Dear Readers, wood sorrel is a small, delicate plant that grows in ancient woodlands and flowers at around Easter time, in April or May, hence its vernacular name ‘Alleluia’. In ‘Flora Britannica‘, Richard Mabey notes the endless moral associations linked to the plant by the Victorians. Here is a passage on the plant from the 1860 diary of Charlotte Clifford, copied from a book called ‘The Garland of the Year’
‘A more beautiful floral emblem of praise could not be selected than this exquisitely sensitive little plant. Coming forth at the first summons of spring it continues to adorn the woods with its bright triple leaves, until the fading foliage of autumn consigns it to a living grave. Even then, the flower-searcher may discover here and there a delicately-folded leaf looking out from the desolation and death by which it is surrounded. For the alleluya, fragile though it be, can brave the roughest storms, bowing its meek head below the clouds, and looking up with joy, to greet the sunshine. Sweet and precious are the lessons that this little woodland plant may teach us – lessons of humble faith, and constant loving praise. Teaching us that, as the shrinking wood sorrel finds protection in its triple leaves, so our souls, strengthened by the three-fold gifts of the Holy Ghost, should bow in meek submission to the trials of their mortal existence. Ever praising, never repining, bearing all sorrows; thankful for all joys!’
Well, that might seem quite a weight of parable for a small woodland flower to bear, but there is much close observation here – the flowers do close at night and in gloomy weather, for example. In the photo below, they seem to be just about to open in the morning sun.
The three-lobed leaves have led to it being occasionally mistaken for shamrock (though it’s generally accepted now that shamrock is actually a kind of clover) and the flowers fold up during the night and open up again during the day. I was delighted to spot some recently, though it’s not in flower just yet. Wood sorrel is often found in the shadiest, dampest spots in woodland or below hedgerows, and often grows directly on leaf-mould or even fallen logs.
Another vernacular name for wood sorrel is ‘Granny’s sour grass’, and the leaves have a lemony, acidic taste, much like that completely unrelated sorrel, Rumex acetosa (not surprising as both contain oxalic acid, and the word ‘sorrel’ comes from the French word for ‘sour’). The leaves of wood sorrel can be used in salads, but, again in Flora Britannica, one forager pops the leaves into a cream cheese sandwich, which would work rather well I think.
I recently acquired a copy of Culpeper’s Herbal (not an original because that would be worth a small fortune) and here’s what he has to say about the medicinal virtues of wood sorrel:
‘Venus owns it. Wood Sorrel serves to all the purposes that the other Sorrels do, and is more effectual in hindering the putrefaction of blood, and ulcers in the mouth and body; and in cooling and tempering heats and inflammations, to quench thirst, to strengthen a weak stomach, to procure an appetite, to stay vomiting and very excellent in any contagious sickness or pestilential fevers’.
I can well see how the lemony flavour would help with digestive problems of all kinds, and several foragers mention how wood sorrel leaves can help to quench the thirst when walking on a hot day.
The reference to Venus is also interesting. The cuckoo was believed in folklore to be the messenger of the goddess of love, and one legend has it that the cuckoo had to eat wood sorrel in order to get its voice, hence yet more vernacular names for the plant – cuckoo bread and cuckoo’s meat.
Incidentally, the dried leaves of wood sorrel are said to enable you to see fairies, but knowing their mischievous reputation I think we should probably leave the wee folk to their own devices.
My Field Guide to Caterpillars gives only one creature that eats wood sorrel, and that’s the twin-spot carpet moth (Mesotype didymata). As this is a most unpernickety larva, which eats many other woodland plants, I wonder if the oxalic acid puts off all but the hungriest caterpillar?
And finally, a poem. I rather relate to this one, by Scottish poet Anne Ryland- I am a great fan of ‘Being nobody, at home with all the lamps on and quite shapeless within beloved habits.’ And I love the last stanza. See what you think.
Miniature Delights
By Anne Ryland
You in your new cranberry sweater, glasses askew
reading about James Bond then Elgar.
Being nobody, at home with all the lamps on
and quite shapeless within beloved habits.
The unknown bird at dawn who laughs
an ascending scale of notes in our garden.
Opening a card of bluebells and wood sorrel
to find a letter written in neat fountain pen script.
A conversation lasting six and a half hours,
completing it without being put off or told off.
The vacancy for a part-time shepherd –
wondering how it would blend with poetry.
A slow breakfast at the foot of a castle while ruins
tell their stories and cows promenade the cliff.
A stroll along the pier in my pale blue duffel coat,
greeted only by the seal who wants to flirt.
Smoke spiralling from chimneys, the long breath
of a house, or its thoughts purified by fire.
Listening to Ave Maria, imagining Schubert asleep
in his glasses in case a new song woke him by surprise.
Like this:
Like Loading...