It's a truism that London never ceases to surprise. But still. Having lived in the same area for ten years, I came across a nature reserve I never even knew existed - a mere 15 minutes stroll from my doorstep! Mind you, it has only been open to the public for about two years, and only on limited days. That it is open at all now is thanks to a project called Phytology and it was the latter that brought me there.
Someone I'd met (thanks Leila!) had told me: "Google 'phytology' and 'Bethnal Green'." I did. And then I went last weekend to see for myself. It was late afternoon and it had been raining heavily for most of the day. But now the sun peeped out behind clouds and the air was warm and freshly washed and full of steam (or should that be "vapour"?). Everything was drenched in that smell of lush vegetation, moist soil and other heady scents of early summer, most notably elderflower.
The site of the nature reserve is well hidden in a bland and non-descript housing estate. I'd walked the streets nearby many a times without once suspecting there'd be an urban wilderness so close. Apparently, this "invisibility" is deliberate. High metal fences surround the plot, erected in the early 1980s by the local council to prevent fly-tipping. And then there is an opening in the fence, a gate, and a sign-board inviting you in. I followed it and suddenly, like stepping through the wardrobe into Narnia, I was in a different world.
The site of the nature reserve is well hidden in a bland and non-descript housing estate. I'd walked the streets nearby many a times without once suspecting there'd be an urban wilderness so close. Apparently, this "invisibility" is deliberate. High metal fences surround the plot, erected in the early 1980s by the local council to prevent fly-tipping. And then there is an opening in the fence, a gate, and a sign-board inviting you in. I followed it and suddenly, like stepping through the wardrobe into Narnia, I was in a different world.
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Narrow paths snake through a gloriously overgrown plot, trees and shrubs close over you and shut out the rest of the world. A clearing, furnished with bits of tree trunks: the "amphitheatre". On you sneak, ducking the branches that at the lightest of touches are ready to soak you with a shower of still-there droplets. Suddenly a female voice out of nowhere, singing what sounds like an Irish folk tune to me. Stopping in my tracks I look around and detect a little black box strung among the trees, a speaker - the song triggered by my motion.
I was "warned": online I'd read about the sound installation, an art project exploring the cultural heritage of this particular place. Up until industrialisation arrived, the area consisted of fields, meadows and market gardens. In the early part of the 19th century, urban poverty took over.
The next "stop" on the sound installation is about war, a poetic male voice talking about the experience of utter destruction. From 1846 on the site of the nature reserve was that of a church, St. Jude's, until it was bombed in World War II. Beyond rebuilding, and perhaps due to a lack of the means for it, nature took over. Decades later, locals recognized its value as a new sanctuary in its own right, cleared the ruins and campaigned for it to be protected.
As I stood and listened, sun streamed through the green, drops glistened everywhere, birds sang, a red robin sat close and the bells of a nearby church started to ring. It felt almost clerical or spiritual, for want of a better word.
I was "warned": online I'd read about the sound installation, an art project exploring the cultural heritage of this particular place. Up until industrialisation arrived, the area consisted of fields, meadows and market gardens. In the early part of the 19th century, urban poverty took over.
The next "stop" on the sound installation is about war, a poetic male voice talking about the experience of utter destruction. From 1846 on the site of the nature reserve was that of a church, St. Jude's, until it was bombed in World War II. Beyond rebuilding, and perhaps due to a lack of the means for it, nature took over. Decades later, locals recognized its value as a new sanctuary in its own right, cleared the ruins and campaigned for it to be protected.
As I stood and listened, sun streamed through the green, drops glistened everywhere, birds sang, a red robin sat close and the bells of a nearby church started to ring. It felt almost clerical or spiritual, for want of a better word.
On I went, passing fungi, piles of brushwood and more art works. Street Artist Lucy McLauchlan has created what is called Places to Dwell that May Never Have Been Seen. In essence, these are found materials, waste if you want, fashioned into sculptures and painted on in Lucy's distinct style that are to double up as a home for various wildlife. (I loved the idea, but I did wonder if some of the more intelligent wildlife, such as birds, might be put off using a nest box that looked like e.g. a long-nosed face - perhaps they'd object to "big eyes staring" every time they wanted to enter?)
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The last of the sound installations I listened to eventually created the link to the next part: Something akin to a woman's prayer or invocation about delayed birth, in the spirit of old folk traditions. This is apt because the Phytology project came into existence when its initiator Michael Smythe looked for a place to create a medicinal field containing plants used in herbalism. "Phytology" is an old word meaning "botany" and the aim was to grow common plants, often regarded as weeds, that nonetheless have been used to heal for centuries, another term for the latter being "phytotherapy".
32 species have been sown or planted in one area of the nature reserve, among them comfrey (Symphytum officinale), common nettle (Urtica dioica), dandelion (Taraxacum officinale), greater burdock (Arctium lappa), marsh mallow (Althaea officinalis), ribwort plantain (Plantago lanceolata), shepherd's purse (Capsella bursa-pastoris) and yarrow (Achillea millefolium). Now they are established, everyone is invited to come on opening days (Saturdays from 11am to 6pm) and harvest them for their own use, with the Phytology team on hand to educate and advise and to show how to brew teas or make lotions. There is a hut containing a library on the subject which you are welcome to explore, or you may be offered to sample some of the infusions the gardeners have mixed.
When I ambled around, I was approached very friendly by a man who turned out to be Michael, asking me whether I had been here before, wanted information or help and then encouraging me to pick from the plants according to my own needs or desires. A young woman had gathered a lovely bunch that looked more like a wildflower bouquet than herbs destined for use as DIY apothecary stock. It's easy to forget just how beautiful "medicine" can be.
32 species have been sown or planted in one area of the nature reserve, among them comfrey (Symphytum officinale), common nettle (Urtica dioica), dandelion (Taraxacum officinale), greater burdock (Arctium lappa), marsh mallow (Althaea officinalis), ribwort plantain (Plantago lanceolata), shepherd's purse (Capsella bursa-pastoris) and yarrow (Achillea millefolium). Now they are established, everyone is invited to come on opening days (Saturdays from 11am to 6pm) and harvest them for their own use, with the Phytology team on hand to educate and advise and to show how to brew teas or make lotions. There is a hut containing a library on the subject which you are welcome to explore, or you may be offered to sample some of the infusions the gardeners have mixed.
When I ambled around, I was approached very friendly by a man who turned out to be Michael, asking me whether I had been here before, wanted information or help and then encouraging me to pick from the plants according to my own needs or desires. A young woman had gathered a lovely bunch that looked more like a wildflower bouquet than herbs destined for use as DIY apothecary stock. It's easy to forget just how beautiful "medicine" can be.
Foraging and herbal remedies were a normal part of my childhood. We picked fungi and all sorts of berries regularly. This was mainly for culinary purposes, but I also remember being given juice from sea buckthorn for the vitamin C it contains, "to ward off colds". For the same reason, we'd sip tea with elderberry juice or have elderberry soup in winter. I remember young stinging nettles cooked and eaten like spinach, and plantain (Plantago major) being applied on scratches, often much readier to hand than a sticking plaster. There are plenty of other examples.
Likewise, it is commonplace in Germany to buy dried medicinal herbs - readily packaged these days - in an apothecary or sometimes at markets. My "medicinal cabinet" used to include elderflower, lime-blossoms and the flowers of camomile, cowslip, coltsfoot, common mallow, great mullein, lavender and pot marigolds, as well as hop cones, fennel seeds, lemon balm, common sage, thyme, eucalyptus, hyssop, lady's mantle, hairy willow-herb and bearberry leaves amongst others. And that's not even counting the branded over-the-counter herbal remedies you can buy: ointments, balms, tinctures, extracts, pills... From upset stomachs to insomnia, these are the go-to-remedies for any minor illness. A GP might well prescribe say a particular, branded, extract from thyme and cowslip roots for your cough.
On coming to Britain, I was most surprise to find it wasn't the same here, too. Chemists stock next to no herbal remedies, products with Echinacea perhaps being the exception to the rule. Neither have I ever been prescribed one, not even for the children. When I once asked a GP why, the answer quite shocked me: "We don't believe in it!", I was told. Well - until comparatively recently in human history, herbal remedies were the only medication that mankind ever had. And what was pharmaceutical chemistry based on to start with?
Likewise, it is commonplace in Germany to buy dried medicinal herbs - readily packaged these days - in an apothecary or sometimes at markets. My "medicinal cabinet" used to include elderflower, lime-blossoms and the flowers of camomile, cowslip, coltsfoot, common mallow, great mullein, lavender and pot marigolds, as well as hop cones, fennel seeds, lemon balm, common sage, thyme, eucalyptus, hyssop, lady's mantle, hairy willow-herb and bearberry leaves amongst others. And that's not even counting the branded over-the-counter herbal remedies you can buy: ointments, balms, tinctures, extracts, pills... From upset stomachs to insomnia, these are the go-to-remedies for any minor illness. A GP might well prescribe say a particular, branded, extract from thyme and cowslip roots for your cough.
On coming to Britain, I was most surprise to find it wasn't the same here, too. Chemists stock next to no herbal remedies, products with Echinacea perhaps being the exception to the rule. Neither have I ever been prescribed one, not even for the children. When I once asked a GP why, the answer quite shocked me: "We don't believe in it!", I was told. Well - until comparatively recently in human history, herbal remedies were the only medication that mankind ever had. And what was pharmaceutical chemistry based on to start with?
While I'm sure you can buy dried medicinal herbs in Britain, so far I've never come across them - safe for those also used in the kitchen. (I didn't look online though, I must admit.) That's why my interest was piqued considerably when I first learned about the Phytology project and its medicinal field.
But there is so much else to this project, a lot of which doesn't meet the eye immediately. As they describe themselves on their website: Phytology is an artist and community led project exploring the use, value, resilience and function of wilderness within urban ecosystems. Launched at Bethnal Green Nature Reserve in 2014, Phytology is part physic garden; part cultural institute; part urban wilderness; and a platform for collaboration between artist, musicians, writers and a wide variety of community groups.
I will have to come back to it with another post, I think. For now, here are a few pictures of the wildlife most visible in the Bethnal Green Nature Reserve last weekend: Hard to navigate as they were everywhere, thanks to the rain. Unlike in my own garden where inevitably they pose a threat to my beloved and cosseted green treasures, over there I could wholeheartedly enjoy them and admire their patterns and acrobatics.
But there is so much else to this project, a lot of which doesn't meet the eye immediately. As they describe themselves on their website: Phytology is an artist and community led project exploring the use, value, resilience and function of wilderness within urban ecosystems. Launched at Bethnal Green Nature Reserve in 2014, Phytology is part physic garden; part cultural institute; part urban wilderness; and a platform for collaboration between artist, musicians, writers and a wide variety of community groups.
I will have to come back to it with another post, I think. For now, here are a few pictures of the wildlife most visible in the Bethnal Green Nature Reserve last weekend: Hard to navigate as they were everywhere, thanks to the rain. Unlike in my own garden where inevitably they pose a threat to my beloved and cosseted green treasures, over there I could wholeheartedly enjoy them and admire their patterns and acrobatics.
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