UEL has a new sign

So UEL has a new sign…  Bright white chalk announces the university on the wildlife mound at the eastern end of Dockland Campus, strikingly visible for anyone arriving by vehicle but also visible from the DLR if you are heading towards Asda at Beckton to stock up on essential supplies.

The mound itself is a wildlife haven, rich in the variety of species so typical of London’s many pockets of green-space where Nature is allowed the freedom to create such natural havens.  It may come as a surprise to learn that a quarter of all Britain’s plant species can be found in London thanks to these wild oases.  In high summer the mound is a riot of colour, but even now in early autumn there is still plenty of life and colour and activity on the mound, if you look carefully.

Perhaps most prominent at the moment are the tall seed-heads of the teasel (Dipsacus fullonum) which in former times were used as a kind of stiff ‘carding comb’ to straighten wool fibres before spinning – which is why even today we talk of ‘teasing out’ a difficult problem.

The blob in the centre of the teasel head is a small snail, presumably sheltering from birds such as thrushes amidst the teasel hooks, but the bird most associated with the teasel at this time of year is the goldfinch (Carduelis carduelis) which relishes the seeds despite the thorny hooks of the teasel head.  The goldfinch is one of our prettiest finches and at one time was a popular cage bird for its song.

On either campus, if you hear a continuous high-pitched and rather melodic twittering in the treetops above you, it is almost certainly a goldfinch, or even, at this time of year, a flock of these delightful birds.

Some flowers on the mound are still blooming at the moment, providing splashes of yellow, purple and blue.

The yellow flowers are perennial wall rocket (Diplotaxis tenuifolia), a variety of which is grown and sold commercially as rocket in salads, though another species – ‘garden rocket’ – is the commoner form of rocket found in supermarket salads.  Wall rocket is a member of the mustard family, which is why it has a peppery flavour, but best not to gather your own unless you have an experienced plant specialist with you because picking the wrong plant can have unpleasant results!  The yellow flowers are popular with small insects because the petals reflect the sun’s rays into the centre of the flower, thus helping to warm the pollen-bearing parts of the flower and so hasten pollination before winter sets in, while also providing a warm haven for small flies and beetles.

The purple flowers of the greater knapweed (Centaurea scabiosa) are an important source of nectar for a wide range of butterflies, one of the few insects with tongues long enough to reach down the long narrow flower tubes to the nectar glands at the base of the tube.  The scientific name of ‘Centaurea’ comes from the mythological centaur Charon, half-man, half-horse, who was said to have cured a wound in his hoof using an infusion of this plant.

The prominent blue tufts of flowers on the mound are Lucerne, or alfalfa (Medicago sativa sativa) which is a plant originally from SE Asia but introduced in the 17th Century to Europe as a fodder crop for livestock.  It is a member of the Pea Family, and the name ‘Alfalfa’ comes from the Arabic al-fac-facah, which means ‘father of all foods’ because this is one of the very earliest known cultivated crops.  It, too, is an important source of nectar for insects…

…and as if to make the point, while I was photographing this particular set of flower heads a blur of the purest blue appeared in the camera viewfinder…

…and then settled to feed.

The delicate blue butterfly began to feed greedily on the Lucerne nectar, its long extendable tongue probing deep into the lucerne flowers….

…and when it finally closed its wings I was able to confirm from the distinctive patterning of the under-wings that this was a common blue butterfly (Polyommatus icarus).  The ‘icarus’ in its scientific name makes reference to the mythological Icarus who, with his inventor father Daedalus, escaped imprisonment by making wings made from feathers glued together with wax, but Icarus was so overjoyed by the sensation of flight that he flew too close to the sun, the wax melted, his wings fell apart and Icarus tumbled into the ocean to drown – thus giving us the phrase: “don’t fly too close to the sun”.

But our own Docklands Icarus wasn’t the only one hungry for the Lucerne nectar.  A brief battle with a rather tired-looking green-veined white butterfly (Pieris napi) disturbed everything for a few moments before both settled again to feed on separate plants.

Meanwhile, around nearby plants there was a low hum of insect wings…

…as a number of common carder bees (Bombus pascuorum) fussed and buzzed around, probing their large beefy tongues into the Lucerne flower tubes.  Carder bees nest in small social colonies of up to 200 workers and the SRI has a particular fondness for – indeed national expertise in – these foxy furry bumblebees.  Their scientific name ‘Bombus’ is derived from the Latin meaning to make a humming or buzzing sound, but fans of Harry Potter may be intrigued to learn that another old name for the bumblebee is ‘dumbledor’…..

All this, in a tiny patch of semi-wildness within sight of the uber-urban comglomeration of Canary Wharf.

As the DLR rumbles overhead and planes roar off down the runway of City Airport, the bees and the butterflies flit unconcerned from flower to flower across the pink, purple, yellow and blue-speckled mound.  These tiny green spaces, these little oases of the natural world, are part of what makes London one of the greenest cities in the world and are part of the reason that London is on course to become the world’s first National Park City.

So before the winter closes everything down until next spring, have a look around your campus and see what little natural oases you can find, see what colours and activity you can spot, and listen out for those goldfinches, then take yourself off for a coffee to celebrate your new-found wild discoveries.

By Richard Lindsay