Torbryan, Devon: Lesser Horseshoe Bat

25th July 2013

Thursday marked the last occasion I was likely to be dancing with Beltane for some time. We headed to the Old Church House Inn at Torbryan and it was a brilliant, but emotional night of songs and adieus to my lovely friends.  How fitting thing that the evening should reveal the inky treasure of a Lesser Horseshoe bat. 

 
A couple of weeks ago a friend at Beltane introduced me to their heterodyne detector and provided the inspiration to buy one, as I've never before used them or properly seen them in action. We spent an hour in Exeter enjoying the sound waves of Daubenton bats, skimming the surface of the quay water and catching insects (which was wonderful enough) but on Thursday, we crept off to an area around the redundant mediaeval church with our devices and were given the treat of this rare little creature. I'm assured that it was a lesser and not a greater horseshoe by the distinctive frequency of it's echolocation.

It get's it's name from a characteristic horseshoe shaped nose and is one of the world's smallest bats. It has strong feet that it uses to grasp rocks and branches, and can see well in spite of its small eyes. Like most bats, lesser horseshoe bats live in colonies and hunt their prey by emitting ultrasound from specialized round pads in their mouth.

The base of its fur, which is soft and fluffy, is light grey in colour, with dorsal side fur smoky brown and grey, with the exception of juvenile bats which are entirely dark grey. When hunting they are quick and agile, often flying within five metres of the ground while avoiding contact with bushes and shrubs eating small insects, most of which are gleaned from stones and branches.

Lesser horseshoe bats mate in the autumn.  Females give birth to one cub, normally between mid-June and the beginning of July. Pups open their eyes after around 10-days and becoming independent at six to seven weeks of age. The bats hibernate during the winter months in dark caves, mines, old buildings, and sometimes in cellars.  Myths about bats are found in many human cultures. The ancient Egyptians believed that bats could prevent or cure poor eyesight, toothache, fever, and baldness, and a bat hung over the doorway of a home was thought to prevent the entry of demons that carried these “diseases.”

Bat gods were important to many pre-Colombian civilisations in central America, and bats have been used in voodoo worship in parts of Africa as well as in many parts of the Caribbean even today.  The association of bats with the legend of human vampires has an uncertain origin, but since the time of Cortez and his Conquistadors, peoples of western civilisation have linked vampire bats with the legendary “human” vampires of Transylvania.  The writings of William Shakespeare, Robert Louis Stevenson, and others have contributed to legends that cast a veil of fear on people, as they associate bats with graveyards, death, ghosts, and goblins. To the Chinese, bats are regarded as symbols of happiness and good fortune.  At one time Chinese mothers would sew small jade buttons in the shape of a bat on the caps of their babies, a custom believed to impart long life. 

Below is a copy of a Taino Indian legend, called 'The Vain Bat' which I thought was a good little parable: 

'When time was yet in the cradle, there was no uglier creature in the world than the bat. The bat went up to heaven to look for God and said: “I’m bored with being hideous. Give me coloured feathers!” No. He said, “Please give me feathers, I’m dying of cold!” But God had not a single feather left over. “Each bird will give you a feather,” he decided. Thus the bat got the white feather of the dove and the green one of the parrot, the iridescent one of the hummingbird, the pink one of the flamingo, the red of the cardinal’s tuft and the blue of the kingfisher’s back, the clayey one of the eagle’s wing and the sun feather that burns in the breast of the toucan. 

The bat, luxuriant with colours and softness, moved between earth and clouds. Wherever he went, the air became pleasant and the birds dumb with admiration. According to the Zapotec peoples, the rainbow was born of the echo of his flight but, vanity puffed out his chest. He acquired a disdainful look and made insulting remarks. 

 The birds called a meeting, together they flew up to God. “The bat makes fun of us,” they complained. “And what’s more, we feel cold for lack of the feathers he took.” Next day, when the bat shook his feathers in full flight, he suddenly became naked. A rain of feathers fell to earth. 

He is still searching for them, blind and ugly, enemy of the light, he lives hidden in caves. He goes out in pursuit of the lost feathers after night has fallen and flies very fast, never stopping because it shames him to be seen.'  

It was in no way possible to get a picture but I'm going to head back there with a red light to try to record some video of it, if we're lucky enough to encounter it again. In the meantime, here's my favourite picture of me looking most like a bat doing one of my best-loved things in the world.

Babbacombe, Devon: Compass jellyfish

22nd July 2013

Summer holidays are here and Bo and Anna have arrived in England. This means, crab catching time. Their talents have extended this year, to hunting jellyfish.

 

Jellyfish have roamed the seas for at least 500-million years, possibly 700-million or more, making them the oldest multi-organ animal. A group of jellyfish is called a swarm, or a bloom; which is rather lovely.

Ours was a Compass jellyfish - Chrysaora hysoscella: Chrysaora is derived from chrysaor in Greek mythology, the son of Poseidon and the god of lightening.  Hysoscella is from the two Greek words: isos, meaning 'alike' and scelis, meaning 'ribbon'. 

Chrysaor was the result of the ill-fated mating of Medusa and Poseidon. He was born from the blood droplets from Medusa's head when it was cut off by Perseus and oh look here, some fitting Pre-Raphaelite art by Edward Burne-Jones!

The Birth of Pegasus & Chrysaor from the Blood of Medusa

Little is known of Chrysaor other then he was considered a stout hearted warrior. His name means Golden Sword and his appearance is unknown but given his family, it is likely to have been unusual. Some say he was possibly a giant.

Perseus and Chrysaor (c1876-1885) 

Compass jellyfish appear in coastal waters all round the British Isles, they are most prevalent off the south and west coasts of England and Wales and although we discovered relatively early on that they are a non-stinging species, it didn't prevent a mild feeling of terror as we waded through them on our way out to sea to swim.

They have a saucer-shaped bell, with 32-semi circular lobes around the fringe, each one with a brown spot. On the upper surface of the bell,16-brown V-shaped marks radiate outwards from a dark central spot. The mouth, the only opening to the exterior, is located on the centre of the underside of the bell, and is surrounded by 4-arms. There are also 24-tentacles around the edge of the bell, grouped in threes.

Compass jellyfish change sex: first they are male, followed after by female. The medusae live mainly off other medusae, comb jellyfish and arrow worms.

While looking into the subject matter of jellyfish, I came across these beautiful pictures called 'Haeckel's medusae' from a magnificent series of botanical artwork Haeckel produced, called 'Art forms in Nature'.

Ernst Haeckel (1834 - 1919) was a German zoologist, biologist, and philosopher who was born in Prussia. He studied medicine and was a lecturer then professor of zoology. He undertook several scientific expeditions the the Mediterranean, Canary Islands, the Red Sea, Ceylon and Java and discovered many new species of lower marine animals. 

Haeckel's zoological works included descriptions of these some 4000-new species, mainly radiolarians, medusae, and sponges. He was immediately converted to Darwinism upon reading On the Origin of Species, and although a slightly ropey and fraudulent past was recorded, he was the first German advocate of organic evolution.

Sowton, Exeter: Mugwort

17th July 2013

Today was my last day working in Exeter.  I have made some nice friends during my time within the role, which arrived for me during a difficult and strange time.  I’m thankful that it helped me through the winter and for the knowledge I gained by working in a different setting.  They sent me home with flowers, a lovely card and job offers.  A lovely ending.  So, for the last time I walked to the secluded area I always enjoyed and watched long boughs of Mugwort, Artemisia vulgaris, softly waving goodbye in the breeze.

All varieties of Artemesia are sacred to the Goddess Artemis.  She was the Goddess of forests, hills, hunting, wilderness and wild animals.  She was also a goddess of childbirth.  Mugwort is feminine in nature and is associated with the element of earth and the signs Taurus and Libra (coincidentally my own sun and rising signs).  If you are open to receiving them, keeping mugwort under your pillow or in the bedroom may encourage prophetic dreams; it can also be dried, burned and smoked with tobacco to alter states of consciousness.  

Artemis

In Wales, mugwort was tied to the left thigh of a woman having a difficult labor and Roman soldiers put mugwort in their sandals to keep their feet from getting tired.  Poultry and grazing animals enjoy this plant, and it may be the same ‘Artemisia of Pontos’ which was lauded by the ancients as good for fattening livestock. 

For years it was used to flavour beer before the introduction of hops.  Dried mugwort added to a fire will help keep it smoldering for a long time and the stalks make good kindling.  

Orchard House, Devon: Enchanter's Nightshade

Wednesday 10th July 2013

The Nightshades are among my favourite wild flowers for a number of reasons. The one I love seeing the most at this time of year though, is the Enchanter’s: Circaea lutetiana. The genus name comes from the enchantress Circe. Lutetia, is the Latin name for Paris, which at one time was known as the "Witch City". Despite its name, this species is not especially toxic. 

It grows with opposite, simple leaves, on slender, green stems. The flowers are white and are borne in summer. The leaves are rounded or slightly notched at the base. In winter the aerial parts die off leaving an underground rhizome. They grow in woods in deep shade, moist environments on nitrogen-containing clay and in my mum’s garden. 

This week’s post will follow the story of Circe and include some beautiful pre-Raphaelite art. I want to do this through extracts from my online friend and writer-idol Kirsty, via her glorious Pre-Raphaelite art blog 'The Kissed Mouth'.  She writes so wonderfully, I couldn’t possibly begin to describe the mythology and art as perfectly:

Circe (1891) John William Waterhouse 

"Once upon a time, in the midst of a dark forest dwelt a beautiful sorceress by the name of Circe. She was the daughter of Helios, the God of the Sun and an Oceanid, Perse, and her siblings included the keeper of the Golden Fleece and the mother of the Minotaur. Circe murdered her husband and was cast out to live alone on an island, where she practiced witchcraft, turning her enemies (or anyone she perceived to be her enemy) into animals. Her mansion was guarded by tame beasts, lions and wolves, victims of her magic.

It is perhaps unsurprising that the Victorians and Edwardians used the image of Circe in their art. The figure of a beautiful witch is a loaded image, at once dangerous, alluring, attractive and repellent. Could you resist her? What would be the consequences, and would they be worth it? Look at Waterhouse's vision of her above: her astonishing beauty is barely covered by the mist of blue fabric as she raises her wand, but look at her feet. There huddles a little dark pig, snoozing peacefully. When Odysseus' men went to her mansion for a feast, she turned them into swine. Only Odysseus, protected by the holy herb moly managed to resist her potion.

 

Circe (1911-14) John William Waterhouse

Waterhouse produced three images of Circe, similar to his obsession with the Lady of Shalott and Ophelia. I think there is a similarity between the mood of his Shalott images and the picture of Circe above. She seems to be surrounded by beautiful things, but a sadness, a loneliness pervades the scene. Different from other images of Circe, she is not engaged in any magic, just in contemplating her life, which is not altogether happy. She is often described as weaving, again reminiscent of the Lady of Shalott, but also reflects Penelope, wife of Odysseus, who stayed at her loom while her husband was away, spending a year in the bed of Circe.

Circe Resplendens (1913) Margaret Murray-Cookesely

Many images of Circe are just an excuse to show a beautiful sorceress, barely dressed, which was common shorthand for women of dubious moral character. When Odysseus returns to free his men from their swine-hood, he is warned that the tricksy Circe will offer to take him to bed, but to remain on his guard as her treachery extends even to there. Odysseus and Circe form an alliance and she even gives him direction to get through difficult waters on his journeys. However, this isn't the only story connected to the Goddess...

Circe Invidiosa (1892) J W Waterhouse

Waterhouse's other image of Circe shows her pouring a potion into the water, in a chilling explosion of jewel-blues and liquid emerald greens. The Sea God Glaucus asked Circe to make the beautiful nymph Scylla fall in love with him, but Circe fell in love with the Sea God herself. When she tried to win the affection of Glaucus, he said that trees would grow on the ocean floor before he would love her and in her anger, Circe poured her potion into the sea where Scylla swam, but it transformed the nymph into a hideous monster with six heads.

Circe and Scylla (1886) John Melhuish Strudwick

The sepia tones have a calm, warm appearance to this chilling tale, as the sorceress passively hands her evil over to the water, which for the briefest moment cloud, but then clears to the mirrored surface that lures the beautiful Scylla. In the background, the nymph is about to plunge into the shiny mirror that will rob her of her beauty, but our gaze is drawn to the statuesque, calm figure, wreaking vengeance for her thwarted desire.

The Wine of Circe (1863-69) Edward Burne-Jones

Turning back to the main legend connected to Circe, the image by Burne-Jones (for which Rossetti wrote a sonnet) shows past and future lovers/victims of Circe's power in the form of the big cats in the foreground and the ships in the background. The bevy of sunflowers reflect Circe's father, the Sun God, and the dark plant in the top right is possibly a plant of the Ciraea, or enchanter's nightshade, genus. I like how Circe is bent over by the narrowness of the image, but also by her own wickedness. She adopts the familiar 'bent crone' stance of a witch, but her beauty and brilliance is at odds with this.

Circe John Collier

Circe (1889) Wright Barker

Not all images of Circe give such complex narratives. Much of the work of Victorian artists concentrated on the more luxuriant, debauched nature of the glamorous witch. Like Lilith, a depraved woman with accessories of such richness has an attraction unlike anything else. John Collier pairs her with a tiger, huge and glorious, and Barker shows a collection of beautiful beasts at the command of this elegant woman. Barker's picture has some disquieting aspects beautifully rendered: One of her unfortunate victim is only a skin on her floor, warming her feet as she descends. Also, look at her scarf, swirling up behind her, it looks almost like dark wings. 



Circe (1904) Gustave Mossa

There is an aspect of Circe that is rarely explore in art, here reflected in Mossa's rendering of the subject. No matter how powerful her magic, she achieves nothing ultimately except her own self-destruction by her evil. The expression on her face in Mossa's 1904 work is one of boredom and resignation. Her expectation of people is not high, she expects them to be pigs and so that is what she turns them into, fulfilling her own pessimistic prophecy. Look at the hand to the right, almost clawing into the pig expressing the tension absent from her face.

In Mossa's work, I feel that Circe is almost in contemporary dress, her hair piled up in Edwardian style. There is a modern hint to the tale, but one artist went further...



Circe the Temptress (1881) Charles Hermans

Hermans shows a modern Circe, resplendent and shining, challenging us with her dark gaze as a helpless victim slumps behind her. His wine has spilt in front of him, looking like blood on the tablecloth, the potion already taking effect. Possibly the story Hermans tells is more straightforward than that; she is a woman that has the power to make men act like animals, like fools. There is something in her powerful, astonishing beauty that will crush all hope of her ever finding an equal. She will reduce men to beasts, either consciously or unconsciously and they will be damned because they cannot control themselves in her presence.

The Temptress that faces us expects to be disappointed in us. No matter how beautiful she is, we fear her because deep down we know she is right.”

I may be mixing up my blogs, somewhat – but I want to finish today’s post with the sonnet that Rosetti wrote for Edward Burne-Jones’ painting ‘The Wine of Circe’: 

DUSK-HAIRED and gold-robed o’er the golden wine

She stoops, wherein, distilled of death and shame,

Sink the black drops; while, lit with fragrant flame,

Round her spread board the golden sunflowers shine.

Doth Helios here with Hecaté combine

(O Circe, thou their votaress!) to proclaim

For these thy guests all rapture in Love’s name,

Till pitiless Night give Day the countersign?

Lords of their hour, they come. And by her knee

Those cowering beasts, their equals heretofore,

Wait; who with them in new equality

To-night shall echo back the sea’s dull roar

With a vain wail from passion’s tide-strown shore

Where the disheveled seaweed hates the sea.

Kingskerswell, Devon: Scarlet Tiger Moth

Thursday 4th July 2013

I was in the process of gathering a string of Honeysuckle with mum, to adorn my Beltane hat in advance of this evening's performance - when I came across this battered soul resting on the lawn in the front garden. 

Thinking he had already expired, I scooped him up and as I did so, his damaged left wing flickered for a time before he settled down again on my fingers. 

Scarlet Tiger moths fly during the day and are seen from May to July in the South of England. They are said to prefer damp meadows and rocky cliffs, but this was resting rather ordinarily somewhere between the Forsythia and the path, no water or were cliffs nearby.

Unlike many butterflies which fly-off at the first sight of your shadow, they don’t flit about but instead stay peculiarly still, as if sleeping. You can move and get very close to them. This one suddenly became quite bold as I peered at him and examined his underparts. 

As if resurrected, he shot up my arm, investigated my bracelets and then jumped over to my hat, landing on it quite magnificently (while doing his best to blend-in to the other bits and pieces I have collected and pinned on there over the past few months).

Although clearly not in good shape, the moments when he did stay still provided me with an opportunity to linger and admire his beauty. The wings were an iridescent black-green and were marked with dark yellow, orange and mucky white. The under-wings were a rich scarlet, marked with black. 

The caterpillars feed on a variety of plants, favouring comfrey, nettles and bramble. Unusually for moths, Scarlet Tigers have developed mouth parts which allow them to feed on nectar. While looking into this further, I have discovered that some moths do not eat AT ALL as adults, but live on the stored fat they built up when larvae. Therefore, they live to breed and once that job is done, they die. Apparently, this isn’t unusual for some types of insect, for example crane fly adults have a similar life and also don’t eat.

I eventually placed him back carefully from where I found him, then raced off to my gig in Dawlish, which was a hot and balmy affair. We stayed late into the evening, singing softly and drinking cool cider. Tonight I found myself realising, among many other remarkable things in Devon, how much I'd miss this eccentric group of wonderful people.  

I'll go back in the morning and see how he fared overnight.