Tag Archives: nettles

Nettles at War

This is lightly edited version of the article that first appeared on the website of the Peterborough Military History Group, hence the references to local places. That version can be found on the Research page of the Group website. And if you live in the area, new members are always welcome.

I imagine we are all familiar with the Stinging Nettle, or Urtica dioica as the botanists call it. They certainly form a significant part of my memories of childhood misadventures. The word Urtica is derived from a Latin word for sting, or burn, which is appropriate. They are a good source of food for caterpillars, make a nutritious soup, and have a number of uses in traditional medicine.

British Prisoners of War captured during the attacks of 21 March 1918 were held in poorly organised camps because the Germans were unprepared for the number of prisoners they took. Some of them, according to post-war newspaper reports, were reduced to eating nettles. Even British troops who weren’t prisoners were advised to add nettles to their stew to prevent scurvy.

The stings are easily deactivated by cooking or simply by cutting the nettle down. They inject the poison using a pressurised system, and if you cut them they wilt, lose pressure and stop stinging. You can eat the leaves raw without getting stung once this happens. I’m not recommending it, just telling you it can be done. In other words, if you try it and sting yourself –  tough!

Stinging Nettle

Romans used them for food and medicine, and there are references to legionaries in the German campaigns whipping themselves with nettles (known as urtication), which kept them awake on sentry duty, made them feel warmer and, possibly, reduced pain in sore joints. Native American traditional medicine also uses nettles in a similar way, with modern research seeming to support the idea that stings help with the pain of arthritis.

The stories that the Romans introduced nettles to this country are untrue, as we had nettles long before the Romans arrived. One source of knowledge about the early use of nettles is the Bronze Age site at Must Farm, near Peterborough. A half-eaten bowl of nettle soup was found, as were a number of textile samples showing that the inhabitants had used linen, nettle and tree bark fibres for various purposes a thousand years before the Romans arrived. Linen and nettles were used for producing cloth (the process of extracting the fibres is similar for the two types of plant) and the tree bark fibre was used for fishing nets. It seems surprising that cloth made from wild plants would still be needed when they could grow flax and produce fine linen, but despite our instinctive thoughts about rough nettle fabric, it actually makes a soft, high quality cloth.

Cotton started to appear in Europe in the 16th century but nettle cloth was commonly used in Scandinavia and Scotland, where it was known as “Scotch cloth” until the 19th century. It was mainly used for tablecloths and bedding.

The Central Powers imported a lot of fibre before the war – cotton from India and the USA, wool from Australia and Argentina. These markets were closed by the war (though the USA did continue to deal with the enemy for a considerable time, and complained about the restrictions the British put on trade).

The shortfall had to be made up from somewhere, and civilian clothing was made from a variety of substitute materials, including paper and reclaimed wool. This wasn’t sheets of paper, it was clothing woven by using specially produced thread from chemically treated wood pulp. In 1916 the German Government took over the clothing industry. The private sale of second-hand clothes was banned and they also regulated things like the length of dresses, and requisitioned many types of textile, including old blankets, and linen-backed maps. Reports indicate that scarecrows in Germany were stripped of their clothes to provide material for recycling, though this has a whiff of propaganda about it. After all, reports in 1914 indicated that Berliners had eaten the elephants from Berlin Zoo due to a lack of food. They hadn’t. They were in service as draught animals, which is a whole new article.

Nettle – courtesy of Wikipedia

However, uniforms did have a hard life and the high command recognised that it was false economy to produce poor quality kit, so these methods were mainly used for civilian clothes. The answer for the military, looking for high quality cloth, was nettles. They weren’t the first army to use nettle cloth, a century earlier Napoleon had also been blockaded, and had been forced to look for alternatives.

That was where “natural silk” came in. As the need for a cotton substitute became pressing, a researcher called Gottfried Richter, drew the attention of the authorities to the traditional uses of nettle fabric and large quantities of nettles that were readily available. The cloth produced from nettles is easily comparable to cotton, linen or even silk and has a number of advantages over wool or cotton, such as being hard wearing, resistant to shrinking and having natural anti-bacterial properties.

A report in the Evening Despatch (28 February 1916) reports that “Germany has access to large amounts of land in Belgium and Russian Poland where they will be able, in time, to grow flax and hemp. Jute stocks are nearly exhausted and there will be no more until after the war” (most of the world’s supply being grown in Bengal). The article also reports that “the Austrians have planted large amounts of nettles and “nesseltuch” (nettle cloth) is widely advertised in the newspapers”.

Just like the British, who sent people out to gather natural produce during both world wars, the Germans asked people to go out gathering nettles. They also cultivated nettles, and planted a large amount in the Danube valley. One article states that the German nettle harvesters were mainly school children and they harvested 10,000 tons of nettles to produce 1,500 tons of fibre. A shirt requires 45kg of nettles, and an area the size of 1½ football pitches can produce enough fibre for 100 shirts. The yield is a little over half the yield you would get from flax, but the cultivation, particularly as many of them grow wild, is a lot easier.

German Poster from WW1 – courtesy of Imperial war Museum

It wasn’t just clothing that used nettle fibre, it was also used to make cordage, nets, sandbags, sailcloth, straps, harnesses and backpacks. The nettles aren’t just a source of fibre, they are also a source of green and yellow dye.

By 1918 the Tewkesbury Register (07 December 1918) was able to report on “The Useful Nettle”, telling us that captured German uniforms were found to be made from nettles and listing other uses, including being a substitute, in early spring, for spinach, as the basis of a stout and serviceable paper and as a substitute for hemp in cloth and cordage.

In the Second World War. Germany was, again, resource poor and used nettles for textiles, even making parachutes from nettle cloth. Nettles were also one of the wild foods gathered by the German people, who along with most European nations, suffered from severe food shortages during the war.

They didn’t use as many nettles this time as they had plenty of rayon, a synthetic fibre produced from wood pulp treated with acid, which was easier to produce than nettle cloth. In pre-war uniforms the mix was 70% wool and 30% rayon with a linen lining. By the end of the war the linings were 100% rayon and the rayon/wool ratio (which by now used a lot of recycled wool) had shifted to just 30% being new wool.

The UK, on the other hand, despite being a major manufacturer of rayon (for parachutes in WW1, and for fabric and tyres in WW2). used nettles more than they had in the Great War. It was a simple equation – if you could produce something at home it saved space on a ship. We had to import the wood pulp used to make rayon so home grown nettles saved shipping space.

At Kew Gardens, plant scientists began to examine new uses for plants. One of the things they looked at was paper. Paper was always short during the war, as much of our pre-war wood pulp had come from Norway and the Army used a lot of paper. We could have brought it in from Canada, but that would have taken precious shipping space. In 1940, newspapers were restricted to 60% of their pre-war production and by 1945 they were down to 25%. Paper was salvaged and recycled, wrapping paper disappeared and burning it or throwing it away, was made illegal in 1942. Fortunately, nettle fibre was suitable for paper making, which helped alleviate the problem, and so , the paper drop tank was born, a construction of paper, glue and lacquer that held together just long enough to provide the fuel which allowed P51 Mustangs to escort bombers to Berlin.

They are a fine example of the balance that was needed in any scheme during the war. Paper was short, but metal was even more precious. By using paper drop tanks they saved metal, and also, when they jettisoned the empty tanks, they weren’t giving the Germans anything useful. Approximately 13,000 of these tanks were made, saving a lot of metal.

We also made fabric from nettles, and extracted fructose, a form of sugar from them. Chlorophyll had a number of medical uses, including being used on dressings. Nettles, along with alfalfa and spinach were one of the three best sources, and research at the time indicated that chlorophyll was effective in promoting the healing of burns and infected wounds (probably slightly better than penicillin), but when the two were used together the healing time shortened dramatically. It could also be used to produce a green dye, about 90 tons of nettles being used by the army in WW2 to dye camouflage nets.

Nettle Soup

School children became the preferred harvesters of nettles and the newspapers reflect this, though local references are sparse. The Northampton Mercury (22 August 1941), which refers to the WI at Geddington and their activities in collecting medicinal herbs, which they sent to wholesale druggists, and nettles. They were helped by local school children and teachers. Meanwhile, the WI at Earls Barton had a talk on Charles Dickens, and at Isham they were busy selling jam to raise £50 to buy a Bren gun.

At Donington, reported the Spalding Guardian (17 July 1942) Mrs Taylor (WI President) thanked all concerned in collecting 37ibs of nettles, including the scouts, who contributed 10 ibs of leaves already stripped from the stalks – a lot of leaves.

The Northampton Mercury and Herald (4 August 1944) tells people that efforts are to be concentrated on collecting rose hips as there is a need for vitamin C. Forty schools were acting as collecting depots (paying children 2d a pound). In 1943 Northamptonshire collected 14 tons of rose hips.

The first record we have of nettle fibre is finding used in Ancient Egypt in mummy bandages. It is still relevant today, as they use fewer resources and chemicals than cotton, and can be grown in Europe instead of being shipped in. Some exclusive fashion outlets use nettle fibre, but much of that is currently produced from Himalayan nettles, which isn’t sustainable. Currently, De Montfort University has a research team working on nettles so you never know, we could all be wearing nettles in the near future.

And just one extra point, to show how nettles are still used today – the dye made from the chlorophyll of nettles is now used to colour food, and has its own E Number – E140.

Nettle with Spider

Nettles, an Acceptance and a Funny Tern

My piece on nettles has just been published on the research page of the Military History Group. It’s a fascinating subject, and after a couple of false starts I like to think I’ve done it justice. I will post it here in the next day or two. Its “family history” goes back about ten years – to the work I did on nettles when we were on the farm. This is the thing with knowledge when you are writing, it never wears out. It also goes to show that anything can be “military” if you try hard enough. From uniforms to parachutes and camouflage netting – but I suppose anything that existed in the 1914-45 period was involved in warlike purposes.

I had an acceptance last night. I still have three submissions out (and don’t have much hope for any of them) so it is time to get going. A lot more needs to be written in the next 14 days, and I  have nothing in reserve.  I tried writing poetry last night but couldn’t get to grips with it. I have a list of titles, and sometimes a few words of notes to go with them, but nothing that amounts to much.

That’s one of Julia’s pictures, of a tern. She struggled to frame it as they are so fast. They breed on artificial rafts moored in the lakes in the country park. I publish it here because it allows me to get a pun into the title.

I’ve also written an outline for Julia and her monthly piece in the Nene Valley Railway newsletter. She lacks faith in her abilities, so I knock her thoughts into shape and it gets her started. She has been taking pictures of dogs this month, with a view to writing up the cafe as a dog-friendly meeting place for dog walkers. They even give the dogs free biscuits. If they ever start giving humans free biscuits, I will be there.

She also spoke to a visiting Tasmanian while she was there and got enough information to do a profile. He also let her have photos of his sketchbook so she has some original artwork of the station. He is originally from the UK and was planning to visit family, including his father who, sadly, died just before he set off. His plan for this leg of the trip is to visit Staithes, as it has a rich artistic history. (though you have to read to the end of the linked article to find it). While I was looking that up, I looked at some of the pictures of Dame Laura Knight ( a Nottingham girl). She was an official  War Artist and I feel an article coming on. As I say, if you lived at the right time, everything is military.

Butterflies and Nettle Soup

I’ve just been having a look through some old photos. It’s amazing how many I have kept over the years, though they are a  random, unsorted and generally useless bunch of images.

The one I used as a “featured image” is one of my favourites. When you consider how early a crocus blooms, it’s unusual to photograph a butterfly on one.  Strangely, it was very active, despite the time of year, and flew off after I’d managed to get just two shots. That is typical butterfly behaviour.

MY relationship with butterflies started when I was very young – it was the summer before my sister was born, which would make me just over two years old. In those days they were as big as my hand. Like so many other things, they became less impressive as I grew older. About eight years later, I became interested in them again, learnt more about them and pursued them with a net. It was not my finest hour but times were different then. After that, I didn’t pay them more than a passing interest until we started the Quercus project on the farm. Butterflies are easier to observe and photograph when you have a group of people behind you.

Nettle soup, as you may guess from the title, is also one of my favourites. I haven’t made it for a few years but, having cleared the back fence, I now have  a thriving nettle bed. This promises a good harvest, and a good food source for butterflies. I will have to manage it properly, as we don’t want masses of nettles when we com to sell the house, but I’m looking forward to several years of butterflies and nettle soup. Red admiral, peacock, small tortoiseshell and comma caterpillars all eat nettles. I’ve never seen a comma in the garden, but I have seen the other three so we could be on for a good year.

Nettle Soup

Nettle Soup is also, sometimes misleadingly, the name given to the solution that develops if you steep nettles in water .It’s also known as nettle tea. You can also put nettles in a cup, pour boiling water on them and drink them like a tea.

There are many recipes on the internet for nettle soup (some more complicated than others) and nearly as many for the fertiliser.  have a poke round and see what you can find. Fertiliser is easy – let nettles rot in water. Compost the nettles and dilute the resulting liquid a the rate of about 10:1 to water on a s a plant food. Warning: it may be a bit smelly. I’ve never been bothered by it but some people do bang on about it in their recipes.

My personal favourite recipe for the green (edible) soup is very simple – just onions, nettles, stock and a blender, as I recall – no potatoes, no rice. And definitely no carrot, celery or cream. One recipe even tells you that you can often find bunches of nettles on Farmers’ Markets in spring.

Buy nettles? Words fail me…

 

Tales of Tall Poppies

The header picture is a poppy in the front garden. It was taken at about 10 am and the petals are still crumpled from being in the bud. They don’t last long, by 2 pm, as a previous photo showed, they are already losing their petals. It’s a hard life being a poppy. As a man who is crumpled from life, and has bits falling off, I sympathise with these flowers.

Poppy - already falling apart

Poppy – already falling apart

I am, as I have often mentioned, 61 years old, and have spoken English all my life. I have read extensively and must have heard millions of words spoken. Today, on Pointless, I heard about tall poppies for the first time.

It seems it is a well known idiom, but it has passed me by. It’s not one of these words that has suddenly appeared either, it was first used in English in 1710 and dates back to Lucius Tarquinius Superbus, the last King of Rome.

It is also, it seems, a common figure of speech in Australia and New Zealand.

I feel happy to have found a new concept in English, but very ignorant not to have already known it.

meadow flower poppy wild poppies

Photo by Skitterphoto on Pexels.com

This is another stock photo, as none of my poppies look particularly tall.

I will leave you with a link to a poem about tall nettles by Edward Thomas. I’ve put it in the blog several times, so sorry to be repetitive, but I can’t think of too many poems featuring tall flowers.

According to Thomas’s Wikipedia entry the Petersfield Museum holds 1,800 books about Thomas in a study centre. I think I’ve read three. The feeling of ignorance persists…

On the second day

On the second day God created the sky: on my second day I supervised the making of 31 pizzas.

It’s quite clear from this that I’m slacking. On the other hand I do have arthritis, varicose veins and a tendency to need the toilet more than average, even for a man of my age. I’m well past my peak, and on a rapidly increasing downward slope which, like Gray’s paths of glory, lead but to the grave. Fortunately this middle-aged man bladder problem is cancelled out by standing with my back two feet away from four fan ovens blasting out air at 200 degrees C. It’s difficult to find any spare moisture when you are being desiccated.

But manage, I did, and the evidence was clear to see as splashes of sweat spotted the floor. I paint such a lovely picture of kitchen life don’t I?

By the end of the day I was reduced to opening the fridge door and standing next to it.

Here are some pictures, which are probably cute enough to drive my word picture from your mind. It was a great day with lots of sun and happy kids, and a great contrast to the pouring rain yesterday.

The dark stuff in the plastic tub is a sourdough starter – we looked at dried yeast, live yeast and sourdough starter (it was having a mild day, just a trifle vinegary, quite unlike some of the acetone/vinegar blasts you sometimes get). There were a few expressions of distaste, but nobody fainted. The yellow stuff in the other pot is home made butter.

Note the Florentine-type pizzas with nettles in place of spinach. I’m finally getting back to wild food.

End of the week

It’s 4.30pm on Saturday (though I won’t be posting until later), or 1995 if you follow the other form of dating I’ve been using. In 1995 I’m married with kids, happy and couldn’t tell you what was happening in the outside world because I didn’t have time to notice.

Wikipedia tells me that John Major called a leadership election to confirm his leadership of the party. I mention this only because it gives me chance for a John Major anecdote. I met him once and was introduced. About an hour later I met him again and he remembered my name. There was no need for him to have done that and it struck me that a man who could remember names like that, and appear to be pleased to meet you for a second time, would probably rise high in politics. He did.

There’s probably room for a whole digression on leadership and what it takes to succeed in politics here, but it wouldn’t be as interesting as cookery and gardening. I wish I’d realised that years ago.

Here are some pictures of a Wild greens quiche with guinea fowl eggs. My wife is making me describe weeds as wild greens now. Some years ago we went through a similar process with a product I now call “manure”.

It’s onions, blanched nettles and fat hen in  a ready made pastry case. After adding the eggs and milk I dropped torn up chive blossom, calendula petals and whole borage flowers to the top. I will have to work on preserving the colour of the petals.

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The water I blanched the nettles in took on a lovely green colour after just a minute or two of steeping and after removing the leaves I drank it. Much nicer than the cup I made earlier in the week, and much fresher tasting, though it did have overtones of calabrese. Compared with overtones of fox I’ll go for that.  With hindsight I should have strained the insect shaped bits out of it, but I’m not a vegetarian so no harm done.

We have another school next week, a planning session, part one of my takeover of the catering side and I’m going to do some cuttings with willow water. The comfrey plant food is decidedly murky now – you wouldn’t want to swim in a pond that colour- and the indoor salads are really getting a move on now, in contrast to the disappointing outdoor salads.

Finally, after seeing my display of Wild Salad at the Open Farm Sunday I’ve been asked if I can do one at a buffet in  a few weeks time. My weedy fame is spreading!

 

 

 

Nettle Preservation Society

Tall nettles cover up, as they have done
These many springs, the rusty harrow, the plough
Long worn out, and the roller made of stone:
Only the elm butt tops the nettles now.

This corner of the farmyard I like most:
As well as any bloom upon a flower
I like the dust on the nettles, never lost
Except to prove the sweetness of a shower.

Edward Thomas

It sometimes seems that there’s only a handful of people who actually like nettles, and I only like them because I can threaten people with nettle soup when they visit the farm.

Since I started cooking with nettles they have even ruined Edward Thomas’s poem for me – I don’t want TALL nettles, I want small tender ones.

My crop has been under threat for the last two weeks. Last week our Community Payback team, who are usually not industrious enough to do too much damage, were let loose with a strimmer. The nettle patch in the allotment (which I keep for butterfly food despite the folly of breeding butterflies next to brassicas) was comprehensively flattened and they also managed to trim a couple of inches off the tops of last year’s fig cuttings.

I would actually like to take the time to give them some horticultural training but the sort of questions they asked last time we tried it indicate that they will only use the knowledge to get into more trouble, if you know what I mean.

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Fortunately I have secret caches of nettles…

The second Great Destruction occurred yesterday when the farmer, in pursuit of a tidy farm for Open Farm Sunday, started cutting grass. Next thing I knew there was the noise of a mower behind the polytunnels and the nettles I’d been carefully concealing from view (I thought) lay dead. I’m tempted to get lyrical about them, brought low in their prime by man and stinking machine, but what is done is done. They are in the compost heap now. “Dead, dead, and never called me mother!” as they say. I had to look that up because although I knew the phrase I didn’t know where it came from.

Plan B is now in action – nettle soup on Tuesday will be made from my remaining plants – picked now and blanched in advance before any more destruction occurs, and the Open Farm Sunday soup samples will be made in advance from my nettles at home.

Did I mention Open Farm Sunday – 7th June? We’ll be in the Education Tent.

 

 

 

Focaccia and nettle soup

It was the baking group again today, though they were slightly thinned out by holidays. It’s always good to see them because they are a happy lot. This is good when you’re baking (as some of my attempts have been horrendous and several, despite exhortations to “re-use the dough” have ended up in the bin – sometimes scraped from my fingers, and sometimes propelled with at speed). The fact that Focaccia was bread of the day was a bonus. It always smells so good.

I wasn’t baking today – I lost my baking mojo a while back and my enthusiasm has faded. I need to start getting it back now, particularly as several schools have been asking for bread making as an option when they come to visit. The smell of freshly baked focaccia and rosemary is just the sort of thing to bring back that enthusiasm. Not that I’m overly enthusiastic about the school sessions – it can be a bit of a dull day for the kids when you keep dragging them back into the kitchen for the next stage.

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That reminds me, I have a teacher to ring back.

At the end of the session I gave out nettle soup. One or two slunk out without taking any (though I bear no grudges) but several drank it cold there and then and the rest took pots home with them. I’m easy with foraging and can take it or leave it, but it’s good to produce food from found ingredients and to introduce people to new experiences. It’s also, as somebody once said in a book, good to eat foraged food once in a while because it gives you a range of nutrients. However, there are reasons that we eat spinach instead of nettles, with the stings being just one of them.

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I have actually set myself a target of learning something new every day this year. My learing for today was that I didn’t know how to spell focaccia. In fact I just had to check it after writing that.

Finally, can anyone tell me how ro swirl cream into soup and have it still look good by the time you’ve switched your camera on. In an effort to raise my game last night I swirled the cream, sprinkled the freshly picked chives and took this picture that looks like a curdled face.

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Behind every successful man…

You wouldn’t think one small woman could contain so many orders but by the time she’d finished I had a list big enough to see out my Saturday, which is why I’m sitting down at just after four to finish the day. It’s not been the longest of working days, but it is Saturday and a chap expects a bit of slack.

I’ve bought compost, potted, repotted, sown seeds, weeded and swept up. I’ve tidied, moved things, made compost, picked rhubarb and watered. I did find time for a cup of tea and to show off my new “tea plantation”, talk to a keen new volunteer (I’ll soon turn her into a cynic) and er…

That reminds me, I seem to have missed lunch. I knew there was something I’d forgotten.

If I call it a diet I can feel virtuous. And hungry.

My nettle crop is looking good – enough tops for a good soup and enough mature leaves to start drying for tea. Unfortunately The Farmer and his farmer’s brain have noticed them and told me to eradicate them. This calls for either blackmail or distraction tactics. I will apply my thoughts to the problem.

This was the weather this afternoon just before the rain. Not quite as good as it has been and there’s a definite bite in the 25 kph wind – good job I decided not to jump the gun with the planting out. OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

100!

I’ve been looking forward to this one as a milestone, though simply getting to number 100 is no guarantee of quality, or that I’ll have something to say.

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This is actually the 103rd post I’ve written for the blog but I’ve sidelined two as not quite fitting in. One was on the evils of cheap toilet rolls, including a discussion on why smaller cardboard tubes may be better for transport but they make planting runner beans more difficult.

The other was about keeping rats out of compost but it spread a little to include other rat-related topics. Before clicking on the link you may like to know that you keep rats out of compost by making it damp enough to be unpleasant. If you have rodents in the compost it means it’s too dry.

We had a meeting in the centre today and two soups for lunch – Leek and potato with thyme, and Nettle and Spinach. Everybody had some of the nettle in the end, though a couple did start off with Leek and Potato to break themselves in gently. Last time we did soup and sandwiches we only persuaded around 60% of people to have the soup even though the choice was Pea and Mint or Vegetable, which are not at all scary compared to Nettle.

With the meeting, the cafe and the allotment group we had quite a crowd. I was supposed to be weeding, sowing more seeds and re-potting as part of our plan for a plant sale. Regular readers (both of them) will recognise this as a prelude to admitting that by the time I’d made extra sandwiches, been ensnared by the cafe, done some weeding, spoken to some parents about coming to our next Kids in the Kitchen day, run an impromptu farm tour and done some paperwork I didn’t do much of what I was meant to do. I did, however, remember to water the plants in the polytunnels. That’s good, because I don’t always remember.