It’s Swift Awareness Week in the UK so I wrote this short piece about some of our encounters with these birds near our house in Totnes in south Devon.
High-pitched screams punctuated my breakfast that morning. Swifts hurtled past outside our kitchen window, left to right, no more than three metres away, screaming loudly. Some flew towards the house, wings flapping frantically as they turned sharply in front of the window to follow the others. These superb close-up views of the birds emphasised their long black pointed wings held in a “boomerang” shape and their forked tail.
More swifts joined the action and the display became gradually wilder. Now there was an almost continuous swirl of swifts. With this maelstrom of movement, it became difficult to count the birds, it could have been as many as twenty, a recent increase in numbers.
This thrilling expression of avian energy drew me into the garden for a different perspective. The day was already sunny and hot and the swifts were mostly flying past our house and then passing perilously close to the eaves and roof of the next terrace before turning and looping back across the nearby gardens to repeat the flight past our house. Some of the birds took a more complex route, flying nearly up to the eaves of the next terrace before dropping back to fly off. A few perched briefly on the wall just below the eaves before flying off, a behaviour termed “banging”. (see video below)
But why are they doing this? We know there are swift nests (probably three) in the eaves of the next terrace based on observations from this and previous years of swifts entering and leaving the eaves. This year for the first time one of the nest boxes on our house has a pair of swifts raising chicks.
Swifts are gregarious and territorial and this group of nests constitutes a loose colony. Many of the birds flying past our house including those “banging” (and those nearly “banging”) are likely newly arrived from their migration and are establishing their identity as members of this colony. They are part of the final wave of swift migrants, young non-breeders, accounting for the overall increased numbers. They will spend the next five or so weeks learning the geography of the colony, testing and learning flight paths to potential nest sites, perhaps even choosing nests and partners before flying back to Africa.
These observations were made on June 21st.The video was recorded a few days later when the swifts behaved in the same way again
We live in Totnes in south Devon on a street that borders agricultural land on the southern edge of the town. Sometimes, we can hear the sound of sheep bleating in nearby fields and occasionally a horse and rider will pass our house. Over the years, though, houses have been built along most parts of both sides of the street but there is a small area not far from our house where no building has occurred leaving an unkempt roadside bank. Mature trees, including tall limes and sycamores, dominate the bank but between them, before leaves appear on the trees, there is space for wild flowers to colonise. Early spring sees bright yellow celandine flowers carpeting the bank, followed by several large areas of three-cornered leek with its delicate white bell-like flowers. With the wild flowers, insects come so that this part of our road is a small wildlife haven.
The bank by the road showing the three-cornered leek flowers and the trees
I walk past the bank frequently, usually keeping an eye open for anything interesting. In mid-April this year on a sunny day, with a few celandines still in flower, I was passing the area and my attention was taken by an iridescent dark blue object sparkling in the sunshine among the vegetation. It turned out to be a large beetle, an impressive, otherworldly creature, about 3 cm long, with a small head, square thorax, a large plump abdomen and prominent antennae. Its rudimentary wing cases were too small to cover the abdomen, looking rather like a portly Victorian gentleman unable to secure his jacket. This was an oil beetle, a flightless insect taking its name from the foul-smelling liquid it exudes from its leg joints if threatened. This was a surprising and exciting finding and I was able to take some photographs of the beetle before it moved away under the vegetation.
The oil beetle on the first visit
Here is a short video of the oil beetle
Three days later I came to have another look. While I was peering at the bank, two passers-by asked me what I was looking for. I explained about the oil beetle I had seen previously but told them it was not in evidence today. After my mini lecture, they thanked me and went on their way but when I turned again to look at the bank, there was an oil beetle! (see picture at the head of this post) It seemed to be basking in the sunshine while eating leaves and stems of celandine.
Two days later, I returned and quickly found another oil beetle. It appeared to be immobile and I was concerned that it might have been dead. It wasn’t though and when I tried to take a photo it became very mobile and headed away from the bank. I had to dissuade it from crossing the street where it would most likely have been squashed by a passing vehicle. Putting my foot in its path was enough, it returned to the bank and I followed it as it moved among the vegetation. At this point, I noticed a second oil beetle and it looked as though the first beetle was heading towards it. In the event, the two beetles ignored one another. The first one moved away and the second got on with eating stems and leaves of vegetation on the bank.
The two oil beetles on the third visit
Here is a short video of one of the oil beetles on the third visit eating
I have been back several times since then but have had no further sightings of the beetles. The bank is now covered by cleavers and overshadowed by leaves from the trees obscuring any wildlife on the bank.
The beetles I saw all seemed to look very similar. With their overall colouring being blueish or blackish depending on the light, most probably these were either black oil beetles (Meloe proscarabaeus) or violet oil beetles (Meloe violaceus). I asked Liam Olds, an oil beetle expert to look at my photos and he thought they were all female violet oil beetles.
Oil beetles have one of the most bizarre life cycles of all insects, one that is inextricably intertwined with the lives of solitary bees. Each spring, mated female oil beetles dig shallow burrows in soil where they lay eggs in large numbers. The eggs develop and the louse-like, early-stage larvae, called triungulins, eventually leave the burrow and look for flowers. They climb up the stems and wait in the flower for a passing solitary bee. When an unsuspecting bee arrives seeking forage, the triungulin clambers on board and hitches a ride to the bee’s nest where it feeds on the pollen and nectar left by the bee for its own offspring. After passing through several developmental stages, a new oil beetle emerges the following spring.
When I first discovered the oil beetles on this bank, I looked for triungulins on the few remaining celandine flowers but didn’t find any. I suspect that I was too late so next year, I shall have to look again but earlier in the season.
Dense fog and mist blanketed this part of south Devon for much of the first week of March. Leaves, flowers and other surfaces were covered in water droplets, the air felt cool and visibility was reduced. On one day we were unable to see town centre buildings such as the church and the castle from our house, so thick was the mist. After a few days of this weather, the fog seemed to have insinuated itself into people’s consciousness and there was much moaning about the weather and feeling dismal.
One of our neighbours has several bird feeders suspended from trees in their garden, close enough to our house to be able to see the birds even in the fog. These feeders are very popular with birds so, given the adverse weather, I decided to spend some time watching the comings and goings. There was much competition for spots on the feeders leading to copious fluttering and hovering as small birds, always very wary, came and went frequently; I recognised blue and great tit, greenfinch, goldfinch and chaffinch. Pigeons and jackdaws also occasionally tried to feed and one or two squirrels made a big fuss draping themselves across the feeder (see picture at the end of this post).
One bird, though, attracted my attention from its different behaviour. Without fuss, this bird found a perch on one of the feeders where it stayed, feeding placidly and voraciously, unlike the others. I didn’t recognise it immediately, so I tried to note its characteristics: plump and slightly larger than other birds on the feeders, black head, reddish grey breast, black tail with white stripes and rump (see picture at the head of this post). Always the optimist, I wondered if I had spotted something rare but when I looked in my Collins Bird Guide, it became immediately obvious that this was a female bullfinch. I felt embarrassed, why hadn’t I recognised the bird!
When I reflected on this, I realised that I had never knowingly studied the characteristics of a female bullfinch. This was partly because bullfinches are relatively rare around here. Males and females tend to move about together and in most years, I expect to see one pair in our garden briefly and perhaps another in the countryside. They are also nervous birds and often disappear if humans are present. But there is another reason that I did not recognise the female and that is, I believe, because the male is so colourful and monopolises our attention. With its pinkish-orange breast, the male bullfinch must be one of Britain’s most colourful and unmistakeable small birds and with few sightings my attention in a pair is directed towards the male with its gaudy colourful breast so that I have never really looked at a female bullfinch before.
female and male bullfinches
As if to make this point, a male bullfinch then joined the female on the other side of the feeder where they both stayed for a while. The contrast between the two sexes was clear but it also emphasised the beauty of the female, understated but clear. Over the next few days, I had several more sightings of males and females and one brief surprise when two males occupied the two perches on one feeder. This bullfinch bonanza continued while the fog was about but dwindled away as the weather improved.
While I was finishing writing this piece, an interesting and relevant article appeared in the Guardian newspaper. Patrick Barkham wrote about how the songs, sounds and sights of female birds have been historically overlooked in field guides and sound archives. Ornithologists of the past, who were mostly male, were responsible for this underestimation of female birds. One result of this bias was that field guides from the 20th century tended to emphasise the male birds, drawing them in an “upright bold and declarative position while females were often in the background, half obscured by the male, (citing Jasmine Donahaye)”.
I wondered how much this ornithological sexism had influenced my lack of recognition of the female bullfinch so I looked at my bird books. I still have my first bird book, the Observers Book of Birds, 3rd impression dated 1958, the text actually dating from 1937. I looked up the bullfinch and there is a reproduction of a painting of the male and female in realistic colours but the female is shown, confusingly, about half the size of the male. The text mentions the bright colours of the male but dismisses the female as “duller”. I can’t say how much this influenced me but it must have been very confusing to any novice birder. Fortunately, contemporary guides such as the Collins give accurate representations of the two sexes.
a squirrel has a go!
The title of this post uses the collective noun for bullfinches, a bellowing.
The start of the year had been very wet with February having only two rain free days, according to my records. In the fourth week of that month, though, when the forecast was for a dry, sunny day, we knew we had to get outside so we drove to the coast where Hazel could have a walk, and I could look for wildlife. Our choice was Roundham Head in Paignton (see picture at the head of this post), a rocky promontory that protrudes into the semicircular sweep of Torbay. Public gardens were built here on the south facing side of the promontory in the 1930s. Zig zag paths now meander up and down the headland between sheltered borders and with the mild south facing maritime microclimate this is a place filled with flowers even in winter months.
The edge of one of the paths on Roundham Head with rosemary and coronilla valentina (scorpion vetch)
The first border I came across, with bergenia and coronilla valentina (scorpion vetch)
When we arrived, the sea looked rather grey, and the sun came and went as cloud occasionally got the upper hand. The first border I came across was fringed thickly with the green leathery leaves and bright pink trumpet shaped flowers of bergenia. This seemed like a good place to start so I looked around the flowers for insects but, not having found anything, I was about to give up when suddenly a large bumblebee gave me a surprise by flying closely by me. Encouraged by this, I continued looking and found another large bumblebee moving about purposefully, sometimes disappearing among the maze of red stems and pink flowers (picture below). The yellow and white banding pattern and size of this insect were characteristic of a buff-tailed bumblebee queen (Bombus terrestris). When I came back here later I found another two queens.
Paths leading away from this first border were sheltered by tall walls lined by clumps of the bright yellow flowers of Coronilla valentina (scorpion vetch) a native of the Mediterranean (see pictures above). This grows profusely around Torbay, especially in these gardens where its sunny colour predominates, flowering in early spring providing forage for any insects about. That day, I saw several small bumblebees foraging from the yellow blooms with lumps of pollen accumulating on their back legs. Their plumage indicated that they were also buff-tailed bumblebees and as they were small and collecting pollen, they were workers.
Looking about the gardens, I also found several stands of rosemary filling sheltered borders and cascading down the wall below, like a thick curtain. Pale blue flowers covered the rosemary cascade and more worker buff-tails were taking advantage of this resource.
The queens I saw had most likely emerged recently from hibernation and were feeding and acclimatising to the conditions before setting up new nests. It seemed surprising, though, to also see pollen-laden workers so early in the season. Most likely these were collecting pollen and nectar for an active nest with a queen. These nests would have been set up in the autumn and continued over winter. There is plenty of evidence for winter active nests of buff-tailed bumblebees at Roundham Head so this is no surprise. Winter active nests of this species are also seen in other places where there are mild conditions combined with floral resources available over winter.
bergenia with a buff-tailed bumblebee queen
coronilla valentina (scorpion vetch) with a worker buff-tailed bumblebee carrying pollen
a worker buff-tailed bumblebee foraging on rosemary
This was a surprise: some spurge (sea spurge?) had self-seeded and grown in one of the borders and a worker buff-tailed bumblebee was foraging and collecting pollen
By late December, the trees around the community garden were mostly leafless. Their leaves now littered the ground creating a mosaic of shades of brown occasionally rearranged by winds. Leafless, though, did not mean featureless. The branches of a tall hawthorn were richly decorated with plump, claret-coloured berries that glinted in the low sunshine and the nearby crab apple sported groups of small round fruit resembling reddish Christmas baubles. Bare branches of a guelder rose held clumps of berries of a surprisingly luminous bright red as if lit from inside (picture at the head of this post). These berries and fruits, formed earlier this year, will provide a well-stocked larder for birds seeking food in winter (more pictures at the end of this post).
It wasn’t all looking back, though, and there were clear signs of the forthcoming season. Leafless hazel stems carried many small, thin, pale green, finger-like growths. These are immature male catkins that will gradually increase in size to form the familiar yellow lambs’ tails ready to cast pollen on to passing breezes; some have already matured in nearby private gardens. Just above the male catkins on the bare branches, a few scaly buds were opening to display small dark red female flowers, often likened to tiny sea anemones. Wind-blown pollen reaching these female flowers from other hazel trees will begin the process of fertilisation and nut formation.
Towards the rear of the garden was a large stand of winter honeysuckle, an unruly twiggy mass liberally sprinkled with pairs of creamy white flowers each with two petals, one smaller and one larger. Emerging from the petals were several long stamens, their ends coated thickly with pale yellow pollen. These flowers are a magnet for insects still about at this time of year, especially on sunny days when I saw a few flies and several hoverflies and bumblebees.
The hoverflies (mostly the marmalade hoverfly, Episyrphus balteatus) with their stripy abdomens (silver, black and orange) moved noiselessly about the bush before landing deftly on flowers to feed. The bumblebees (buff-tailed bumblebees, Bombus terrestris) moved quickly from flower to flower buzzing loudly, seemingly hanging from flowers to feed on nectar and to collect pollen that accumulated in sticky lumps on their back legs. These bumblebee workers with their characteristic yellow, white and black hair bands must be supporting a queen that has set up a winter-active colony rather than go into hibernation. Winter-active colonies are a relatively recent phenomenon in the UK, thought to result from warmer winters, the presence of flowers supplying pollen and nectar, and the relative adaptability of Bombus terrestris.
Hawthorn berries
Crab apples. With the mild wet autumn many have already begun to decay
Hazel catkins – the finger-like entities are the immature male catkins and just above each cluster are the tiny red female flowers.
Marmalade hoverfly (Episyrphus balteatus) on winter honeysuckle
Buff-tailed bumblebee worker (Bombus terrestris). Note the pollen she is carrying on her back legs and the way she hangs from the winter honeysuckle flower,
The ivy on our neighbour’s gate post showing the pale flower heads
I was standing in our street, enjoying the gentle warmth of the late September morning sun but I wasn’t alone. Nearby, a large clump of ivy covering the top of our neighbour’s gatepost was alive with insects. For much of the year this ivy is dominated by shiny dark green leaves but from late summer, the woody climber throws up many pale green flower heads mostly from the upper part of the clump. The flower heads soften the look of the ivy and mature into spherical umbels of 20 or so florets, each loaded with nectar and pollen and emitting a sickly-sweet fragrance. This rich source of forage acts as a magnet for insects especially at a time when many flowering plants are shutting down.
A female ivy bee on the ivy flowers, note the pollen collecting on her back legs
When the sun shone, I saw many hoverflies, mostly drone fly (Eristalis) species, some common wasps, a few honeybees and bumblebees and the occasional red admiral butterfly on the ivy flowers but I was hoping for something else. And suddenly there it was, an insect about the size of a honeybee but with a shock of reddish, pale brown hair across the thorax and bright yellow bands around its black abdomen as it tapers to a point. It was also carrying large amounts of chrome yellow ivy pollen on its back legs as if it had collected sunshine (see picture above and at the head of this post). This smart insect is an ivy bee (Colletes hederae), a relative newcomer to the UK, first spotted in Dorset 24 years ago, but now seen across much of England and Wales. Ivy bees are solitary species that emerge in early autumn roughly in synchrony with flowering ivy. Mated females nest in aggregations in friable soil and I saw increasing numbers of the bees over the next few days gathering pollen and nectar from the ivy. This felt like an increase over previous years and I wondered if there were nests nearby although finding them is a matter of luck.
I took photos of the ivy bees and one photo delivered a surprise. This photo contained an ivy bee as intended but also, nearby on another leaf, was a very different insect. It had a bright green abdomen about 1.5 cm long with a prominent brown stripe along its back, very long green legs and antennae more than twice the body length of the creature. This was a speckled bush cricket a flightless insect that consumes leaves from various plants. In daytime they like to bask unseen among vegetation in sunshine, as was this one.
The speckled bush cricket basking on an ivy leaf (a better photo would have shown the speckles that decorate the insect) Clicking on the picture to enlarge it will allow the very long antennae to be seen. The photo has been cropped to remove the ivy bee.
Ivy in early autumn can be a paradise for insects but it’s not an entirely safe one. In the low autumn sunshine, strands of spider web strung across the top of the ivy stood out like telegraph wires and later I saw a spider catch a fly and kill the unfortunate insect. Given the mass of insects that frequent the ivy at this time of year, it is hardly surprising to find spiders taking advantage of this bounty.
The mass of insects on the ivy also helps pollination of the ivy flowers. Each pollinated floret produces a round black berry, a rich food source for hungry birds in winter.
Spider and prey (there may be two spiders or one and part of another in the picture along with the fly prey, see comments below)
Two bumblebees on an ivy flower umbel. The upper is a tree bumblebee (Bombus hypnorum) the lower probably a buff-tailed bumblebee (Bombus terrestris)
There’s a narrow passageway not far from our house running between rows of private gardens, it’s probably an ancient right of way. The path itself is lined by stone walls, wooden fences and mixed vegetation and it provides a useful cut-through towards the town centre. It’s usually very quiet but one morning in late August I encountered an unexpected commotion. Several chunky insects with yellow and black markings were flying repeatedly back and forth across the pathway. There was much high-pitched buzzing and they sounded angry. I felt as though I was intruding on some private dispute. I approached cautiously in case they were wasps but when I got close enough, I could see their eyes, large and round and set high on their head, clearly hoverflies. (see video below and picture towards the bottom of this post)
The source of the aggravation turned out to be one or two ivy flower heads that had matured early and, that morning, were caught in a pool of sunshine. There were plenty of ivy flower heads along the path but only these had opened, sepals peeled back, revealing stamens and the rich source of pollen and nectar afforded by ivy flowers and loved by these hoverflies.
With their nervy, continuous movement they were difficult to count but I estimated that there were perhaps six of the hoverflies. Based on their distinctive black and yellow striped abdominal patterns and fringes of bright yellow hairs they were all the same species, Myathropa florea, and all males. They seemed to be obsessed with feeding so that each time one managed to get to a flower head another would try to take its place leading to much angry buzzing and circling about.
One of the hoverflies on an ivy flower head
I watched the insects for a while and eventually realised that I was not the only spectator. A perfectly constructed web hung across nearby vegetation not far from the ivy flowers and the spider was looking on. The arachnid was nearly lucky when one of the hoverflies blundered in to the web. It struggled for some time before managing to extricate itself and return to the feeding frenzy.
The spider and one of the ivy flower heads with one of the hoverflies
I came back a few days later and found a much quieter scene. The ivy flowers were still there, caught by the sun as before, but all I saw were a few drone flies (Eristalis sp.) feeding quietly. The Myathropa must have found a better place to forage.
Myathropa florea is a common species whose lifecycle includes a larva living in stagnant water in holes in tree stumps and crevices between tree branches. The larva is often described as a rat-tailed maggot from its long tail, a breathing tube able to reach the water surface.
One of the hoverflies with a marking resembling the Batman logo on its thorax. Look at the area above where the wings emerge to see this. See below for a picture of the Batman logo. This picture also shows the position of the eyes as discussed earlier in the text.
The species is commonly referred to as the “Batman hoverfly” because, although the yellow and black markings are rather variable, some individuals, especially in the summer, have a marking on their thorax resembling the Batman logo.
Batman logo
As Robin would have said, “Holy hoverflies, Batman!”
Just over three years ago, there was a late-summer influx of humming-bird hawk moths (Macroglossum stellatarum) to the UK and some even appeared in our street, feeding from the red valerian that grows there prolifically. These day-flying moths are spectacular creatures both for their size and their behaviour. Their wingspan is about 5cm and they are able to hover in front of flowers while they feed, like their avian namesakes. I wrote about seeing the moths at that time and here is a photo.
A humming bird hawk moth (from sightings in August 2022)
This year there have been more sightings of the moths in Devon including in a former quarry near the coast where someone reported seeing ten in one early August visit. Our next door neighbour also saw one in her back garden. Spurred on by these reports, I began to look for the moths myself but for some time I was unsuccessful!
On a Sunday morning in mid August, I decided to take advantage of the sunshine and walk up the lane I visited each month last year. I had a pleasant walk with plenty of flies and a few other insects about but no hawkmoths.
I came back to our house along a section of a busy road lined with clumps of their favourite red valerian and then down a quiet back road with mixed vegetation and flowers on one side and private houses and gardens on the other. Still no hawkmoths but I did get some compensating surprises.
Jersey tiger moth showing upper wings
The first was an attention-grabbing flash of bright orange-red as a large insect fluttered along the roadside before retreating into the vegetation. This behaviour spoke to me of butterflies and the colour perhaps a comma or fritillary but I was wrong. After some searching, I found the insect partly concealed among the leaves. It was triangular with an unusual pattern of black and white stripes, looking to me as if it came from the art deco era (photo above). It moved to a different position resting now with its upperwings partly separated allowing me to glimpse its underwings with their brilliant orange red, the colour I had seen earlier (see picture at the head of this post). I recognised it as a Jersey tiger moth, (Euplagia quadripunctaria) an insect that has its underwings completely exposed only in flight, hence the brilliant colour I saw.
Until recently, Jersey tiger moths were confined to the Channel Islands as their name suggests, along with some parts of the south coast. The name also references the white stripes that remind some people of patterns on a tiger’s coat. More recently the moths have spread along the south coast and seem to be moving inland, perhaps a result of climate change. This summer, in particular, these moths have been seen in increasing numbers, probably reflecting the warming climate and the warm, dry spring.
I left the moth in peace and wandered on, only to be surprised again, this time by a bright blue butterfly fluttering about near the front of a private garden. I have seen very few of the blue butterflies this year so I got rather excited and followed the insect to try to get some photos for identification. Occasionally, the insect stopped flying about and I could see the open upperwings. These were a deep blue but with dark tips, characteristic of a female holly blue (Celastrina argiolus). At this time of year, the holly blues seen are second generation insects and lay their eggs mainly on ivy flower buds. The eggs hatch into caterpillars that eat the ivy buds eventually pupating to overwinter as a chrysalis.
Holly blue butterfly (female)
Seeing the underwings was more difficult as the insect had moved to a rather awkward position (for me) and was also in bright sunshine. I managed to get some rather poor photos and when I looked at them later this revealed that as I was trying to photograph the underwing, the insect had moved to an ivy flower bud where it was presumably laying eggs. The butterfly had surprised me and, in my excitement to get photos, I had failed to notice the significance of where it had landed!
It turned out to be my lucky morning though, as further along the road, I saw another holly blue and in our road, not far from our house, another Jersey tiger moth!
Speaking of lucky mornings, some two weeks later I was walking down a passageway near our house on my way to catch a bus. Passing some red valerian, I stopped to look at a white butterfly browsing the flowers but my attention was taken by a large insect hovering in front of one of the flower heads nearby, its wings a blur, it was a humming bird hawk moth!
A few days later and with that positive sighting in mind, I spent more time looking around the centre of town and on a sunny morning I had several sightings of the humming bird hawk moths on clumps of valerian growing around the edges of one of the car parks. They are very elusive creatures but here is a photo.
It was mid-June before I noticed the ragwort. I came across the plant growing in one of the old passageways, the narrow paths lined by old stone walls that criss-cross the older, southern part of Totnes. Ragwort is an opportunist, able to colonise almost barren places, and there were at least two plants, one or more growing out of the top of the wall and another from the junction between the wall and the path. Both plants were already quite tall with thick green stems and finely divided leaves, each stem topped by a mass of immature flowers exhibiting hints of yellow. I found several more plants in our street including one tall specimen growing from the pavement near the wall outside a house. This example sported a large cluster of mature, bright yellow, daisy-like flowers (see picture at the head of this post), with insects coming and going taking advantage of this rich forage source.
Mature ragwort plants growing out of the top of a wall. The plants are about a metre tall.
Later that day, my wife Hazel told me she had seen a moth, bright red and black, near the ragwort in our road. She thought it was a cinnabar moth, linked strongly to the plant. Two days later, she saw another moth of the same species in the same place. She has an impressive and uncanny knack of spotting wildlife so I decided to go out myself to look for the moths, hoping that some of her stardust might rub off on me.
I didn’t see any of the moths near the ragwort in our street but when I went to look at the plants in the old passageway, I was in luck. As I approached the ragwort growing from the wall, a bright red and black moth fluttered away disturbed by my arrival and I had a brief sighting of a second. The first moth settled among the plants that form a loose covering of the wall allowing me to take some photos that confirmed this was a cinnabar moth.
Cinnabar moth showing the red and black markings (the sun was very bright that day reducing the impact of the colours)
the same cinnabar moth but in a less sunny position showing more realistic colours
At this time of year, cinnabar moths have recently emerged from pupae to mate. The mated females then lay eggs on the underside of ragwort leaves. The eggs hatch into larvae which go through several stages developing into caterpillars, with distinctive black and yellow stripes. The caterpillars feed by eating the ragwort plants before digging themselves into the soil to spin a cocoon, overwinter and pupate, emerging the following year as an adult moth.
I thought it should be possible to see the moth eggs at this time of year if I looked carefully so I went to investigate the ragwort near where the moths had been spotted. I looked under several leaves but was unable to find any eggs. This may have been because I was already too late as when I first looked, there were one or two small larvae on one plant and a few days later, some of the leaves on the same plant were covered in masses of small caterpillars. Presumably there had been mass hatching of eggs and based on their yellowish colouration, these were early-stage larvae. They matured quite quickly as when I returned five days later, the caterpillars were fully grown with black and yellow stripes. They had also dispersed consuming much of the plant as they went and leaving just the bare green skeleton. The other plants in the passageway were also being consumed by larvae and in a few days all the ragwort plants there were skeletal.
the upper part of one ragwort plant showing the immature flowers and the dense clusters of immature cinnabar caterpillars
the mature black and yellow cinnabar caterpillars have spread out and consumed large parts of the plant
there is not much of the plant left by now, just the main and some side stems and some of the caterpillars have clustered on the remains of a side shoot that they are gradually consuming
another picture showing the remnants of a plant with caterpillars
Ragwort with its yellow flowers is an attractive plant lighting up our summer as well as being an important source of pollen and nectar for a wide range of insects. The plant has, though, acquired an aura of danger and some people believe ragwort should be removed wherever it appears. It is undoubtedly dangerous for horses and cattle, causing severe liver damage and death if consumed. If ragwort grows in their fields, horses avoid the plant and don’t eat it but should ragwort get into hay for winter feed, this can be fatal. For this reason, ragwort often suffers from systematic “pulling” of plants growing on farmland.
a faded common carder bee (Bombus pascuorum) feeding from ragwort flowers
There is some concern that ragwort is also poisonous for humans but the risk seems to have been overblown and it would be necessary to eat large quantities for harm to occur. Removal of the plant apparently to protect humans still occurs unnecessarily but judging from the speed with which the cinnabar caterpillars consumed the plants I saw, allowing nature to take its course might better. It would also allow this important insect food to flower. To read more about these issues, click here and here.
Putting aside the controversial aspects of ragwort, a stand of the plant with its sunny yellow flowers is an impressive sight. The 18th century poet, John Clare, was inspired by the plant and expressed many of its beauties in his poem “The Ragwort”. Here is part of the poem:
Ragwort, thou humble flower with tattered leaves I love to see thee come and litter gold, What time the summer binds her russet sheaves; Decking rude spots in beauties manifold, That without thee were dreary to behold
The poet and essayist Edward Thomas, was also impressed by the plant. He wrote about how, one summer, he came across ragwort on the Sussex Downs:
There a myriad oriflammes of ragwort are borne up on tall stems of equal height, straight and motionless, and near at hand quite clear, but farther away forming a green mist until, farther yet, all but the flowery surface is invisible, and that is but a glow. (South Country 1909)
I was intrigued and puzzled by this description, partly as I hadn’t heard the term oriflamme before. Apparently, the oriflamme refers to the sacred flag of the Kings of France used to lead soldiers into battle in the Middle Ages. I had some difficulty appreciating this metaphor especially when I read that the oriflamme was blood red and attached to a gilded lance. Then recently, we drove to Torquay, and in many places by the roadside, I saw ragwort plants, their bright yellow heads on tall narrow stems, like flags on poles. I realised I had been too literal and began to see what Thomas had been thinking.
Extending his metaphor, I remembered some years ago going to the WOMAD Festival in Reading where one of my abiding memories, apart from the music, were the many rows of colourful flags on long poles, another myriad oriflammes. Click here to see some pictures.
We drove down to the coast in bright sunshine, between verges gloriously full of flowers, dominated by the white of cow parsley but occasionally splashed pink with campion and foxglove. Roadside hawthorn trees were full with blossom, their thick coating of creamy flowers encapsulating all the unfettered growth of spring.
Tantalising glimpses of azure water early in the journey merged into a full sea view as we dipped down towards Bantham, a small village on one side of the estuary of the river Avon close to where it meets the sea. Here there is a popular sandy beach backed by extensive sand dunes, and a short distance off shore lies Burgh Island with its iconic art deco hotel (picture at the head of this post). Bantham is also the premier surfing beach on the south Devon coast. This is a beautiful, relatively unspoilt place.
The tide was high when we arrived and the car park behind the beach nearly empty. The surfers would be arriving later as the tide fell creating better sea conditions. A few white butterflies moved about the scrub at the car park edge and from a nearby grassy field, I heard the “cronk” of a raven. Not a bad spot to sit and drink our coffee.
Hazel wanted a longer walk and set off along the coast to the east whereas I walked up on to the Ham, a tongue of grassland set behind the dunes overlooking a final bend of the river Avon. A meadow here is supposed to be managed for species-rich grassland and I had hoped to see plenty of flowers and corresponding wildlife. Red campion and bladder campion grew by the paths and there were some stands of elderflower but the meadow itself was a disappointment. Low growing flowers like speedwells and bird’s foot trefoil were evident but by the third week of May a meadow should be rich in native grasses and flowers and this was not. I looked particularly at the bird’s foot trefoil for insects but drew a blank. It looked as though the meadow had been cut rather late in spring, probably unnecessarily, removing many of the spring flowers and grasses.
I walked on towards the sea along paths lined by ivy. In the autumn, these will be thronged with ivy bees, bumblebees and wasps taking advantage of the late season forage when the ivy comes in to flower, but for now all was quiet. Some seaside specialists such as thrift grew where the path reached the edge of the low cliffs above the beach but there were few other flowers and still no insects despite this mild coastal environment. From the cliffs, though, there was a striking view of Burgh Island including a neatly planted group of a pinkish purple non-native wild gladiolus in the foreground (see picture at the head of this post).
The huge stand of kidney vetch
I decided to walk inland to access the sandy dune path to head back towards the car park. The dunes either side of the path are an arid environment and I hadn’t expected to see many flowers but there was one exception. By the edge of the sandy path was a huge stand of kidney vetch covered in lemon yellow flowers nestling in their white, woolly cushions. Many of the flowers looked very fresh, and finally here were some insects taking advantage of this rich source of forage.
There was one largish bumblebee moving about the flowers. It looked superficially like a common carder bee (Bombus pascuorum), a species I see regularly. I could also see several smaller bees coming and going from the clump. I was unable to identify these by eye so I took as many photos as the insects would allow, to help with identification.
When I looked at the photos on a larger screen at home, I got some surprises. The bumblebee did not have the typical markings of a common carder. The abdomen was covered in yellowish hairs and I wondered if this was one of the rarer carder bees. I don’t feel experienced enough to make that decision so I asked an expert (Matt Smith) who identified the insect as a brown banded carder bee (B. humilis), a rare species for the south Devon coast. This species was “rediscovered” in 2022 a few miles along the coast, not having been seen in south Devon since 1978. My observation supports the idea that there may be a small surviving population in the area.
Lemon yellow kidney vetch flowers with the bumblebee. The wooly white flower cushions can also be seen here.
Another shot of the bumblebee showing its yellowish abdominal hairs
The smaller bees also provided a surprise. Examination on a larger screen highlighted the golden bands around the abdomen and the general reddish tinge of the rest of the insect. These are the characteristics of gold-fringed mason bees (Osmia aurulenta), another nationally scarce insect but more common on the coast, especially in sandy areas. These are fascinating creatures, solitary bees where the mated females build nests in old snail shells.
A gold-fringed mason bee on kidney vetch
The photos also showed two other insects on the vetch that I hadn’t noticed, a hairy shield bug and a swollen-thighed beetle. (see pictures below)
Both of the rare bee species I saw are typically found on sandy areas, often but not always near the coast. They both like to forage on vetches such as kidney vetch and bird’s foot trefoil so the stand of kidney vetch and the dunes at Bantham are ideal for the species. It would be good to know if there is more kidney vetch growing on the dunes but large parts of these are cordoned off for conservation purposes. Deliberately encouraging kidney vetch would help support these rare insects.
This brings me back to the meadow and its disappointing lack of flowers. It would not be difficult to increase the number of insects here by managing the meadow flowers better. This would also have the effect of supporting the local bird population. The two rare bee species I saw would benefit from allowing the bird’s foot trefoil in the meadow to grow into larger plants by more thoughtful mowing and encouraging it to grow elsewhere. Deliberate sowing with a suitable wildflower seed mix or by planting plug plants might also improve matters.
My observations underline what a special place Bantham is, but it needs careful nurturing to encourage the non-human world to prosper. The ownership of the Bantham Estate changed hands earlier this year and this may affect how the meadow and the dunes are managed.
Hairy shield bug on kidney vetch
The dune path as it descends to the car park with a splash of red valerian on the left
Philip Strange Science and Nature Writing 
