, although we made about 6 litres, we haven’t tried it yet, even though it is supposed to be drinkable after a week! Now I’m a bit scared, both of the gas pressure in the 2 litre plastic bottles, and the potential alcohol content. But, versatile wild crop that it is, the elder’s flowers can also be eaten, both raw and dipped in batter and deep fried as tempura (which is just a posh way of a Scottish man justifying yet another opportunity dip a piece of perfectly innocent food in batter and deep fry the hell out of it! Deep-fried Mars Bar, anyone? No thanks!). I have to say, elderflower tempura was pleasantly, surprisingly, tasty! The raw flowers are also OK, but I do find the texture a bit odd. Incidentally, the elder is also home to the edible fungus known colloquially as “jew’s ear”, a bit of unfortunate anti-Semitic nomenclature, if ever I heard one. This weekend, we found a neglected corner of King’s Park in Stirling where a few old elder trees are covered in growths of this fungus, some of which, inevitably, we are going to end up eating! I’ll let you know how it goes...

The New Atlas of the Flora of Britain and Ireland indicates that, since 1962 when the original Atlas came out, the overall distribution of elder hasn't changed, but that it is impossible to tell introduced populations from natural ones, as it is both widely planted by people and also spread widely as seeds in bird droppings.

The wild rose dominating the bottom left corner of the picture is the dog rose, Rosa canina, although that Latin name hides a more complicated story, where a number of related groups of wild roses are brigaded under the rosy collective of a Rosa canina “aggregate”. There are also a number of hybrids of Rosa canina and other rose species and, indeed, other, completely separate wild rose species, all also referred to as “dog roses”! No-one said it had to be easy... Anyway, Rosa canina is the commonest and most widespread of these. The New Plant Atlas , while pointing out its complicated family relationships, suggests that its distribution is probably stable over the period since the publication of the 1962 Atlas. Maybe more in Autumn on rose hips and their contribution to our wild food larder...

The final element of the picture worthy of comment is the hay-making process in the background, not least to point out how the general process remains basically the same 50 years later, even although the machinery has changed, particularly the tractor. Grow grass, cut it when the weather is dry, let it dry out a bit in rows on the ground where it was cut, then gather it up to store it. Now, hay is baled; back when this picture was painted, it was a slightly different storage method, as you wil see in the next Summer picture.

A final sartorial point to note – the farmer on his tractor is wearing a pair of red dungarees – surely all farmers now wear blue ones! In fact, the boiler suit has probably largely replaced dungarees as the favoured protection for the hard working agriculture operative! And I am not sure if the flatcap, which seems to be ubiquitous on all agricultural employees featured in these four Ladybird books, has survived through to today as an obligatory piece of farmer’s protective clothing (although, obviously, still much loved by rural huntin’, shootin’ toff-types!).