Jelly Babies Rule Ok!!

Dusk falls over the Botanic Gardens, the gates are closed and a late autumn chill takes hold as darkness begins to creep across the lawns and envelop the trees. The squirrels are long gone, the birds have returned to their nests and the quacking of the ducks is silenced as a misty moon begins its journey across the skies. It is into this twilight world that mysterious visitors emerge from the shadows, visitors who appear when all others are gone, when they are safe from prying eyes and mischievous fingers. Only when the world lies silent do the Jelly Babies creep out from their hiding places and take over the Gardens. Not many know of these Jelly Babies, of the adventures they have when freed from the confines of their yellow bags. This is a secret known to only a few, so read, enjoy and then forget .........
Red, yellow, green, black, orange, they are all there, climbing, exploring, running across the grass, swinging from the branches of the trees. Jelly jockeys ride the fir cones as their spiny branches sway in the evening breeze. Jelly ladies gaze at their reflections in the pond as the same breeze ripples its surface, holding their faces until sending them shimmering into the reeds that hem the edges of the water. Giggling Jelly juniors play hide and seek amongst the leaves and dangle from the heads of flowers desperately trying to close their petals for the night. Picnicking on the dew-laden grass, sparkling beneath the first moonbeams of the evening, the Jelly Babies feast on jelly beans, jelly tots and jelly sandwiches. Oh yes, the Jelly Babies love their time in the Botanics when the world is their own, no-one to trample on them, chase them or eat them! Chattering with the scarecrows, splashing in the waterfall's dancing spray, indulging in a berry fight or two, what a wonderful way to spend an evening. And not one piece of clothing in sight so no dirty washing!
No-one has seen the Jelly Babies, not man nor beast, alive or dead. Until now, that is. I have a very dear friend in the Gardens, a certain Sammy the Squirrel. And he has watched from on high, shielded by the treetops, as the Jelly Babies laugh and play in their secret land. During one of our many chats, sat on a bench watching the seasons change and the landscape shift from green to brown and gold to wintry grey, he revealed this lovely tale, promising to bounce pine cones off my head if his secret was ever passed on. So you see you can enjoy the tale of the Jelly Babies, smile at their antics ...... and then forget. Enjoy a glass of wine, walk the dog, relax in a long. hot, bubbly bath, get out your x-box, your i-pad or your kindle, do whatever it is that floats your boat ..... but please forget. Look into my eyes ..... you are feeling very sleepy ........ count to three and when I snap my fingers all thoughts of Jelly Babies will be erased from your mind forever. Or will they? If I pass by the Botanics after closing time and I see folk climbing the gates, tunnelling under the walls, vaulting the fences, then I know I have failed.  But just pause for a moment and imagine a world without Jelly Babies, a world where these loveable little creatures are no more. Look at these pictures. Do they not tug at your heart-strings, bring a tear to your eye, have you sobbing into your hankie at the thought of these sweet little people -  for people they are - joining the ranks of the extinct and the defunct? Then leave them to enjoy their moments of freedom, leave them to play in peace .... and save my head from the inevitable onslaught of deadly cones if this story gets out!!!

Guess what I found .........

Seldom do I find myself in the vicinity of Edinburgh's wonderful Botanic Gardens without spending a few hours wandering its paths, admiring the splendour that is Mother Nature at her very best. But today, some mysterious force was beckoning to me, the promise of something special guiding my footsteps through the gates and onwards across the manicured lawns. Autumn had just begun to touch the leaves, shades of gold and brown gently encroaching onto a world of green. Flowers reflected the slowly changing seasons, grasping the watery sunshine that belies the onset of cooler weather, colourful blooms heralding the arrival of September and the gradual demise of summer.
And then I saw them, lurking in the undergrowth, unexpected, unannounced, a blot on the beauty of the Botanics - a cluster of hosepipus rubberium hiding beneath the mighty pines. What an intrusion into one of my favourite places, what impertinence to dare think they belong amongst such horticultural perfection, such elegance ......
Hosepipus rubberium, an unsightly yellow in colour, thin, coiled, as welcome in these gardens as the serpent in the Garden of Eden and bearing more than a passing resemblance to the same. I had to photograph these interlopers, these brazen invaders into the peace and tranquility of this natural paradise. And imagine my horror at encountering another of these scars on the landscape, these pimples on a perfect skin, snaking its way towards the greenhouses, slithering up the stonework, sucking the moisture from the very earth which gives sustenance to so many plants of real beauty. Jealousy? Probably. Hideous hosepipus rubberium, spitting out water like venom from the jaws of a snake, enticing true trees and flowers into a false sense of security. "Let me water you, let me help you grow and flourish" they smirk .... and then they pounce, winding their sinewy bodies around delicate stems and tender shoots. Oh yes, don't let them fool you. They may look innocent, harmless, curled motionless on the grass. But they are not!!
You will rarely see them breeding in the open, preferring the
sanctity of the garden centre. But breed they do, once the
problem of discovering which end is which has been overcome. Maybe the time has come for a cull of the hosepipus rubberium. Slaughter them? No, not even the hosepipus rubberium deserves a fate this cruel and calculated. I advocate blocking both ends with straw and superglue while they are sleeping. Now try and copulate!!
Mad? Not me. I have encountered the hosepipus rubberium in the wild and lived to tell the tale. Keep your eyes peeled, your wits about you ....... And they don't just come in yellow, oh no. They are evolving, becoming crafty, developing camouflage. Yes indeed. Some of them are green!! How sneaky is that.
 



Back to the Botanics

Back to the Botanics once again, on not the brightest of days. In fact it was a typical Bank Holiday Sunday, overcast, promising a hint of sunshine but doing little to produce it. Not cold, but one of those take my coat off, put my coat back on again occasions, not too bad in the open, not too good in the shade. But this oasis of green in the midst of the city, with its stunning views of the Edinburgh skyline, is a late springtime myriad of colour, enough to banish the greyest of skies and the heaviest of hearts. Every shade of every colour known to man is bursting forth from the bushes, erupting along the borders and lighting up the well-manicured green of the lawns. Wandering along the paths you cannot fail but wonder at the display of blooms greeting you around every corner, nature at its most splendid. Landscapes such as this lift the spirits, making you feel good to be alive and fortunate enough to enjoy the world around us at its very best.

I took myself off to the Azalea Lawn, where highly scented, colourful azaleas and rhododendrons vie for your attention. Deciduous azaleas, as seen here, are popular shrubs providing beautiful spring flowers and warm autumn colours. The name "azalea" is used informally to cover several groups of rhododendron species, and the display here at the Botanics shows eight of the original parent species from temperate Asia and North America, along with a "range of cultivars and hybrids introduced during the last two hundred years."

Now I am no gardener, preferring to look rather than partake, so I did a bit of homework on these delightful flowers. Azalea plants and rhododendrons are related. All azaleas are Rhododendrons (capital R) but not all Rhododendrons are azaleas. Confused? I am, but I am equally sure all you green-fingered folk are not. Apparently if you read the scientific name for an azalea, you will see the word Rhododendron. This is because azalea plants belong to the genus Rhododendron, and the word azalea has virtually become this bush's common name. Following me? Good. But - and there is always a but - there are also members of this genus that are just plain "rhododendrons". Okay, so now we have this sorted, how can you identify an azalea as distinct from a rhododendron? Rhododendrons tend to be larger shrubs than azalea plants and have larger leaves. Azalea flowers usually have five stamens, while the rhododendron flowers have ten. And finally, many azalea plants are deciduous unlike the rhododendrons. Apologies to all the experts at the Botanics if I have not quite grasped all of this. Could be why I am a writer and not a horticulturalist!

Despite my botanical shortcomings, I do know that these flowers produce one of the most visually stimulating displays in the Gardens. Their colours are captivating, shades of white, red, yellow, purple, pink and orange peppering the bushes like a rainbow army.  If you head that way you must call in and spend some time soaking up the sights and smells of this beautiful corner of the Gardens, without doubt at its very best right now. 

How Do You Do, Hamish

A bitter north wind, the kind that chills every ounce of your being, was whistling through the trees as I popped back to the Botanics to see how Sammy the Squirrel and his family were faring. Knowing he and Mrs Squirrel would almost certainly have their hands full with the new arrivals, I was somewhat surprised to see Sammy sat high on the branch of a tree, nibbling on a nut without a care in the world. I politely enquired after his offspring, wondering where he found the time to sit around and let life pass him by. Three youngsters, he advised me, leaning back on his tail and twitching his nose, and all girls. "Two weeks old, and already I'm feeling very much outnumbered. Sharing a drey with four women is almost more than any respectable squirrel can bear." This last comment was accompanied by a mischievous grin, so I

continued our conversation by asking whether they had been given names. Pulling a piece of bark from beneath his tam o' shanter he read: "Flossy, Flora and Fauna." Replacing the bark from whence it came, and muttering something about having very little imput into this decision, he sat bolt upright as the sound of Mrs Squirrel's voice reverberated through the branches. Bidding me "Good Day" he scuttled off to put right whatever it was he had done - or no doubt not done.  

From the reeds around the pond, the solitary figure of Hamish the Heron stretched out his neck and added his comments to the proceedings. "Under the paw, that one" he said disdainfully. "No late night nutting for him now. She'll have him chasing his tail, you wait and see." Hamish is a handsome chap, with his long elegant legs, long beak, and black, grey and white feathers. Having made his feelings known, he returned to the job in hand, the devouring of a fresh, crunchy frog. Herons possess incredible patience, standing motionless for long periods of time whilst stalking their prey, and Hamish was no exception. Frog suitably demolished, he took a few leisurely strides, nodded his goodbyes, and took up the stance once again. Fish, frogs, toads, small mammals, all in danger of becoming dessert for Hamish, as I watched him for a few moments more before heading off for a welcome cuppa. The wind was now so strong, I wondered how such slender legs could hold him so still. Why did he not blow over? Stupid question, really, I thought, as I battled up the hill to the cafe .......  

Sammy the Squirrel

Sometimes you just need to escape reality and let your imagination take over, let the stresses and strains of this life give way to the simplicity of another. So I hear you say, where do you go to let your creative juices flow and your crazy brain take over? I pop along to the Botanic Gardens, take a seat on my favourite bench, and chat to the squirrels. But squirrels can't talk, I hear you reply, no doubt questioning my sanity. Well, ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, I know different ........ Sammy is no ordinary squirrel. Watching for my arrival, he appears in his tam o'shanter and his knitted tartan scarf, sits on the bench beside me, and chats away nineteen to the dozen. With his bushy grey tail, silvery grey fur with a brown tinge along the middle of his back, and his sometimes not-so-white underparts, Sammy is an appealing little chap, amusingly entertaining, always busying himself with one chore or another, yet always able to pass the time of day, if only briefly on occasions. It is said that squirrels communicate mainly through their tails, which twitch if they are uneasy or suspicious. But not Sammy. He appears to have mastered the English language quite adequately, albeit with a Scottish accent, but he is very shy and can be heard only by those who believe. Eager to chat away about his family, he told me recently about the wonderful Christmas lunch he shared with Mrs Squirrel.  Vegetarian of course, they indulged in fungi stuffed with acorns and hazelnuts, served with a pine cone puree, and followed by a tree bark tart sprinkled with winter flowers. A veritable feast for the squirrels, washed down with a vintage rainwater elderflower wine. Sqirrels are hoarders, and my friend Sammy is certainly no exception. However, burying food to provide for the long winter months, when supplies are scarce, can be a problem. Despite a strong sense of smell, poor Sammy often falls victim to the common cold, an unfortunate consequence of his close contact with the humans that forever invade his habitat, tossing nuts and flashing cameras in his direction. This, coupled with a memory not as sharp as it once was, will at times result in him frantically digging up half the Gardens to locate his own personal storecupboard. Last time we had a chat poor Sammy hardly had time to catch his breath before he was off again in search of moss and feathers to line the nursery. The winter months had taken their toll on his drey, and with the patter of tiny feet due at any time, Mrs Squirrel was eager to have everything spick and span ready for the new arrivals. I must pop back soon to see how it all went, and take some tiny scarves for the babies. With more snow forecast I am sure they will be more than welcome. So do you believe I can talk to the squirrels? I guess only I know for sure, but will keep you all updated with further adventures of Sammy the Squirrel. So watch this space ...........