Fantastical Foxgloves

Beautiful yet deadly, ornamental but useful. The Foxglove has certainly got a lot going for it. 

 

It has a mysterious and enigmatic aura – perhaps this is because of the associations with witchcraft and fairies, or perhaps it is because it is commonly known to be deadly. All parts of the plant are poisonous and can kill if ingested. 

The Latin name for the plant is Digitalis Purpurea – which literally translated means purple fingers. In folklore, it has many other names including Fairy Fingers, Ladies Thimbles, Rabbit Flowers, Throatwort, Dead Mans Bells, Witches Gloves and Goblin Gloves. There are several stories behind the most common name of Foxglove. The most plausible explanation is that it derives from the old name Folks Glove (the folk part being a way of alluding to fairies) while other stories attribute it to the legend that the fairies gave the flowers to foxes to use as gloves to muffle the tracking of their prey.  

The association with witches stems from the fact that wise women who practiced herbal medicine would use small amounts of digitalis to treat ailments such as headaches, abscesses and ulcers. Of course, even a tiny amount too much would result in the death of the patient – the wise women’s knowledge gave them power. Modern science still uses digitalis to treat heart conditions and high blood pressure, it is a very useful drug in small doses! 

Now that my children are old enough to know not to pick and eat the Foxglove, I have been enjoying growing them. It is also best to avoid them if you have pets that might eat your garden plants. I particularly like them for two reasons – they make a lovely cottage garden plant and this is the sort of planting that I aim for. Secondly, they are happy growing in the shade, which is something I have a lot of. The colourful spires of flowers make a welcome addition to the darkest corner. They are a traditional woodland and hedgerow plant and a boon to pollinators that buzz around under the trees. Fortunately, they are not poisonous to the bees which really enjoy getting busy inside the flowers. It is quite comical to hear a drunken buzz coming from inside the long fingers.  

Foxgloves are biennials. The plant begins its life at the end of the summer when the flowers on the parent plant have died back and left pods which contain a mass of tiny black seeds. These explode onto the ground, and in the first year the roots and leaves are set. These lay dormant over the winter and begin growing again in the spring, producing the flowers between June and September. You can collect the seeds yourself (or buy a packet) and start them off in the greenhouse over winter. This is what I do – sowing around September and planting the seedlings out in March.  

 

This means that they are nice and strong when they go outside and are less likely to be dug up by squirrels or rabbits. 

Just remember to use gloves whenever you handle the plants or seeds, and wash your hands afterwards too for good measure! Foxgloves are very easy to grow in most conditions – they are a naturalised wild flower after all – and you will be treated to a lovely display. 

Extract from my novella "Temporary Accommodation":

A wooden back door opened up loosely into a damp and rickety lean-to. They stepped out of here into a long piece of land that once contained a neat lawn bordered by sensible shrub plants. The garden had not been cut or trimmed for years. Swaying long grass stretched out before them, each breath of breeze rippling through it and being caught by the heavy leaved bushes down each side. The plot ended in a tangle of nettles and bramble bushes, which rose steadily up a railway embankment. The track that had once run along the top had been removed, leaving its imprint in a pile of grey ballast. A wayside hut leaned to the left, a small sapling growing through its rudimentary guttering. Mr Tinker watched her focus upon the little construction. “That belonged to the railway, where the linesmen stored their tools and boiled their kettle. Everything up to the edge of the ballast is yours. I would advise leaving those brambles in place on the embankment. People may start to use the trackbed as a footpath and the dense prickles will stop them from trying to stray into your property.” “I’d like to walk down there.” Marigold took hold of a stick – an old broom handle – and set off through the middle of the grass. Mr Tinker and Pansy followed her. Something darted away to their right. A crow called out and wings of all sizes flapped about them. Marigold stopped as the brambles began their incline. She had meant to turn and study the back of the house, but something in the husks of the dried out blackberries caught her.