Digitalis is called in english foxgloue. It groweth in hedge sydes, in woddes and wylde places.
The Names of Herbes, William Turner 1548
A solitary white foxglove lingers, the last flowers open and beginning to wither, a bee disappears into one of the remaining trumpets. On the bank beneath the old Apple tree, foxgloves have flowered and seed heads ripened on dry stalks. Bees are busy in the Hollyhock and Borage growing across our allotment. But we don’t have foxglove growing in the physic garden at Michelham, which is curious.
Maude Greave thinks foxglove, perhaps the handsomest of our indigenous plants, […] yet no animals will browse upon the plant, perhaps instinctively recognising its poisonous character. A stately plant, but dangerous, long associated with fairies, goblins and witches, with the fox, from whom it takes its name; in Old English, foxes glôfa, the glove of the fox. But the naming poses problems; R. C. A. Prior in On the Popular Names of British Plants (1870) found a questionable link in Anglo Saxon music; Fox Talbot, in English Etymologies (1847) looked for its meaning in the Welsh maneg ellyllon, or the fairies glove; Richard Folkard, in Plant lore, legends, and lyrics (1884) quotes Prior approvingly, while questioning what he refers to as the fanciful interpretation of its origin in the Fairy Folks’ Glove. Many of the 19th century folklore and etymological texts appear to draw on similar sources, with slight variations, although none provide convincing evidence as to ‘why fox?’ In an article exploring linguistic attempts to locate the origin of the name, Anatoly Liberman concludes that, foxglove is foxglove and we better just live with it. The association remains allusive, Martin Wallen pointing out that even, in the dry nomenclature of science, we find a foxy wit tunneling through the narrative of this flowers history; Leonard Fuchs (1501-1566), whose name in German means fox, is the botanist who first gave the flower its scientific name digitalis, Latin for of the finger.
Both alluring and dangerous, foxglove’s etymological origins may be vexing, but its medicinal virtues have been known, if not entirely understood, for centuries. It is referred to in the Old English medical manuscripts of the 10th and 11th centuries as an external remedy for inflammatory sores; skin problems; headache; and earache, and in the 13th century the Physicians of Myddvai similarly employed it: For a Violent Headache. Take the leaves of foxglove, and pound with milk and mutton suit, till it becomes a plaster, apply to head as warm as it can be borne; common external uses spanning centuries.
By the early part of the 16th century foxglove was being recommended as an internal remedy; questionable uses that, as Maude Grieve pointed out, practitioners of the present day would consider [..] highly dangerous. Rembert Dodeons, in his Cruydeboeck (Herb Book), translated into English by Henry Lyte as, A new herbal, or, Historie of plants (1586), recommended:
foxe gloue boiled in water or wine, and drunken, doth cut and consume the thicke toughnesse of grosse and slimie humours. Also it openeth the stoppings of the liver, and splene, or milt, and of other inward poarts. The same taken in the like manner, or else boiled with honied water, doth scoure and cleanse the breath, and ripen and bringeth forth tough and clammy fleume.
John Gerard, in his Herball, first published in 1597, offers very similar advice. Generally the herbals of the period offer little in the way of precise dosage, or even which parts of the plant might be used in the treatment of various conditions.
Both note the cultivation of the plant, Dodeons stating that it is, also planted in certaine gardens, Gerard referring to several varieties growing in his garden, including the lesser duskie Fox gloue [which he first observed] in the year 1632 in floure with Mr. John Tradescant in the middle of July. It may […] be called Digitalis ferruginea minor, small duskie Fox-gloues. Although foxglove was thought by these herbalists to be beneficial it was, without reference to those valuable properties which render it useful as a remedy.
William Withering’s work, published in An account of the Foxglove and Some of its Medical Uses (1785) changed that. The culmination of 10 years research, Wiithering, in the introduction states that: The use of foxglove is getting abroad and it is better the world should derive some instruction, however imperfectly, from my experience, than the lives of men should be hazarded by its unguarded exhibition […]. Acknowledging the severe limitations of chemistry during this period, he embarked on clinical trials, based on the assumption that any medicinal value must be sought, from the empirical usages and experience of the populace. Significantly, Withering was alert to foxglove’s reputation in folk medicine: In the year 1775, my opinion was asked concerning a family receipt for the cure of dropsy. I was told that it had long been kept a secret by an old woman in Shropshire, who had sometimes made cures after the more regular practitioners had failed. Other reports suggested to him that foxglove’s use as a folk remedy was more general than he was aware of, leaving him to speculate on why, no author seems to have been aquainted with its effects as a diuretic. The detailed case histories, treating dropsy, and heart conditions, offer fascinating reading, not only for the general health of his 18th century patients, but for his own, very honest approach to the use of such a potentially dangerous medication; I have […] mentioned every case in which I have prescribed the Foxglove, proper or improper, successful or otherwise. Although ethically dubious, it was pioneering work that eventually led to the inclusion of the foxglove in orthodox medicine, in the treatment of heart conditions. And Foxglove still maintains an important place in herbal medicine too, as a treatment for heart complaints.
Our white foxglove still lingers, its last three trumpets stately, if a little withered. And its inclusion in the physic garden? We’re looking into that.
A quiet morning, before the gatehouse doors open, and people enter the garden. We’ve been moving Marshmallow (Althaea officinalis) to make way for White Horehound (Marrubium vulgare), weeding and tidying; it’s the time of year. And then we’re distracted, captivated by a Hummingbird Hawk moth hovering next to the Lavender, mesmerised by its feeding habit, and then it’s gone and we need to get on with our work.
This garden poses problems; seeing the herb in the weed, the medicinal in the commonplace, is a common thread in conversations we have with people visiting the garden. Why are we clearing Chickweed from the area where Daisies are growing, both are considered garden weeds. ‘And what about the patch of Herb Robert?’ a woman asks in passing. ‘That’s a nuisance. Gets everywhere, it’s a weed. And what’s that?’ pointing at the Orach (Atriplex hortensis) we’ve been clearing from the Bistort (Persicaria bistorta); one has a place, the other isn’t welcome. Native to Asia, there is evidence to suggest that Orach was in general cultivation in the Mediterranean by the 6th century BCE, and common enough in England by the 16th century for William Turner, in 1548, to observe that, Atriplex called…in english Orech or Orege…groweth in gardines and in some Cornefieldes. It remained an important cultivated crop until replaced by spinach in the 18th century. Like many of the other herbs in this garden it is now considered a weed.
Suggestive rather than productive, the planting in Michelham Priory’s Physic Garden is indicative of herbs, both medicinal and for the household, that might have been in common use during the period that Michelham was a functioning Priory, from it’s founding in 1229 to the Dissolution in 1537. Bounded on three sides by a yew hedge and an old stone wall, a sense of enclosure is completed by the Refectory. Sheltered, so that even on the coldest days it’s still a pleasant place to work, to sometimes stop and talk with people about the garden, or just listen as they walk through. Plants provoke memories; Dock leaf for Nettle stings, don’t pick Dandelions they’ll make you wet the bed; remnants of a folk tradition that throw into relief the gap between herbs in the contemporary garden, and a time when they were essential to the well-being of the monastic, and wider community of which they were a part. Teresa McLean suggests that, the Medieval herb defies modern classification. It might be a flower, vegetable, fruit or grass as well as what we think of as a herb...the best broad definition…is that it was a very useful plant; this garden is indicative of that broad definition.
Necessary to a degree that we no longer appreciate, plants were food and medicine, part of manufacturing processes too: Alexanders (Smynium olusatrum), native to Southern Europe, introduced by the Romans, a common vegetable before celery replaced it in the 18th century, the plant was also valued for its medicinal properties; Borage (Borago officinalis), also a native of the Mediterranean region, introduced in the 13th century, grown for its flowers, but also useful as a restorative; Dyers Madder (Rubia tinctorum), another native to the Mediterranean region, cultivated in England since Anglo Saxon times, and important to the textile industry. Deep rooted and long lasting Elecampane (Inula helenium) was valued by the Romans and Anglo Saxons, as a source of food and medicine. These herbs, introduced through colonisation, trade, and ecclesiastical exchange, have a deep history if we care to listen.
Cleavers (Galium aparine)
Synonyms: Goosegrass. Barweed. Hedgeheriff. Hayriffe. Eriffe. Grip Grass. Hayruff. Catchweed. Scratweed. Mutton Chops. Robin-run-in-the-Grass. Loveman. Goosebill. Everlasting Friendship.
(A Modern Herbal. Maude Grieve)
An insistent rattle echoes across the green, between the moat and the physic garden; a woodpecker, battering the bark of an old oak bordering the moat.
The garden is growing again after the winter months; Soapwort (Saponaria officinalis) is emerging, and needs thinning, to stop it dominating ground shared with Lady’s Bedstraw (Galium verum); Tansy (Tanacetum vulgare) is growing vigorously; Elecampane (Inula helenium) shoots disturb the soil; and Alexanders (Smyrnium olusatrum) is already colonising part of the wood chip path laid around the perimeter of the garden.
We’ve been transplanting herbs, and weeding; Speedwell (Veronica chamaedrys), and Cleavers (Galium aparine), considered invasive weeds, as are most of the plants in this garden. Small, bounded by a yew hedge and an old stone wall, limited space encourages the need to be selective, to exclude the more vigorous plants, including Cleavers, because of its extremely unruly habit. It can be a troublesome plant, clinging to clothing, but playful too. It’s very familiarity prompted Edward Step to include aparine in Wayside and Woodland Blossoms (1930), and for another reason: The rambling botanist, when playfully inclined, detaches a yard-length from the hedge, and deftly throwing it against his unconscious companions back, causes a hundred hooks to catch in the warp or weft of his coat.
Following Cleavers’ spreading habit is fascinating; it’s specific name aparine, is derived from the Greek aparo, to seize, a characteristic Theophrastus observed in the 2nd century BCE. Pliny the Elder, and Dioscorides, both writing in the 1st century CE mention this characteristic, as well as its medicinal value; Pliny specifies the seed, to neutralize the venom of serpents, being taken in doses of one drachma, in wine: it is useful also for the bite of the phalangium; Dioscorides recommends the whole plant, seed, stalks and leaves […] juiced (taken as a drink with wine) to help those bitten by harvest spiders and snakes; both recommend drops of the juice to cure earache. Dioscorides also prescribes the pounded herb, mixed with swines’ grease, as a remedy for scrofulous tumors. Pliny mentions: The leaves, applied topically, arrest haemorrhage from wounds. Contemporaries, but with no evidence to suggest they met or corresponded, it seems possible that, in their separate commentaries, they were drawing on common knowledge, as well as observation.
Continuity and change; knowledge travels, manuscripts are annotated, translated, commentaries written. The printed English Herbals, from the 16th century onwards, rely heavily on these classical authors, while registering changes and developments too, in a broader European context. Eleanor Rohde suggests that English herbalists owed a great deal to Europe, particularly the herbalists of the Netherlands, Rembert Dodeons amongst them; but knowledge is shared. William Turner, in The Names of Herbes (1548), includes Cleavers ability to, scoureth away and dryeth, perhaps a reference to what had become its general use in treating skin diseases. Something Rembert Dodeons acknowledges, in A Newe Herball, or, Historie of plants, translated from the French by Henrie Lyte (1586), when, in the entry for Cleavers, he quotes William Turner (1551): pound with hogges grease, it dissolveth and consumeth the disease of the knecke, called the Kinges evil, and all hard kernels and wennes wheresoever they be, if it be layed thereto, as Turner writes.
Gerard, in his Herball (1636), simply quotes from the classical authors, adding to the herbs vertues what may be a folk remedy: Women do usually make pottage of Clevers with a little mutton and Otemeal, to cause lanknesse and keep them from fatnesse.
William Coles, writing in the 17th century repeats the standard medicinal uses of Cleavers, adding; A handful of Cleavers boiled in a quart of Ale, with a little paired liquorice, and some currants to the one halfe, and then strained, may be successfully drunk morning and evening for the cough, and removing phlegm from the stomack. He also writes of its common use as a ‘spring drink’, fitting the body for the season that followes, by purging away those excrementitious dregs, which winter hath bred in them.
Benjamin Barton and Thomas Castle, writing in the 19th century, refer to its use, among country people for scorbutic complaints. In the preface to The British Flora Medica (1845), they state their intention: to furnish an accurate description of all the medicinal plants indigenous to Britain [and] the estimation in which they were held by the greatest and most skilful of the old physicians. For this they claim a degree of originality, as far as the term will apply to publications whose chief value consists […] in affording a record of the experience of the past (their emphasis).
Older knowledge informing current use; with Cleavers it was its value as an external application in the treatment of cancer; the herb’s cleansing capabilities, already noted by William Turner, to scoureth away and dryeth, accompanied by internal treatment, either the juice, or a decoction of the herb for which they provide a recipe.
Aparine has a place in current herbal practice, it’s healing properties still very much valued; but it will remain outside this herb garden, or at least that’s the idea. Look again, that patch of ground we’ve weeded, leave it a few days and no doubt the Goosegrass will emerge, and left to its own devices, will be weaving its way across the beds, covering, enveloping, clinging; an invitation to play.
A cold day, and with rain a distinct possibility. We’ve finished the hurdles, separating planting areas in the physic garden; we’ve been weeding, transplanting, generally tidying. In this late winter light, the Stinking Hellebore are luminous; violets are flowering, the wild strawberry is just beginning to put out flowers.
Delicate, unassuming, a source of food and medicine, and an ancient plant. There is archaeobotanical evidence for the consumption of wild strawberry in the Mesolithic period (about 10,000 to 5000 BCE). Evidence too, from the Anglo Saxon period, whether wild, or cultivated in gardens and orchards […] the Saxons utilised a considerable range of fruit, including the strawberry. Faecal material from a dig in Beverley, Yorkshire, produced, walnut, hazel (Corylis Avellana), plum, strawberry (Fragaria vesca), as well as a range of other fruit.
Stephen Pollington argues that, for the Anglo Saxons, dependent on an intimate knowledge of their environment, requirements of specific activities such as dyeing, thatching, […] baking, tanning and so on, would have encouraged the development of cultivated plots. An essential part of that knowledge would be the medicinal uses of plants. Medical texts form a substantial part of what survives of the vernacular writing from this period; glossed remedies, short treatises, and four long works, three of which are unique manuscripts. Translated into modern English, in three volumes, by the Rev. Thomas Oswald Cockayne, in the nineteenth century, one of these books, The Leechbook of Bald includes this prescription for an eye salve:
Thus shall a man work an eye salve, take the nether part of strawberry plants and pepper, pound them well, put them on a cloth, bind them fast, lay them in sweetened wine, make somebody drop one drop into the eyes.
Medicinal value of strawberry
This wort which is named fraga (fragaria) and by another name strawberry, is produced in secret places and in clean ones, and also on downs.
For sore milt (spleen), take the juice of the same wort, which we named fragaria, honey; give to drink; it benefits wonderfully.
Juice of the same wort, mingled with honey, along with pepper benefits much when drunk, for oppression of the chest and sore inwards.
In the preface to the first volume, Cockayne indicates that these medical texts were intended for trained physicians, the frequent expression, “as the leech knows how,” shows that they received professional education.
Eleanor Rhode suggests this rich medical knowledge was abandoned after the Norman Conquest, but perhaps the reality was more complex, as society adjusted to the cultural shifts that took place from the eleventh century onwards. The Rev. John Earle, in English Plant Names from the Tenth to the Fifteenth Century (1880), states that, early botany is inseparable from medicine […] rested mainly upon a knowledge of Herbs […]. This priority of herbal medicines has left its trace in the vocabulary of our language.
And the wild strawberry continued to flourish; at least as early as the fourteenth century wild plants were collected, and brought into gardens for cultivation. Strawberries were being sold; The London Lackpenny dating from the early fifteenth century, and attributed to John Lidgate, includes these lines;
Then unto London I dyde me hye,
Of all the land it bearyeth the pryse;
‘Gode pescode,’ one began to cry —
‘Strabery rype’, and ‘cherrys in the ryse’.
Gerard’s Herball informs this garden; in the choice of plants, and the descriptions of their medicinal uses. But an earlier, and perhaps more interesting figure, is William Turner. His major work, A New Herball (1551) is considered to mark the beginnings of the serious study of botany in England, post Conquest.
In an earlier, slimmer volume, The Names of Herbes (1548), there is a short entry; Fragraria is called in English a Strawbery […] Every man knoweth wel inough where strawberries grow. It would seem the plant was familiar enough, to make identification of habitat unnecessary. In the preface, he states that he had intended to publish his little boke in Latin, but on the advice of physicians delayed until, I had sene those places in Englande, wherein is most plentie of herbes, that I might in my herbal declare to the greate honoure of our countre what number of sovereine and strang herbes were in Englande. […] and because men should not thynke that I writue of it that I never saw. He published in English, not Latin as originally intended. Answering criticisms for writing in English, he asks, in A Newe Herball; How many surgianes and apothecaries are there in England which can understand Plini in Latin or Galen and Dioscoridies? saying that anyway, they rely on the old wives who gather herbs; on old and local knowledge. And a herbal, written in English, will benefit everyone concerned with medicine; is for the comon profit. His Protestantism shines through; his reasoning resonating with the production of the Old English manuscripts, begun under Alfred’s programme of translation, to make significant texts accessible in the vernacular.
Turner studied plants in their locality, writing from careful observation; proper identification being essential to the physicians and apothecaries who would use his herbal, and in this he echoed the desire to inform that characterises the Anglo Saxon Leech Books.
In A Newe Herball, under his entry for strawberry, he notes the rough stalk, and in the toppe of it grow whyte floures; the berries turning from green to red; the leaf indented, and always thre of them grow together,
[and some of] The Vertues of Strawberries.
Strawberies leaves taken in meate, helpeth thê that are diseased in the milt, and so doth also the juice dronke wyth hony. The same is good to be geven wyth peper for them that are short winded. Strawberryes quenche thirst, and are good for a cholerike stomack.
There are striking similarities between the medicinal use of strawberries in Turner’s Herball, written in the sixteenth century and their medicinal value in the Herbarium, dating to the tenth century.
And then there was a break in the clouds, a brief scattering of sunshine, before they closed again, the sky darkened and it started to rain, heavily.
Alexanders: The Smyrnium olus-atrum is wild throughout Southern Europe, in Algeria, Syria, and Asia Minor.
Origin of Cultivated Plants, Alphonse De Candolle. 1908
Winter work continues in the physic garden; cutting back and clearing, beginning to replant where necessary, and starting to weed again. The Alexanders (Smyrnium alusatrum) are beginning to emerge, both where we want them, and where we don’t, a large patch appearing in the wood chip path we’ve laid. A vigorous plant, it was introduced to Britain by the Romans, thrived and became naturalised. Of all the Umbellifers used as vegetables, this was one of the commonest in gardens for nearly fifteen centuries, and it is now abandoned. (De Candolle, 1908: 91)
Alexanders medicinal, and culinary use, has a long history. Theophrastus (c. 371 – c. 287 BC) was aware of, and wrote about it’s medicinal value. Pliny the Elder (c. AD 23 – AD 79) notes that, among other remedies, Olustrum, usually known as hipposelinum, is particularly repulsive to scorpions. The seed of it taken in drink, is a cure for griping of the stomach and intestinal complaints, and a decoction of the seed drunk in honied wine, is a curative in cases of dysuria (painful urination).
Columella, (1st. century AD), in his treatise on agriculture states that, Alisander […] ought to be sown in seed, in a place that is well trenched, especially hard by a wall; because it rejoices in a shade, and thrives and grows strong in any place, how indifferent so ever: and when you have once sown it, if you do not pull it all up by the roots, but leave, and set apart, stalks of here-and-there for seed, it will last an age. He also gives detailed instructions for preserving and pickling the root.
Gerard notes both the medicinal and culinary uses of Alexanders. He quotes Dioscorides who, saith that the leaves and stalks are boiled and eaten, and dressed alone by themselves or with fishes, [ and ] in our age served to the table raw for a sallad herbe.
A common garden plant, and versatile, but its usefulness was on the wane by the 17th century, beginning to be replaced by celery, with which it shares some similarity of taste. Also of ancient origin, celery was considered a medicinal plant until the early years of the 17th century, when it’s food value became increasingly recognised, and European growers began cultivating it as a vegetable for the table, initially for the rich. Lewes Sturtevant, writing in The American Naturalist (1886) notes that, Ray in his Historia plantarum, 1686, says the smallage transferred to culture becomes milder and less ungrateful, whence in Italy and France the leaves and stalks are esteemed as delicacies, eaten with oil and pepper.
By the early 18th century celery had became more widely available; Alphonse de Candolle, commenting on the disappearance of Alexanders states that, At the end of the eighteenth century the tradition existed in England that this plant had been formerly cultivated; later English and French horticulturists do not mention it.
Cultivation techniques; plant breeding; changes in eating habits, all affect the fortunes of plants. While there are directions on the web for foraging the plant in the wild, and plenty of recipes too, Alexanders is no longer cultivated as a vegetable; the plant remains an echo of older practices and diet.
We’ve been making hazel hurdles, to replace the rotting stakes and rope used to divide the physic garden. The planting plan for this garden separates medicinal from culinary herbs; for childbirth and children’s diseases; for rheumatism, gout and painful joints; for depression, insomnia and nightmares; for the heart, lungs and blood disorders; for wounds and broken bones; for digestion, stomach and liver; for the head, hair and skin; for ears, eyes and teeth; for animal husbandry; for the household.
Mornings can be quiet; there might be someone sitting on one of the benches in front of the house, reading a paper, maybe one or two people wandering through the physic garden on their way to other parts of the Priory. They’ll pause, scrutinise a label, then the plant, or seed heads at this time of year, carry on through the garden. Sometimes people stop, and then one thing leads to another. Plants provoke memories:
‘Burdock, Nasty stuff, boys’d throw those burs at each other, at us.
‘Dandelion and Burdock.’
‘Where’s the Dandelion?’
Conversations meander, wander, as they do, still laughing, off to the cafe. And we wonder why there’s no Dandelion, haven’t noticed the absence until now. Chickweed, Daisy, considered by many to be invasive, along with so many of the plants in this garden, but no Dandelion. It seems all the more curious, after reading the extensive entry in A Modern Herbal, in which Maude Grieve mentions that Dandelion was much valued as a medicine in the times of Gerard and Parkinson. Gerard, borrowing from Pliny the Elder, recommends Dandelion for dysentery, especially beeing boiled with lentils. Pliny refers to, a sort of wild endive, too, with a broader leaf, known to some persons as “hedypnoïs.” Boiled, it acts as an astringent upon a relaxed stomach, and eaten raw, it is productive of constipation. It is good, too, for dysentery, when eaten with lentils more particularly. As with all the herbs in this garden, Dandelion serves several different needs.
Considered an extremely invasive weed, the delicate seed head set free with a breath of wind, make it a particular nuisance for the gardener; yet useful, all parts having both culinary and medicinal uses. Clarence J. Hylander writing in the Macmillan Wild Flower Book (1954) states that, It hardly seems necessary to describe this ubiquitous Composite which has become an obnoxious garden and lawn weed throughout the eastern states. Few European species have spread as rapidly in the United States as this immigrant. A more sympathetic response is found in Edward Step’s Wayside and Woodland Blossoms (1895): We may not like to find the Dandelion taking possession of our lawns, but we should regret to miss it from the odd corners by the fence and the roadside.
According to the Invasive Species Compendium, Many botanists believe that T. officinale complex originated in Greece, or perhaps the northern Himalayas, and spread across temperate areas to Europe and Asia Minor, […] and it is thought to have colonised the Americas post-Pleistocene via Beringia. […] Later introductions of T. officinale to North America are obscured in conflicting claims.
Although it is claimed that Dandelions arrived with the Vikings, the Mayflower narrative endures; Dandelions were taken to North America by the Puritans in the early seventeenth century. And while it may be considered an obnoxious garden and lawn weed, many American states now host Dandelion festivals; Vineland, New Jersey appearing to be the first to do so, in 1973. Vineland also claims to be the Dandelion capitol of the world, growing Dandelion as a cash crop to, supply restaurants and markets in Baltimore, New York City and Philadelphia.
In an article for the American Naturalist 1886, E. Lewis Sturtevant traces the cultivation of Dandelions during the nineteenth century. Primarily concerned with North America, he also refers to developments in Europe during the same period. Although he is aware that people have made use of the Dandelion in its wild state, as a vegetable, from remote times, […] its culture is modern. He goes on to describe Dandelion grown for the Boston market with, seed obtained from the largest of the wild plants. Its appearance in seed catalogues is also noted, including one variety described as common; almost certainly the ubiquitous Composite colonising American lawns, referred to by Hylander, earlier.
Its culinary uses were also noted by Eleanor Rohde, in A Garden of Herbs (1921); it had been valued as a pot herb in broths, also much more than they are now in salads. In A Modern Herbal (1931), Maude Grieve refers to the cultivation of the plant, recommending soil types, and best age to harvest roots (from two year old plants). To grow Dandelion as a crop she recommends about, 4lb. of seed to the acre […] sown in drills, one foot apart […] making sure the flower heads are picked off as soon as they appear. Writing during the early years of the twentieth century, Grieve suggests the edges of fields when room is allowed for the plough-horses to turn, could easily be utilised if the soil is good and free from stones for both Dandelion and Burdock, as the roots are much branched in stony ground. She also points out that Dandeions are an important food source for bees, providing considerable quantities of both pollen and nectar in the early spring, when the bees’ harvest from fruit trees is nearly over. […] a small succession of bloom is also kept up until late autumn, so that it is a source of honey after the main flowers have ceased to bloom. An obnoxious weed to be eradicated, cultivated for its culinary and medicinal virtues, Dandelion occupies a conflicted place in [horti]culture.
As they were leaving the physic garden the women talked about games they played as children; blowing the seed heads off Dandelions to tell the time; to ask if he loves me, he loves me not; to wonder how many years they had to wait till they were married. ‘If I knew then what I know now. Not sure I’d be asking that.’ Laughter echoes across the green separating the physic garden from the tea shop.