Back home I turn to my books and discover a dark secret

Gypsywort on Monmouth and Brecon canal

My granny often said “curiosity killed the cat” – it was one of many ways she would close down a conversation just as it was getting interesting. As for me I seemed to leak curiosity from every pore and so it was a push-back I knew well. The campervan has many virtues but its fatal deficiency is that I can only take very few books with me and so the real research begins when I get home, and this time I came home with a question – “why Gypsywort?”. Many plant names reference a particular use – like butterbur, milkwort, pilewort, fleabane; or a place – Jersey, Argentine, Cheddar- I could go on for pages – but gypsywort unusually references an ethnic group. Why’s that? I wondered.

I’ve got a dozen or more herbals of various vintage on my shelves, and so I soon discovered that the plant is well recognised as a dye (black, grey or blue ). It’s also known as a treatment for thyroid problems, diabetes and as a sedative. It’s also very potent (dangerous when used carelessly – before you ask). My copy of Gerard doesn’t even mention it – not all modern versions are complete, and none of the others suggest anything other than medicinal uses and occasionally as a dye. So I turned, as I always do with any question of plant names, to Geoffrey Grigson’s wonderful encyclopaedia of English folk names – “The Englishman’s Flora” where the true reason leaked out like effluent .

The story that gipsies [sic] stain themselves with Lycopus europaeus runs from one book to another, beginning with Lyte’s translation of Dodoens , 1578: ‘The rogues and runagates, which name themselves Egyptians, do colour themselves black with this herb’.

And so it goes on; half a page of bilious historical references to gypsies without a shred of evidence that they ever dyed their skin. The word ‘runagates’ caught my ear; so very close to ‘renegades’ its almost a homophone. Unusually, Grigson doesn’t list any alternative names but in the US and elsewhere it’s known as Bugleweed, and in some places water horehound – surely worth adopting here. True Gypsies, Romanies, wouldn’t need to dye their sin because they have naturally darker sin. It’s said that they ultimately came from India – who knows?

Anyway, it’s a lesson in how deeply embedded racial and ethnic prejudice can be even in a remote subject like herbal medicine or field botany. So – with reference to my previous post – even if Gypsies did use gypsywort they only shared it as a herbal medicine with the world and his wife, (even pale skinned rabble rousing populists) and it grows on the sides of canals and rivers because (like me) they find it a very congenial place to be.

Author: Dave Pole

I've spent my life doing a lot of things, all of them interesting and many of them great fun. When most people see my CV they probably think I'm making things up because it includes being a rather bad welder and engineering dogsbody, a potter, a groundsman and bus driver. I taught in a prison and in one of those ghastly old mental institutions as an art therapist and I spent ten years as a community artist. I was one of the founding members of Spike Island, which began life as Artspace Bristol. ! wrote a column for Bristol Evening Post (I got sacked three times, in which I take some pride) and I worked in local and network radio and then finally became an Anglican parish priest for 25 years, retiring at 68 when I realised that the institutional church and me were on different paths. What interests me? It would be easier to list what doesn't, but I love cooking and baking with our home grown ingredients. I'm fascinated by botany and wildlife in general, and botanical illustration. We have a camper van that takes us to the wild places, we love walking, especially in the hills, and we take too many photographs. But what really animates me is the question "what does it mean to be human?". I've spent my life exploring it in every possible way and the answer is ..... well, today it's sitting in the van in the rain and looking across Ramsey Sound towards Ramsey Island. But it might as easily be digging potatoes or making pickle, singing or finding an orchid or just sitting. But it sure as hell doesn't mean getting a promotion, beasting your co-workers or being obsequious to power, which ensured that my rise to greatness in the Church of England flatlined 30 years ago after about 2 days. But I'm still here and still searching for that elusive sweet spot, and I don't have to please anyone any more. Over the last 50 or so years we've had a succession of gardens, some more like wildernesses when we were both working full-time, but now we're back in the game with our two allotments in Bath.

Leave a Reply

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.

Discover more from The Potwell Inn

Subscribe now to keep reading and get access to the full archive.

Continue reading