A series following the 72 British mini-seasons of Nature’s Calendar by Kiera Chapman, Lulah Ellender, Rowan Jaines and Rebecca Warren. 

Dear Readers, lichen are a lifeform that is so often overlooked and unappreciated, but like moss it can best be appreciated when plants and fungi are taking a winter break. And once seen, it’s everywhere! In her piece in Nature’s Calendar, Kiera Chapman tells us that there are 2,300 species of lichen in the UK. They vary enormously, from flat crusts like the ones above to organisms that look more like coral. They live in habitats as varied as deserts and rainforests, and can vary in size from less than a millimetre to two metres.

What is a lichen, though? It’s not a single organism but an association between at least two organisms – the mycobiont, which is a fungus, and the photobiont, which gathers energy from light via photosynthesis and can be an alga or a bacteria. The relationship between the two has been debated for a century and a half. The whole idea of mutualism between two species (where both benefit from the association) was pooh-poohed at first, with the hypothesis being that the fungus ‘captured’ the alga/bacterium and held it captive, like an ogre sequestering Rapunzel in a tower. In fact, there is still some discussion about how to classify the relationship: it may appear that the fungus is parasitizing the other organism, but some photobionts can’t now exist without the fungus. It’s clearly a complex relationship that varies in emphasis from species to species.

Chapman discusses two different artworks that are based on lichen. First up is a monumental work by Klaus Daven on the Vouglans Dam in the Jura region of France. It was created by a process known as ‘reverse graffiti’, whereby a pressure washer blasted off most of the lichen and algae in order to create an image of a forest. It was sponsored by the electricity company and a company that makes power washers. For Chapman, and for me, it feels slightly uncomfortable – destroying one set of lifeforms to make images of others seems the opposite of environmentally friendly, however impressive the final results are.

The second work is by German artist Hubert Fenzl, who uses sustainably harvested Claydonia lichen to make artworks that will live indoors for years. His ‘Rainforest’, shown below, uses the lichen to form a birds-eye view of a forest, surrounded by a menacing red area that seems to surround and encroach upon it. As Chapman points out, the combination of a human artistic vision and this natural material asks questions about our care of the forests. There is also none of the grandiosity of the dam project. I know which I prefer.

I was also very heartened to learn from my RHS magazine this week that biology studen Lottie Cavanagh-Sweeney has been commissioned by the British Lichen Society to make a Lichen Trail at the RHS garden at Rosemoor in Devon. Magnifying glasses are provided to examine some of the smaller lichens, and you can download the trail to a smartphone. One of the featured lichens is the rare Tree Lungwort (Lobaria pulmonaria) which Fay Newbery, a plant pathologist, describes as ‘green when wet, brown and crinkly when dry.’

Just look at this gorgeous organism!

The elephant in the room, however, as with so many other things, is climate change. An article in New Scientist in 2022 suggested that it had taken a million years for the algae that form the photosynthetic part of the lichen partnership to evolve to cope with 1° Centigrade of warming. They are also not fond of air pollution – the variety of lichens on the headstone at the top of the page indicates that it’s in a rural area with relatively clean air. Still, let’s not become too downhearted just yet – lichens have been here a long time, and who knows how resilient they might prove to be? In the meantime, let’s keep our eyes open for these overlooked organisms.

 

Dear Readers, when I posted about linnets a few days ago one of my readers mentioned that there’s a character in a book called ‘The Children of Green Knowe’ by L. M. Boston who is named Linnet. And it got me wondering about bird-inspired names for children. After all, plant names are ten a penny – there are Lilies and Roses, Daisies and Floras, Hazels and Basils, Irises and Primroses. And I am an Ivy, named after my paternal grandmother, which makes my initials V I P, and very cool that is too. But birds? However, there are rather more than you’d think.

First up there’s Robin, for a girl, a boy, or Batman’s sidekick. Apparently it literally means ‘bright and shining’ and is a medieval form of the name ‘Robert’.

And then there’s Jay, usually a boy but sometimes a girl. The name comes from the Latin ‘gaius’, meaning ‘to rejoice’. Well, your average jay is a pretty cheery talkative bird. The Eurasian Jay is not called ‘Garrulus ‘ for nothing.

‘Mavis’ is not so obvious, but it means ‘ a songbird’, usually a song thrush or blackbird. It’s a bit out of fashion at the moment, but surely it’s due a comeback? And what a great name for a child from a musical family.

And here are some less obvious ones. ‘Ava’, for example, means ‘bird’. As in ‘Ava Garner’ the film star. Have a look at those cheekbones! Here she is with Frank Sinatra.

‘Paloma’ means dove. As in performing artist Paloma Faith. Or that ear-worm of a song ‘Paloma Blanca‘. Apologies in advance 🙂

And just in case the boys are feeling left out, Jonah and Jonas both come from the Hebrew name Yonah, and mean ‘dove’. Gavin means ‘white hawk’ in Gaelic and Welsh. And back to the girls – Eileen means either ‘little bird’ (from the Gaelic Aibhlin) or ‘hazelnut’ (from the French Aveline). Oh dear, I feel another earworm coming on….

Oh, and I almost forgot Phoebe – named for an American bird. Phoebe is another name for Diana, goddess of hunting and the moon. The bird is a member of the Tyrant Flycatcher family.

But aren’t we missing a trick here? Why aren’t our children called Capercaillie, or Smew, or Scaup, or even Zitting Cisticola? More realistically, what’s wrong with Avocet, or Brambling, or Curlew, or Eider? What do you think, Readers? Do you know anyone with an unusual bird-related name? Or do any bird names tickle your fancy?

 

Dear Readers, it’s that time of year again when all across the UK, people sit in their kitchen windows or on a park bench and try to pay attention to the birds for a whole hour without being distracted. Yes, it’s the RSPB’s Great Garden Birdwatch. Today was sunny, dry and not too windy, so I was hoping to see all my ‘regulars’, and overall I wasn’t disappointed. Plus, it’s amazing what you notice when you haven’t got anything else to do.

Of course, it wouldn’t have been Birdwatch without a few interruptions. First there was a splendid black and white cat who decided to spend twenty minutes on the shed roof in the sunshine, which no doubt put a few birds off. Then there were of course these guys.

My lovely friend J has bought me a ‘squirrel-proof’ feeder which I intend to try soon, but as regular readers know, I am waiting to have some tree work done. Sadly, no sooner had I bitten the bullet on getting these done than the notices went up along the street that the promised Electric Vehicle charging points were going to go in along our side of the road, and that the workmen would be here for the next three weeks. This means that the tree surgeons can’t start work until the second half of February.

To add to the stress, while I was doing the Birdwatch I noticed two magpies getting very territorial about the big whitebeam. If they are actively nesting I’ll abort the tree work till later in the year. Keep your fingers crossed!

Anyhow, the number one bird in the garden was the starling, with 6 birds seen, three times the Birdwatch average. They look really magnificent at this time of year, with their iridescent plumage.

And there was the usual little flock of house sparrows – I counted 5, though there can be twice this number on a good day (i.e. on any day when the Birdwatch isn’t taking place.

There were three collared doves, patiently waiting for the squirrels to finish, but no woodpigeons and no ring-necked parakeets. The one feral pigeon who visits every day decided to wait this one out.

There were four goldfinches, and two chaffinches – such mothlike, flittery birds!

So, in total I saw:
1 Blackbird
2 Blue tits
2 Chaffinches
1 Dunnock
5 House Sparrows
3 Collared Doves
4 Goldfinches
1 Robin
2 Magpies
1 Great Tit
6 Starlings

Making 28 birds in total, which is about average apparently. I scored above the national average for starling and house sparrow (as mentioned) but also for goldfinch and collared dove. I came below average for blue tits (2 when the national average is 3), but all in all it wasn’t a complete write-off.

Plus (and I know I say this every year) there is something very therapeutic about just sitting and watching, without the endless distractions that we’ve chosen to surround ourselves with. During lockdown I spent so much time in the garden, however cold it was, and noticed so much going on. Even as a retired person I seem to filling my life with things to do – enjoyable things but nonetheless things that don’t involve just being peaceful and observant. I shall have to do a bit of rebalancing.

Dear Readers, I went looking for my last post on our walk around the Capital Ring, and found that it was from November 2022. What happened to 2023, I ask myself? But still here we are, walking boots on (though not strictly necessary for this meander which is only a couple of miles, and mainly on pavements). We start off by passing a queue twenty people deep outside the Apple Blue café – they apparently sell a peanut butter and caramelised apple croissant, so I can see the attraction. But we march boldly on, past Du Cane Court (have a look at the last post linked above for some more on this extraordinary building).

I am so excited to be back on the Capital Ring that I feel a little like Fotherington Thomas – Look, a very big bird’s nest! Or maybe a squirrel drey of gargantuan proportions!

And look at the ivy on this tree!

This is an especially urban section of the walk – at one point in the book there is an apology because we can’t stroll along beside the River Wandle (but more of this later). But I rather like looking at the houses. So much of London is Victorian/Edwardian, but there are always subtle differences if you look hard enough. Look at this plasterwork, for example. Normally what happens is that layer upon layer of paint gradually covers up all the details until someone decides that they can’t be seen so we might as well just replace it with something plain. Someone has gone to a lot of trouble here, though.

In the one below, birds have obviously been trying to nest in the holes above the door. Every house of this style had the holes covered with netting. What a shame! This house looked like it needed a bit of work, while the one next door was in more pristine condition. But how I hate those pigeon spikes. I know birds can be messy, but the poor critters need to live somewhere.

And then we’re on Wandsworth Common, where the snowdrops are in flower.

The Capital Ring guide tells us to ‘march impertinently through Wandsworth Common ticket office) and so we do.

 

And then we’re into a cul-de-sac which has caught out a number of SUV drivers – presumably they used to be able to cut through, but no longer. There is quite the stramash, but it doesn’t affect us walkers, who pause for a second to take in the delights of the Hope pub. As we’ve only been walking for twenty minutes even we can’t justify stopping for a coffee just yet.

On we go through another chunk of Wandsworth Common. Goodness, there are a lot of fit young people running along the paths, bounding along like young antelopes. There are mothers stopped in what I always think of as a parabola of prams. As we pass, one of them is deciding whether to call their next child Charlie or Ollie, but I’m not sure if she’s being ironic. Every dog is a cockapoo – no XL bullies here, muzzled or otherwise. I think it’s fair to say that Balham is coming up in the world.

An absolutely massive tree has been cut down – I’m guessing oak from the bark. It’s always a shame to see, but at least the trunk has been left, and the fungi and beetles will already be starting their work of breaking it down.

Some new trees have been planted too – the one with the label dangling from it is a European Nettle Tree (Celtis australis). It’s not native to the UK, but with climate change it probably makes sense to include some trees from the warmer parts of Europe.

And then we come to a very nice small lake, with a board walk. I do love a boardwalk. There’s nothing unusual to see but the waterfowl are very friendly (I sense the presence of toddlers with breadcrumbs) and it gives me a chance to admire this moorhen, with her very fine feet.

There are some tufted ducks – I always have a good look in case there’s a scaup or a goldeneye pretending to be a tufty, but no luck today.

This duck seems to have had a variety of species/breeds in its background. I thought it was very fine!

I think the black-headed gulls look very elegant at this time of year.

And this magpie was a jittery little chap, off at speed on a mission. I think I might submit this one to my favourite Facebook page, ‘Crap Bird Photography’ though as you can see what the bird is it might be just mediocre rather than truly crap.

Across the Common we go! The building below is the farmhouse for what was once Neal’s Farm, and there has been a long-running court case because Lambeth Council wanted to lease the building to a private pre-school nursery. The Capital Ring book describes it as a café but when I get home, I discover that in fact it’s home to a garden centre! And we walked right past it! My heart is broken. It’s true that I have not a jot more room for plants, but when did that ever stop me?

And what is this fine edifice? It is the Grade II* listed Royal Victoria Patriotic Building, built in 1858. It was originally used as an asylum for girls orphaned following the Crimean War. However, there was soon a scandal about the conditions in which the girls lived:

“The orphans lived in hard conditions; they had to pump water up to the tanks in the building’s towers, do all the washing, and be washed outside in cold water. When the installed warm air heating system failed, no fireplaces were built in the orphans’ quarters. The orphans were reportedly abused by the rector, one orphan dying as a result, leading to a scandal.” From ‘The History of the Royal Victoria Patriotic Building’.

Following this inauspicious start, the building was requisitioned during WWI as a hospital for war casualties. Between the wars it became a girls’ school, but then in WW2 it became the London Reception Centre – 34,000 civilians fleeing the war in Europe were detained and questioned here. The intelligence received was useful in a variety of ways, and only 300 were detained for further questioning, with 50 turning out to be spies. Apparently the Reception Centre was an attractive place, with a piano, cinema and library.

After the war, the building fell into complete disrepair, home to thousands of pigeons after thieves stripped the lead from the roof. In the 1980s it was restored and now houses offices, flats, workshops and a restaurant, and is home to the Wandsworth Beer Festival.

On leaving the Common we spot this little chap propped up against an Estate Agent’s window. I only hope that his owner finds him soon! As for the prices of houses around here, how we laughed!

And here’s the County Arms pub (still too early to stop for a pint)

And this is Alma Terrace, which is as cute as a button. It’s a conservation area, and I note that these two-bedroomed houses are on the market for nearly £1m. Hey ho. It’s a Conservation Area, which explains why the essential character of this little row of houses has been preserved.

At the bottom of the road, though, is the forbidding and imposing pile that is Wandsworth Prison. It was built in 1851 and was designed to hold less than 1,000 prisoners. At last count, there were between 1,300 and 1.500 men held here. Oscar Wilde, Ronnie Biggs (he of the Great Train Robbery) and poor, unfortunate Derek Bentley were held here – Bentley was executed for the murder of a policeman which he didn’t commit. In September last year, a prisoner escaped, causing much consternation and massive disruption to ports and airports. The escapee was recaptured in Northolt after three days on the run.

135 men were executed in Wandsworth Prison, the last in 1961. The suite where the condemned men spent their last hours is now the prison officer’s tea room.

On we go, taking a slight detour through Wandsworth Cemetery. They are very clear about their closing times. Clearly it’s not unheard of for people to get locked in.

But it’s a lovely cemetery. Near the gate there are a couple of war graves, which point to the range of ages of those who died in the conflict.

There’s a memorial seat here to remember those who died at Gallipoli…

And I loved this headstone from the 1930s with its Celtic pattern.

The snowdrops are coming out here too…

And look at this wonderful silver birch – I love the new pink growth. What a characterful tree, perfect for a cemetery!

I don’t usually grow polyanthus, but look how colourful these are – I imagine that the owners of the florist’s stall here get a lot of trade from people visiting the cemetery.

And now, as promised, here is our brief glimpse of the River Wandle. This flows through Mitcham and joins the Thames at Wandsworth. It is, according to my guide, one of the fastest-flowing rivers in London, which meant that it could be used to power a lot of industry via watermills – soap and chemical manure was produced along this stretch of the river, and there were small firework factories, set in huts that were spaced along the riverbank so that if one ignited it wouldn’t set all the rest on fire. Today, much of the Wandle is a nature reserve, and I shall have to pop back to explore at some point. However, the water quality is still frequently described as ‘poor’, and an incident in 2007 involved flushing sodium hypochlorite (a cleaning fluid) from Beddington Sewage Works into the river, killing 2,000 fish. The Wandle was, in former times, famous for its fishing, and was described as one of the best trout rivers in Britain. It’s difficult to imagine that now.

I’m not sure why the river is divided like this – maybe to ensure water availability of industry on both banks? Let me know if you have any idea, or any theories…

Onwards! By now we are getting hungry, and are only briefly detained by two noisy squirrels chasing one another round and round a tree. This is the start of the breeding season, and grey squirrel females give the males a good old run for their money, possibly to test out their fitness.

I liked this row of houses on Wellington Road, so neat and dapper! And I love the front doors.

And then we cross the road past the Wimbledon Mosque, opened in 1977 and one of the first purpose-built mosques in London. From a distance I thought that it was covered in some kind of netting, but it’s actually the gaps between the cream-coloured tiles. I especially liked the minarets.

Well, now it really is time for some food, as we head uphill to Wimbledon Park station. If you’re in the area, can I recommend Ben Venuti, just down the hill from the station? The coffee is excellent, and the paninis and soup are delicious. And if you should have an urge for a cannoli (and who doesn’t), they fill them with ricotta cheese or pistachio cream while you stand there and drool.

Plus, look at these lovely tiles! If you look closely at the first photo, you’ll see that they used to exist on the wall of the phone shop next door, but have been painted over in grey paint. What a shame.

So, this was an interesting walk – not as long as some sections of the Capital Ring, but we’re building back up to some longer adventures. And on a crisp, clear January day, it whiled away the hours most pleasantly.

You can read more about the Capital Ring here. I recommend it!

 

Dear Readers, some of the first animals to appear on my pond in the spring are the pond skaters – members of the true bug family (Hemiptera) that skate along the surface of the water, hunting for anything unfortunate enough to have fallen in. They’ve always fascinated me, but I’ve often wondered how they cope when there’s a thunderstorm. How do tiny, fragile-looking creatures like pond skaters survive when there’s a deluge? Each raindrop weighs more than forty times more than the insect, and you might expect it to be squashed. Enter scientist Andrew Dickinson of the University of Tennessee. He put some water striders (the American equivalent of pond skaters) into an aquarium and bombarded them with water drops. Like you do. And recorded it in slow-motion. Have a look below.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QTgz-egvfgg&t=9s

The insects survive the initial impact by disappearing into the ‘impact crater’ created by the water drop – the crater absorbs most of the force, and then the insect is whooshed (technical term) into the air on the column of water that erupts from the crater. Other insects who don’t get a direct hit may end up being thrown out of the way, or submerged briefly before their hairy legs (which trap air bubbles) enable them to return to the surface. Furthermore, some water striders seemed to sense the water drop coming and somersaulted away backwards before it hit the water. Very impressive.

You can read the whole article here.

However, what happens to insects or other invertebrates when it rains on land? Many animals simply shelter – bees seem to be able to sense that rain is coming and simply stay indoors, while many spiders hide under leaves. But what about insects like mosquitoes, who are found most commonly in humid areas with high rainfall?

One legend was that mosquitoes could dodge between the raindrops, but mechanical engineer David Hu, of the Georgia Institute of Technology at Atlanta, decided to put their flying abilities to the test. Mosquitoes were popped into a box with a mesh roof, and water was sprayed to simulate rain.

Hu found that rather than trying to dodge the raindrops, the mosquitoes completely ignored them, but each blow only deflected them for a fraction of a second before the insect continued on its way.

Next, Hu constructed ‘artificial mosquitoes’ – little pellets that approximated the size and weight of the insects – and pummelled them with artificial rain. He discovered that upon hitting the pellets, the raindrops deformed slightly but weren’t significantly affected – only about 2% of the speed of the raindrop was transferred to the ‘mosquito’, allowing it to continue its flight path with a minimum of disruption.

Hu, being an engineer, thinks that the main use of this discovery could be in the development of teeny tiny flying robots, who would be able to survive a rain shower without deviating from their chosen quest . Personally I find the idea a little worrying, but there we go. And hats off to mosquitoes, who seem to be pretty much invincible. Let’s hope that we don’t kill off all the many, many creatures who rely on them for food, or we really will be in (more) trouble.

You can read the whole article here. And here’s a film showing the research in more detail.

 

Dear Readers, these are quintessential farmland birds – I used to see them regularly in the fields around Milborne St Andrew in Dorset, where these photos were taken. Richard Crossley and Dominic Couzens describe them perfectly in the Crossley Guide:

“Flies with great freedom, with big undulations and twists and turns: flocks adhere closely”.

And yet there has been a marked decline in the breeding population of these birds, for the usual reasons: herbicide use, aggressive removal of scrubland and the grubbing out of hedgerows. The European population of the bird has dropped by 62% between 1980 to 2009, so goodness knows how it’s doing now.

This is a bird that, like the goldfinch, prefers tiny, oil-rich seeds. Unlike the goldfinch, however, it hasn’t made the move to garden feeders, and so some farmers are leaving weedy areas with the seeds of thistle and chickweed, shepherd’s purse and charlock for the linnets and other small finches to eat. This, coupled with leaving areas of bramble and scrub, may help to arrest the bird’s decline. I certainly hope so.

You might think that this is yet another ‘little brown job’, but look closer…

In her article on the linnet in ‘Into the Red’, Lucy Lapwing (who describes herself as ‘a nature nerd’, and well done to her) describes the colours of the linnet as:

“Marmalade and ginger. Rust and cinnamon. Salt-worn driftwood and Scots Pine bark at sunset. And then you get the males donning a soft pink cap and proud rose belly”.

And this is without listening to the bird. Here are Richard Crossley and Dominic Couzens again…

“Song a lively, fast series of twitters with periodic zooming off at a tangent, like experimental musician”.

See what you think….this recording is by Chèvremont Fabian in Luxembourg

What an extraordinary burst of energy! When I spotted the flock of linnets in Dorset it was that explosion of sound that attracted my attention in the first place.

Linnets were often kept as pet birds in days gone by. They have been memorialised by Blake and Wordsworth, Bridges and Burns, Emily Dickinson and Walter de la Mare. But honestly, does anything sum up the place of the linnet in the working-class home better than music hall favourite ‘Don’t Dilly-Dally on the Way’? And is anyone reading this old enough to remember ‘The Good Old Days’ on the TV, with Leonard Sachs as the Master of Ceremonies and everyone dressed in Victorian costume? Here are the lyrics of the song…

My old man said “Foller the van,
And don’t dilly dally on the way”.
Off went the van wiv me ‘ome packed in it,
I walked behind wiv me old cock linnet.
But I dillied and dallied, dallied and I dillied
Lost me way and don’t know where to roam.
Well you can’t trust a special like the old time coppers.
When you can’t find your way ‘ome.

Ah, the song of my people! Give me a shout if you need a translation. And let’s give thanks for the fact that keeping wild songbirds in cages is now illegal.

And if you want to see if in performance, here we go

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lfW3TxQhy20

 

Well, Readers, the results of the BSBI Annual New Year Plant Hunt are in. You might remember that this year I took part for the first time, and managed to spot a princely 9 species in flower – some Botanical Recording groups managed to find 100 but then they had both strength of numbers and expertise on their side.

This was officially the largest plant hunt ever, with over 3,000 participants, with over 20,000 plants recorded on 2,200 lists. The streets and parks and countryside must have been awash with eager plant hunters. 629 different plant species were found in bloom, which is 30% higher than in 2023, and the third highest number ever recorded (the two previous bumper years were 2022 and 2021).

But what of the plants? The bulk (53%) were plants that were late-flowering – in other words, the mild winter had enabled them to keep flowering, although obviously there were regional differences, with some plant hunts having to be abandoned because everything was under snow. The autumn stragglers include yarrow, common ragwort and white dead-nettle, and they’ve been seen regularly in previous years.

Only 27% were springtime specialists, such as primrose and lesser celandine, but it was noted that there was a lot more of the latter about than last year (over 300 records compared to just over 50 in the 2023 hunt). This is not surprising – in his very interesting talk for the LNHS on how plants are flowering earlier than they used to, Alastair Fitter noted that lesser celandine appeared to be coming into bloom an astonishing 47 days earlier in 2016 than it did in 1951, and it’s possible that that trend has continued.

20% of records were of plants that seem to be in flower for most of the year, or which you might reasonably expect to appear in late December/early January – the three most commonly seen flowers were daisy, dandelion and groundsel, all of which pop up at any time of year.

New entries to the top twenty list were common ragwort and smooth hawksbeard, which are both plants of urban/semi-urban areas, and the aforementioned lesser celandine, a woodland plant. They displaced smooth sow-thistle, ivy and hogweed from the list. I find this a little surprising, but still, I only have my little ‘patch’ to go by.

Finally, the Plant Hunt data gives a breakdown between native and non-native plants. 35% of the species seen were non-natives – in other words, plants which had ‘escaped’, usually from gardens, and had become happily established ‘in the wild’. The full BSBI results document indicates that, because the majority of the hunts have taken place in urban or suburban areas, the ‘heat island’ effect allows many plants to continue to flower that would otherwise fall silent at this supposedly chilly time of year. Cities, because of their history of trade and diversity of inhabitants, also usually have the highest number of non-native species – a walk along the Regent’s canal often yields the most astonishing range of plants, for example.

One notable comment from the report is that our standard floras, which indicate when a plant is likely to be in flower, are hopelessly out of date – most of the respected ones state that only about 2% of plants will be in bloom at the period of the Plant Hunt, and this is clearly a major underestimate. It will be interesting to see what happens when these books are updated.

It seems as if lots of people have become interested in plants this year, and have taken themselves outside to see what’s happening botanically. Let’s hope that the BSBI finds a way to retain the interest of some of these people in the year to come – we need all the keen observers that we can get.

And in the meantime, if you’re in the UK, don’t forget the RSPB’s Great Garden Birdwatch which takes place from 26th to 28th January (i.e. this weekend!!!) For me it’s always an excellent opportunity to spend an hour wondering where all your usual birds have gone, but maybe you’ll have better luck 🙂

 

Dear Readers, I apologise for getting your week off to such a squirmy start, but I am reading a lot about bedbugs at the moment, and as other insects are pretty hard to find in sub-zero temperatures I thought I’d have a chat about these little chaps.

Plus, I have a personal story to tell. During WW2, my mother and gran were evacuated to Slough. After their first night (they were sharing a double-bed – my Mum was only six) they both woke up to find themselves covered in little red blotches. The following night they turned on the light to see lots of little reddish creatures crawling up the wall. Well. They pulled the bed away from the wall, begged some bowls from the lady of the house and filled them with water, and then each leg of the bed in a bowl. Apparently this was enough to fox the bugs, but even if it hadn’t been, Mum and Nan were somewhat stuck. In the end they decided to go back to the East End and take their chances with the Luftwaafe.

So, first up, what is a bed bug? It’s a parasitic insect, and the family Cimicidae has over 100 species, only 3 of which prey on humans. The insects need a meal of blood every 3 to 7 days, and spend the rest of the time hiding while they digest it: this means that they need to have a regular supply close at hand. The first Cimicids evolved to feed on the blood of bats or birds, which return to the same roosts every night, but once humans were no longer nomadic some species evolved to feed on us. There is a theory that as birds and bats nest in the roofs of human habitation, it was but a short crawl for a bed bug to discover us. When a bed bug isn’t feeding, it’ll be hiding – sometimes in a corner of the mattress, but also under plaster in a wall or in a crack in the floor (which must have been the case with Mum and Nan’s experience) The cue for a hungry bed bug to get active is a rise in temperature – in some other parasitic insects, such as midges, the CO2 in the breath can also be a signal and it’s thought that this might be the case with bed bugs too.

Many Cimicids can survive for up to a year without feeding however, which is handy when your host might hibernate (as with bats), migrate (as swallows do) or move house (us pesky humans). However, the current upswing in bed bug numbers, after they were practically eradicated in the UK, is down to a variety of factors.

Firstly, many bed bugs are now resistant to chemical treatments. As many of those treatments were carcinogenic and destructive of other organisms, this is probably all to the good. You can now get rid of a bed bug infestation by sealing a room and heating it to 55 ° C, though you run the risk of furniture etc being damaged by the heat.

Some pest controllers point out that the rise in bed bugs could have been exacerbated by the decline in cockroaches, because the latter eat the former. Even in our houses there’s an ecosystem which we’re constantly interfering with.

Secondly, we do so love our international travel now, and our clothes are ideal harbouring places for bedbugs from overseas. Even the poshest hotels may now have a bed bug problem. This is probably an excellent reason for unpacking and getting your clothes in the wash the instant you arrive home, however jet-lagged you are.

Thirdly, second-hand furniture (especially stuff with soft furnishings) can harbour bedbugs. Clothes from charity shops should be largely ok as they’re washed and steam-cleaned before going on sale.

And finally, there’s transport. There have been exciting photos of a bed bug on someone’s trouser leg while travelling on the London Underground, and Sadiq Khan has sought to reassure people. The suggestion was that the pesky bug came from Paris, but I am fairly sure that we have a lot of home-grown ones. One pest controller suggests that you should never sit down on public transport, which would be excellent for the core muscles, but not so good if you’re carrying a massive backpack.

There is a real sense of shame about bed bugs, as there is about parasites of any kind, but, as with head lice, there is no suggestion that bed bugs favour dirty conditions – all they need is a person, and they don’t care at all about your income, your social status or your level of education. Furthermore, although the bites can be irritating, bed bugs transmit no known diseases, unlike mosquitoes or fleas or lice (though a very bad bed bug infestation can cause anaemia).

In his wonderful book “House Guests, House Pests”, Richard Jones describes how in 1944 his father, then aged 14, bought a secondhand bed and manhandled it through the streets of London on a borrowed costermonger’s barrow. When he discovered bloodspots on the sheets the next day, his father and mother set about stripping down and dismantling the bed, eradicating the vermin and giving everything a good wash, before putting it back together and having no further trouble. As he points out, this would have been completely normal. We have been living with insects and other invertebrates for a very long time, and nothing that we do will ever make for a completely bug-free environment. While I can understand completely why no-one wants to share their homes with bed bugs, I think it does help to be a bit more pragmatic and a bit less squeamish about our house guests. Our homes are ecosystems in their own right, with the equivalents of miniature deer and tigers stalking about in the crooks and crannies. Let’s give some of them house room!