Greater Celandine (Chelidonium majus)

Lesser Celandine (Ficaria verna)

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

Dear Readers, down here in East Finchley, Lesser Celandine (which is actually ‘April’s Eye’) has already pretty much finished, but on my road there is a very fine patch of Greater Celandine which has seeded itself under a hedge and is doing very nicely. The two celandines are not closely related at all: Lesser Celandine is a buttercup and Greater Celandine is a poppy. Lesser Celandine is a native plant, and an ancient woodland indicator, while cheeky old Greater Celandine was probably brought to the UK by the Romans and, like the House Sparrow, is usually found close to human habitation.

Both celandines are named for the swallow (Chelidon) – Greater Celandine is thought to start to flower when they arrive in the UK, and to fade when they leave. How Lesser Celandine got its name is more unlikely, as the flowers have normally disappeared well before the swallows turn up. There was a legend that swallows used the juice from Greater Celandine to improve the vision of their nestlings, like a kind of ornithological Optrex, and how this became part of folklore is anybody’s guess.

However, one interesting point about both of these plants, and many others in bloom at this time of year, such as the dandelion, is that they all have yellow flowers – you could argue that yellow is the colour of early spring. This may well be because very early flowers are largely pollinated by flies, who have limited colour vision. Yellow also absorbs heat more easily than darker-coloured flowers, and is also more visible in limited light. But who knows? Bees also love dandelions, and I’ve seen hoverflies on my bright pink saxifrage, so it’s a complicated business.

And finally, you might remember that Lesser Celandine was Wordsworth’s favourite flower. I can imagine him walking in the woods around Grasmere and being enchanted by its star-like flowers. However, the person who designed his memorial wasn’t a botanist, so he got some Greater Celandine instead.

And just in case you thought  that Wordsworth wasn’t a true fan of Lesser Celandine, here’s a poem. Of course.

The Lesser Celandine

There is a Flower, the Lesser Celandine,
That shrinks, like many more, from cold and rain;
And, the first moment that the sun may shine,
Bright as the sun himself, ’tis out again!

When hailstones have been falling, swarm on swarm,
Or blasts the green field and the trees distressed,
Oft have I seen it muffled up from harm,
In close self-shelter, like a Thing at rest.

But lately, one rough day, this Flower I passed,
And recognized it, though an altered form,
Now standing forth an offering to the blast,
And buffeted at will by rain and storm.

I stopped, and said, with inly-muttered voice,
“It doth not love the shower, nor seek the cold:
This neither is its courage nor its choice,
But its necessity in being old.

“The sunshine may not cheer it, nor the dew;
It cannot help itself in its decay;
Stiff in its members, withered, changed of hue.”
And, in my spleen, I smiled that it was grey.

To be a Prodigal’s Favourite -then, worse truth,
A Miser’s Pensioner -behold our lot!
O Man, that from thy fair and shining youth
Age might but take the things Youth needed not!

William Wordsworth (1770-1850)