AS Carl Linnaeus was crossing Putney Heath in London in 1736, the botanist’s eyes alighted on a prickly bush. Asking his coach to stop, he jumped out, fell to his knees, and wept at the sight of the golden flowers, which he had been (unsuccessfully) trying to cultivate in his greenhouse in Uppsala, Sweden. Gorse might not usually provoke such an emotional reaction, but its ability to light up the winter gloom is unrivalled.
Common gorse (Ulex europaeus) starts to flower in January and appears to flower all year—hence the old country saying ‘When gorse is out of bloom, kissing is out of season—but this is actually a botanical illusion.
There are three species of gorse and, when common gorse finishes flowering in June, western gorse (Ulex gallii) or, in the South- East of England, dwarf gorse (Ulex minor) take up the torch from July to November. The result is a strong chance that, at any time of the year, at least one species of gorse will be in flower.
Gorse is a member of the pea family (Fabaceae) and is able to manufacture its own nitrogen through its root nodules. This allows it to live happily on low-nutrient soils and its name derives from the Anglo-Saxon Gorst, meaning waste—a reference to its prevalence on heathland. Among its local names are furze, as it’s known in the New Forest and Exmoor, whin in Scotland and Cumbria and, on the upland areas of Devon, where it can turn whole hillsides yellow, it has assumed the delightful nickname of Dartmoor custard. Wherever it grows, the delicious dollops of flowers dominate the landscape. This is particularly true in the Quantock Hills in Somerset, where western gorse weaves among purple heather to create a dazzling carpet.
Preceding pages: Gorse in its glory engulfs the hills of the Pembrokeshire coast. Above: Sheets of silk created by the red gorse spider mite, dew-spangled like fairy gossamer
Denne historien er fra February 03, 2021-utgaven av Country Life UK.
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Denne historien er fra February 03, 2021-utgaven av Country Life UK.
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Save our family farms
IT Tremains to be seen whether the Government will listen to the more than 20,000 farming people who thronged Whitehall in central London on November 19 to protest against changes to inheritance tax that could destroy countless family farms, but the impact of the good-hearted, sombre crowds was immediate and positive.
A very good dog
THE Spanish Pointer (1766–68) by Stubbs, a landmark painting in that it is the artist’s first depiction of a dog, has only been exhibited once in the 250 years since it was painted.
The great astral sneeze
Aurora Borealis, linked to celestial reindeer, firefoxes and assassinations, is one of Nature's most mesmerising, if fickle displays and has made headlines this year. Harry Pearson finds out why
'What a good boy am I'
We think of them as the stuff of childhood, but nursery rhymes such as Little Jack Horner tell tales of decidedly adult carryings-on, discovers Ian Morton
Forever a chorister
The music-and way of living-of the cabaret performer Kit Hesketh-Harvey was rooted in his upbringing as a cathedral chorister, as his sister, Sarah Sands, discovered after his death
Best of British
In this collection of short (5,000-6,000-word) pen portraits, writes the author, 'I wanted to present a number of \"Great British Commanders\" as individuals; not because I am a devotee of the \"great man, or woman, school of history\", but simply because the task is interesting.' It is, and so are Michael Clarke's choices.
Old habits die hard
Once an antique dealer, always an antique dealer, even well into retirement age, as a crop of interesting sales past and future proves
It takes the biscuit
Biscuit tins, with their whimsical shapes and delightful motifs, spark nostalgic memories of grandmother's sweet tea, but they are a remarkably recent invention. Matthew Dennison pays tribute to the ingenious Victorians who devised them
It's always darkest before the dawn
After witnessing a particularly lacklustre and insipid dawn on a leaden November day, John Lewis-Stempel takes solace in the fleeting appearance of a rare black fox and a kestrel in hot pursuit of a pipistrelle bat
Tarrying in the mulberry shade
On a visit to the Gainsborough Museum in Sudbury, Suffolk, in August, I lost my husband for half an hour and began to get nervous. Fortunately, an attendant had spotted him vanishing under the cloak of the old mulberry tree in the garden.
