The Common hawthorn is a staple around these parts both as a
tree on the downs, where its prickly branches and rough bark makes it a
survivor from grazing sheep and adapted by man for hedging, regular cutting
creating a dense, prickly barrier to both sheep and cattle.
Those same characteristics make it a popular home for
nesting birds, the flowers, mostly white but sometimes pink, a spring
destination for insects and bees, including that friend of the fisher the
Hawthorn fly so called as it emerges at the end of April at the same time
as the hawthorn blossom.
The hawthorn has all sorts of associations with pagan
fertility rituals; before the Maypole it was the tree around which the
dance took place with the flowers weaved into garlands. Bizarrely, at least
to my mind, modern day perfumiers have created a synthetic versions of the
hawthorn musk describing it as a ‘spicy, almond-like scent’ and you’ll find
it in perfumes from Chanel, YSL, Penhaligon’s and many others.
But for the hawthorn the truth is double edged. The flowers
emit a chemical called trimethylamine, a colourless gas with a strong,
fishy, ammonialike odour which is both at once a sexual stimulant but as
nurses from times past relate, smells a lot like gangrene. This, as it
turns out, attracts a group of insects called carrion beetles, of which
there are 21 species in Britain. Normally they feed on, and lay eggs in,
dead flesh but drawn to the flowers by the rank smell they end up
pollinating the hawthorn as they move from flower to flower in their vain
search of meat.
I’m sure you’ll never look at a hawthorn bush in quite the
same way ever again……..
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