Ulex europaeus catching my eye in the morning sunlight |
'It's just the sort of
place,' he explained, 'for an Ambush.'
'What sort of bush?'
whispered Pooh to Piglet. 'A gorse-bush?'
'My Dear Pooh,' said
Owl in his superior way. 'Don't you know what an Ambush is?'
'Owl,' said Piglet,
looking round at him severely. 'Pooh's whisper was a perfectly
private whisper and there was no need - '
'An Ambush,' said Owl,'
is a sort of Surprise.'
'So is a gorse-bush
sometimes,' said Pooh.
Gorse is not a
much-loved plant.
It is unremittingly
prickly. In fact it has become a byword for all that is prickly in
life. Winnie the Pooh's wariness on the subject of gorse-bushes came from a close
encounter with one after his experiment with the bees failed
spectacularly. And whenever the Famous Five needed a really good
hiding place, there was always a handy gorse bush around
(mysteriously and perhaps a little conveniently always hollow on the
inside).
But for the last month
my eye has been irresistibly caught every day as I walk the dogs by a vivid flash
of yellow in the hedgerow. It stops you in your tracks: the only
bright colour in a winter landscape of sepia brown and green.
I think it must have
blown in from Exmoor, 40 miles to the west, as we're on a relatively
gentle hillside of hazel hedgerows and sleepy sheep and it's the only
gorse bush for miles.
West Country names
belie a relationship between man and gorse bush as old as the hills
it grows on. Another common name for the plant is furze, and place
names like Furzey Island off the Dorset coast, Furzey Gardens in the
New Forest, and the names of numerous farms, roads and houses reveal
the plant's long history here (Furzey is also a common local
surname in Somerset).
It was once almost indispensable. The fierce burning properties of gorse made it perfect fuel for fires hot enough to bake bricks: you're well advised not to grow gorse close to a house as it's prone to spontaneous combustion in a prolonged drought.
People made it into
fearsome besom brooms to sweep chimneys and hung their clothes out to
dry on it as it held them in place better than any clothes peg. It is
a good strong dye, the flowers turning cloth yellow or green and the
bark a smokey darker green, it's a medicine for jaundice, kidney
stones and scarlet fever, and the flower buds make good caper
substitutes. The flowers are edible and can be used in salads,
steeped in boiling water for a tea, or turned into wine (recipe here:
the Vikings are rumoured to have brewed a gorse beer, which may
explain their generally atrocious behaviour).
It was also much used to keep witches away: the common confusion between gorse and broom comes from its ancient use as a broom to sweep curses and hexes away from the door of the house.
There are three native
gorses: U. europaeus, U. gallii (found, as the name suggests, on
Welsh mountainsides, and smaller than the common gorse); and U. minor,
almost prostrate, flowering in autumn and found mainly in the New
Forest. Gorse flowering alongside heather in great swathes across the
moorlands is probably one of the most breathtaking of Britain's
natural spectacles.
But - bright yellow
splashes in hedgerows aside – it's not something you'd have in your
garden, surely.
Well I'd just like to
make a little plea for this old friend. If you have a coastal garden,
or one where the soil is really, really poor, there are few plants
which will thrive better. It makes a dense and thorough windbreak:
and it'll keep any amount of burglars out.
And it is just
wonderful for wildlife, particularly bees. As well as the main flourish in winter and early spring, it produces a few flowers sporadically all year round ('When gorse is out of
blossom, kissing's out of fashion', the old saying goes),
which bumblebees find irresistible. The flowers, incidentally, are as
explosive as the seedpods: they go off like a cannon the moment the
bee clambers on, pasting the poor insect with pollen.
There are cultivated forms: U. gallii 'Mizen' is prostrate and tiny, growing to just 30cm x 30cm, and there was once a useful-sounding U. europaeus 'Strictus' (sometimes 'Fastigiatus') which makes for a good low hedge, though it's no longer listed, sadly.
More commonly-found is Ulex europaeus 'Plenus' or sometimes 'Flore Pleno', compact and double and recommended by Christopher Lloyd who calls it 'a fine sight in spring' and says it has coconut-scented blooms (he's less keen on gorse when it comes to propagating the stuff: 'a painful operation best left to the nurseryman', he says).
4 comments:
The gorse has not stopped flowering since last spring and its always a cheering splash of colour on our walks.It's considered a real nuisance in New Zealand where the climate seems to be ideal for growth.
To be honest Janet it's considered a bit of a nuisance here too - it has a habit of swamping more delicate and rare little things trying to make a go of it on the moorlands. I agree though - it is lovely and makes me smile too.
This would be perfect for Gail at Clay and Limestone's Wildflower Wednesday meme at the end of the month.
Thanks EE - hadn't heard about that meme! I'll be over there later this month :D
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