Women's Work

'Man may work from sun to sun, but woman's work is never done.'

When I started researching my family tree, one of things I was particularly keen to do was look at the lives of the women in my family. This turned out to be more difficult than I'd expected, bringing home just how little women were valued as people in their own right.

Both sides of my family were mostly working class, a range of agricultural, horticultural or manual labourers, servants and workers in various trades. I should add that most of my relatives were born, lived and died in the UK; more precisely, in England.

Tracking down female relatives, especially without the information available on the censuses from 1851 onwards, can be very difficult if you don't know where they lived and whom they married (because then, their surname changed), made almost impossible if there are no accessible church records, and/or if they had one or more common names.

Even with the census records, I was struck by the distinct lack of information on the work women were doing. Despite having Queen Victoria on the throne from 1837 to 1901, society was patriarchal, just as it had been for centuries. Women's place in society was to be dutiful daughters, wives and mothers, owned and ruled by men, who labelled them the fairer but weaker sex, considering them less capable, less intelligent. Daughters belonged to their fathers until they married, when they belonged to their husbands. Men were expected to work, earn and provide for their families. Those who didn't, or couldn't, experienced stigma and shame.

The 'work' entered in the occupation column of the census returns is essentially paid work, although there were contradictory and inconsistent instructions on how to classify women's work, especially if done at home. Sometimes, work such as assisting in a family business was deliberately excluded (you can't tell me that a publican's or farmer's wife didn't also work in the bar or the dairy as well as the house!). A lot of women's paid work went unrecorded. It was often piecework, part-time, casual, not considered important enough to record. Illegal work such as prostitution was of course not recorded, but some women kept their earnings secret from their husbands. Some women recorded themselves as 'wife', sometimes adding their husband's occupation, especially if he was away from home for the night of the census. This was usually struck through, not counted. Married women, and society as a whole, often considered their main function as being wives and mothers, (or just wives and housekeepers, if no children came along) and anything else as secondary to their (unpaid) work, even if doing the milking and dairy work, or being the cook, housekeeper and barmaid in the inn, unpaid, was essential to the success of their family lives. Described as 'Home Duties' on the 1921 census, at least the 1939 Register recognised that being a 'housewife' amounted to Unpaid Domestic Duties (UDD).

Schooling became compulsory from the age of five in England and Wales in 1880, with a leaving age of 10. This rose with subsequent education acts to 11 from 1893, when schooling also became free, 12 from 1899 and 14 from 1918. In the years between leaving school and their marriage, most working-class girls went to work as servants, or used skills in sewing clothing or millinery, or worked in the service sector as laundresses. Those who did not marry often stayed in the family home as housekeepers to ageing parents and any single siblings still living at home.

Work in the home involved shopping, cooking, fetching water, clearing out and making up fires, cleaning, making and mending clothing, doing the laundry, bearing and caring for the children, sometimes (literacy and numeracy allowing) also being the family social secretary, budgeting and planning. Girls learned these skills, which were transferable to their work in service or running their own households. It was all seen as 'women's work'; unpaid, unrecorded, not acknowledged as 'real' work at all.

Many men didn't know where to start when it came to looking after themselves (and justified it by dismissing it as 'women's work', unskilled, unimportant and degrading for a man to do!). There was also the issue of coming home exhausted, dirty and hungry after long working hours, then having to get clean, have something to eat, find clean clothes for the next day perhaps. Some men married two or three times so that they had a wife to supply their personal and household needs for most of their adult lives. Likewise, women who were widowed with young children often hoped to find a husband who would also accept their children and then go on to have their own family too.

With decreasing infant mortality and increasing life expectancy, but no birth control, women had no real choice about how many children they had, or when. One to three children, whilst quite usual now, was the exception; five or six was quite usual, and must have been a struggle for working class families with only the father's wage, and that was dependent on the work they could find when the hiring of labourers was often on a daily basis. Some families were very large, with nine or more children. It was also quite usual to have a widowed parent living with their son or daughter's family, and in towns and cities, to take in one or more lodgers, space permitting. Being a wife and mother before all of our modern conveniences would have supplied more than enough work to do, and having daughters to help would have been a blessing. With no labour-saving devices, it would have been a full-time job in itself. 

Some women did double duty, working and maintaining a household and children. In this respect, not a lot has changed in the past 150 years. Women in Britain still manage most of the household work, including administration, such as organising the children's school requirements and birthday parties, as well as working (it now seems impossible for families to manage on just one income, even though we now have a guaranteed minimum wage, child credits, free healthcare and other benefits).

A first cousin 4 x removed (1C4R) Elizabeth Collier/Ratcliffe, was working as a general servant by the time she was 16 in 1851. Ten years later, she'd moved from rural Buckinghamshire to London and was still working as a servant, with her husband-to-be Thomas Ratcliffe working as a footman at the same house. A few years later, they married, when she was already several months pregnant, and had four children in six years. Elizabeth and Thomas continued to work, leaving their first four children with Thomas' parents in Mansfield, as Elizabeth had found a position as a cook (better pay and status than a general servant!). They lost one of the first four, but had another four children by 1876, and had saved enough to start a coffee house, work for themselves, bring the first three children down to London and employ a servant, with the children united. Elizabeth learned cookery from her mother and passed on her knowledge of cookery to her daughters, so that they could get better positions as cooks.

The 1891 Census records the family living in Lambeth, with Thomas working as a waiter, and the youngest four children single and living at home, but all working. There were also four lodgers to look after.

Elizabeth, then 57, made her feelings known by recording her occupation - as 'general slavey to this lot!' The enumerator crossed it out, but it amused me greatly. Thank you, cousin Elizabeth, for recording in that flash of spirit what many women must have thought about their work and place in society. I admire your resilience and determination!

Elizabeth Collier/Ratcliffe, 1834 Medmenham, Buckinghamshire - 1916 Southwark, London

Servant, Cook, Coffee-House keeper and 'General Slavey'

Beach Treasures 2: Grading beach/sea glass

Grading glass

Sea glass is graded according to its smoothness and shape.

Grades range from A, best, to D. Grade A is the hardest to find, D is the most plentiful (after glass which is freshly broken or really hasn’t had long enough and should be tossed back in the water to get some more tumbling!)

Grade A is ‘jewellery grade’. The piece is thoroughly frosted and has thoroughly rounded edges, with no nicks or broken edges, and the size and shape is suitable for jewellery. Even with a large collection of grade A pieces, it is very unlikely than any two will be a perfectly matching pair.

Grade B is quite well frosted and rounded, but with more defined edges and there may be one or more visible defects. It might still be usable for jewellery, if the defect is hidden by the mount or wire-wrap. The shapes may be more lumpy or uneven. Sometimes, that can work in its favour; you may find pieces which are like triangles, arrowheads or hearts.

Grade C is usually thought of as the better ‘craft’ grade. Pieces are quite evenly frosted, may have chips or defects on both sides, distinctly angular edges and one edge may be rough or cracked. Pieces may not be flat. Note that the grooves on the neck of a bottle are considered defects, and the curve of the bottle neck would put a piece in this grade. That said, I think the grooves and slight curve can make a very interesting, usable and wearable piece. You can also make ‘defects’ such as raised letters work in your favour.

Grade D is a lower craft grade, but it is still good for craft projects such as mosaics, pictures, light-catchers and simply filling a vase or jar so that the light shines through it. It may not be as frosted, it has chips, defects, rough, shiny or sharp (broken) edges. This grade includes larger pieces which may also be a strange shape. Pieces with an edge sharp enough to cut should only be used in something like a mosaic, where the sharp edges can be embedded in grout and do no damage.

Beach Treasures: Water-worn glass, pottery, stones and shells

As my printer continues to be temperamental (especially when I need to print something for my upcoming workshop!), I decided to publish my workshop notes on my blog.

Introduction

What is sea or beach glass? It’s glass which has been worn by wave action against sand and rocks until it becomes smooth and has a frosted, semi-opaque finish. It’s usually called sea glass when it’s found on beaches open to the sea and having been worn smooth in salt water, and beach glass when washed up on estuary or lakeside beaches, with fresh water. Beach glass may be less opaque, but there is no real difference.

Although these notes are about sea or beach glass, they apply to other beachcombed bits too. Broken pottery becomes worn in the same way and can also be wire wrapped, as can seashells, stones, driftwood and other weathered items such as pieces of clay pipe stem or glass bottle tops.

‘Artificial’ sea glass can be created by tumbling broken glass until smooth and is sometimes passed off as the more expensive ‘genuine’ sea glass. However, it may be less random and a better grade than what’s available on your local beach. It can also be created by using a glass etching paste on beads or glass cabochons, which contains a mild acid which is still strong enough to etch glass (and burn skin).

Some pieces of natural sea and beach glass have been 200 years in the making, and very occasionally, may be older than 1800. Some pieces may have features (e.g. the shape of the tops and bottoms, writing or makers’ marks) which help to date them and identify what type of bottle it comes from.

Collecting sea glass, pottery and shells

Health, safety and ecological considerations

Beachcombing can be absorbing, so stay aware and take care!

o       Check the tide times and be careful not to get cut-off.

o       Be careful of streams and storm outlets, there may be patches of quicksand.

o       Glass may still have sharp edges. Be careful of your hands and fingers. Anything recently broken which could cut feet should be buried under pebbles, or tossed back out to sea.

o       Be careful where you tread; weed-covered rocks can be slippery, and barnacles can leave a nasty graze. Try to avoid treading on living creatures.

o       Glass with organisms attached (eg anemones, shells); leave it where it is, or if sharp, place under a ledge in a tidal rock pool, or gently toss back into the water.

o       Don’t touch jellyfish; even stranded, their tentacles could still sting.

o       Apparently empty shells may still have a resident, such as a hermit crab. You can check by placing them on damp sand or in a pool, and being still and quiet for a minute or two, they will often come out to see if the coast is clear.

Occasionally, the sea may erode an old rubbish or glass factory dump and copious amounts of glass end up being washed out (as at Seaham in Northumberland). Supplies around the Pembrokeshire coast largely come from household and bottle glass which has been discarded on beaches and into the sea or rivers.

The weight and shape of sea glass allows it to move differently to some stones. It seems to be washed up in patches and tends to collect in drifts of shingle and shells, or get trapped between and around rocks. Very dark green bottle glass can be mistaken for stones; if in doubt, hold it up to the light. Glass will let the light through.

Collecting sea/beach glass has become a popular hobby, and it is now harder to find as a result. There is a trade in sea/beach glass, with lots available on eBay and through craft sites such as Etsy. The value depends on the grade, colour, shape and size.

Cleaning glass, pottery and shells

Sea glass, and especially glass on estuary beaches, picks up sand and mud, as well as salt from the water. This should be cleaned off and the pieces left to dry before sorting and grading. This can be done in a sink or bowl with warm water, washing-up liquid and an old toothbrush. It’s a good idea to rinse off the soap in case it leaves a residue.

Take care:

o       Glass may have unnoticed sharp edges. It may also break against other glass and stones, or if you drop it.

o       It is translucent in water, make sure the sink or bowl is empty before draining the water – you don’t want your bounty disappearing down the drain!

Family histories, a series of Firsts and Mosts

While researching my family tree, looking for details to flesh-out my cast of thousands (5775 at the time of writing), it's occurred to me that what I'm finding is a series of firsts and other superlatives, which create the 'Wow!' moments and fire my imagination.

Beyond the usual life milestones of birth, work, marriage, children and death, there is so much potential for something more interesting. We may not all be able trace our ancestry back to William the Conqueror or significant world events, but most people's lives aren't part of the large-scale, 'important' history of rulers and wars. And because most people weren't regarded as important individually, their history is told in terms of statistics: the population of cities, numbers of deaths during wars and disease outbreaks, birth rates, numbers of workers in various occupations or unemployed.

The biographies of individuals and families, the society, culture and location in which they lived, are potential 'microhistories', history at a human scale, with which it's so much easier to identify. Sometimes, they had simple lives, and all I can find is records of the usual milestones. And then there are those who are elusive and you can't find out about them fully (what were they hiding, or were they just unlucky that their records have been lost?), and those who were in some way extraordinary.

The firsts and other significant incidents are not always easy to find, but can be fun to look for. Here's a list of suggestions. You could build your own Bingo! game.

Trigger Warning, Some of these firsts and mosts are nice things, but you may find some of them disturbing or uncomfortable. Seriously, some of these are awful things you wouldn't wish on your ancestral relatives, or anyone at all!

Births

• First child out of wedlock
• First paternity suit
• First child fostered
• First foster-child
• First child given up for adoption
• First adopted child
• First 'nurse child'
• Most neglectful/irresponsible parents
• First set of twins
• Any advance on twins?
• First mother to produce a dozen children
• First family with 15 children from the same parents
• Any advance on 15?
• Most children from series of marriages/blended families
• Largest age difference between eldest and youngest child
• Smallest age difference between two siblings

Occupations

• Most number of different occupations held throughout life
• Most unusual/strangest occupation
• Most gruesome occupation
• Most gender non-conforming occupation
• Most embarrassing (to modern sensibilities)
• Most interesting way to make a living
• Most important/awesome/significant occupation

Personal

• Most travelled
• First migrant/immigrant
• First LGBTQi person
• Most famous (and for what?)
• Most interesting way to meet a future partner
• Longest life
• First criminal accused
• Frist criminal convicted
• First deportation
• Most infamous (and why?)

Marriage & Divorce

• First person to four marriages
• Any advance on four?
• First same-sex marriage
• First cancelled marriage
• Shortest time between the loss of a spouse and remarriage
• First bigamous marriage
• First incestuous marriage
• First pedigree collapse (eg due to cousin marriage)
• First multple pedigree collapse
• Most siblings of one family married to siblings of another family
• First marriage between different nationalities and/or ethnicities (I don't accept the concept of 'race')
• First less-typical partnership (ménage a trois, poly, etc.)
• First evidence of domestic violence
• First separation
• First divorce
• First remarriage to former spouse

Death

• Most tragic death
• Most unfair-seeming and untimely death
• Strangest cause of or events leading to death
• Most gruesome death
• First suicide
• First murder victim
• First execution
• First presumed dead who turned up alive
• First faked death

Research

• Most unusual source/record
• Worst transcription
• First frustratingly solid brick wall
• First breakthrough on a brick wall (which may just lead to another brick wall, but it's progress, however small)

My parents and their ancestors came from different counties and in some cases, countries, without links between the two sides of the family. My parents marriage created that link. So far, I haven't found any other links, bit it's still possible, as I move to more distant branches of cousins and with people's increased mobility from the late 19th into the 20th century, that I might find a coincidence which brings both sides of the family together. Perhaps there is a marriage, or perhaps they were neighbours, or worked at the same place, blissfully unaware of their relationship to me and all the other people on my spreading tree.

The joys and pains of older cats

As you may have noticed from this blog, I have a couple of cats. On 1 April 2006, my next-door-but-one neighbour's cat had a litter of four kittens, three girls and a boy, father(s) unknown - there were a few feral tom-cats around to choose from. Their dark, semi-long-haired sisters quickly found a home, and I was due to take the tortoiseshell-and-white girl, but was persuaded also to take her grey-brown tabby-and-white brother.

Even at eight weeks, they were tiny, sitting neatly in the palm of a hand, but already had distinct characters. The girl was curious and more confident than her snarly, scared brother, but they both hid under furniture for the first couple of days in their new home. Eventually, boy-cat had to be held and stroked into submission, realising that this place with its food and people prepared to love and fuss him was okay.

They grew quickly, exploring their surroundings and becoming more confident, exploring the farm buildings, sprawling in the sunshine on the pond jetty, walking down into the fields closer to the farm buildings and hanging out on the veg patch and in the polytunnel. We decided not to leave Greebo as a full tomcat, but it didn't stop him spray-marking his territory and fighting visiting tomcats. And Xena had to be spayed too, so that said visiting toms didn't result in a litter of kittens, They were both avid hunters and had to learn (with the help of my oldest hen, Flossie) not to go for birds. Greebo was the stronger hunter, taking down rats, young rabbits (he frequently brought in half for later) and on a couple of occasions batting bats out of the air and leaving a dead weasel. He had a powerful bite; when the willows were planted, I kept finding small ovals of the weed suppressant membrane, where he bit through it to catch a squeaky (mouse or vole, usually), and jumped around to twist and tear the plastic-wrapped rodent from its hiding place. Xena specialised in mice and voles once having one of each between mouthfuls of commercial catfood, resulting in five breakfasts one morning. Both learned the command 'Take it OUTSIDE!' when they brought in a live one.

The years pass so quickly. When we moved to Pembrokeshire, they were 9 years old, already 'senior' cats and starting to slow down. They were disgusted at the size of the garden and the lack of polytunnel to lounge in. The first year we were here, they could get onto the compost bins, onto the back fence and down into the field behind, but it quickly became too difficult, even for Xena, who used to take a running jump up onto a six foot wall. Greebo's old injuries to his back legs have come back to haunt him as arthritis. They've increasingly become picky about their food and treats. Despite my telling him off, Greebo strops his claws on the stairs, wrecking the carpet.

Then Xena became ill a couple of years ago, firstly with hyperthyroid, then also with cat asthma. She is good about taking her thyroid medicine, licking it from its syringe, but has never been good with taking tablets, so her steroids have to be hidden in a treat, and she still occasionally refuses and spits half-dissolved bits of tablet all over the place. And being around to give her medication twice a day is a tie. Back on the farm I started a bed-time ritual of grooming and giving treats, which allowed me to check them over for wounds, thorns and so on, so giving medication was added to that, and an extra morning session added.

And then there are the vet bills, which are draining my savings. Let's not go there. As 'senior' cats back in 2015, and having just moved house, I couldn't afford insurance for both of them. Now they are 16 and classed as 'geriatric', with existing conditions, it's not even worth the discussion.

Xena went through a phase of bouts of cystitis, and started to have a habit of weeing where she felt like it. This has now become a regular thing, and she also booby-traps the front door with a nightly poop. And of course, Greebo thinks if she can, so can he.

So whilst my favourite thing is just hanging out with the pair of them, giving and receiving cuddles, grooming them and giving treats, playing games and conversing in a sort of human-cat patois, my most disliked thing is the morning clean up, first thing on the list every day. I've become more efficient at doing it, but it's so tiresome coming down to the morning peepoomageddon and just trying to destink the house!

But they are mine, my warrior princess and her big softy of a brother, my fur-babies, and I am theirs, heart and soul. A slave to them, perhaps, but the joys of them being around, playing, purring, head bumping, talking, asking for and receiving strokes and scratches, occasionally grooming me, my constant companions, those joys make it all worthwhile.

I love them. It's all for love.

Versus Arthritis March Knitting Challenge 2022

Versus Arthritis (which used to be Arthritis UK), like other charities, has frequent fundraising challenges. Last year I noticed a knitting challenge but was too busy trying to tackle the jungle garden. Since my hands started showing clear evidence of osteoarthritis a few years ago, I find it increasingly easy to overdo things, just as it is when it comes to the effects of physical activities on my feet and knees. So when I saw something on Facebook about a March Knitting Challenge 2022, I wondered what the terms were for the challenge. I've shied away from walking challenges, because I know that the 'walk a mile every day for a month' type of challenge would leave me immobilised and in excruciating pain within a week.

I was relieved to see that the challenge wasn't prescriptive; there were no requirements as to what was knitted (or even crocheted), how many items, or hours - all that was left up to the person doing it, your own personal challenge.

Sitting in the living room, I could see half a dozen knitting and crochet projects without turning my head, works in progress (WIPs), hibernating while I summon the inspiration and energy to pick them back up again. Winter normally sets off my urge to craft, but it didn't happen this winter. A pair of socks which I started while waiting for my Covid booster in December had reached a point of working the toe of the first sock over Christmas, and I'd forgotten how, and became distracted by something else while I was looking for my notes. I think it was using the same yarn for some visible mending on a wrecked jumper, another UnFinished Object (UFO) slung on the side table, looking at me accusingly.

I decided to look around and in my craft notes book to see what I had lined up (don't even look at the wishlist that is the Ravelry queue, it's over a thousand items long, but it really is more for inspiration than to complete all those projects. I could easily find a dozen projects and knew that was the tip of the iceberg. A ball of blue Aran yarn with a cable needle stuck in it has stopped me closing that drawer on the coffee table for months, since I frogged it, having found that the technical editing in my glossy knitting book had utterly failed and that even the errors and omissions corrections I found online had errors and omissions themselves! All the WIPs just add to the clutter and the feelings of guilt and stress I get from seeing them drain my motivation further. But woe betide if I put a project away - out of sight is truly out of mind. And I remembered I had actually done that, packed a couple  of projects neatly and safely away when I moved house in 2015 and hadn't seen them since.

I decided that by joining the challenge, I could raise funds while holding myself to account by getting knitting again. I would try to knit a bit every day and complete at least one project while progressing several others, just to move things along. And then perhaps that progress would help reduce some of the anxiety which has been eating away at me for the past couple of years.

I joined the challenge and found the Facebook group, where knitters were already excitedly sharing what they were knitting or planning to knit. And to my grateful relief, some of my friends decided they would sponsor me. 

So now I've no excuse. I just hope I can keep up the momentum and turn some WIPs into FOs.

Nostalgia or small-minded ignorance?

Facebook continues to provoke me, often to rage and thought, simultaneously and in equal measure. In this instance, it was a list titled 'Eating in the 50s', 24 comments which say more about the person(s) who put the list together than a historically accurate account of eating in the 1950s.

Admittedly, I'm a decade too young to remember it first hand, but what struck me most about the list is the narrow minded attitude; very white, English, middle-class, privileged and right-wing. Decidedly middle class, the types who sneer at the poverty of the working classes, aspiring to mix with those higher up the social ladder whilst maintaining a limited world view. It might have been created by someone who still holds these views, sharing them as some sort of nostalgia while poking fun at other nationalities. Or perhaps it was written by someone younger, to provoke an immediate 'Okay, Boomer' response? Or something to point out how much choice we have now in what we eat, but with a sarcastic tone? Either way, every time I read the list, I bristled a bit more. So, excuse the rant, so early in the new year, but I have to get something off my chest, and if not here, then where?

Let's have a look at them:

'Water came out of a tap. If someone had suggested bottling it and charging more than petrol for it, they would have become a laughing stock!' Water, mineral or otherwise, was being bottled at holy wells and springs across the UK since 1621, and was being sold at a premium as part of local, often rural economies in the 19th century, long before most people knew about petrol, and the people involved were not 'laughing stocks'.

Furthermore, even in the 1950s, water did not come out of a household tap for everyone. There were still people in slum housing who were using standpipes, and those in more rural districts who were still not on mains water and used a pump or well.  What's different now is that spring or mineral water is often sold by the litre or more in plastic bottles, production in smaller glass bottles is more costly, and potable water is widely available from kitchen taps.

'Crisps were plain; the only choice we had was whether to put the salt on or not.' Ah, the enduring thing for binary, all-or-nothing choices! The little blue bags of salt meant you could decide how much salt you wanted on your crisps, if any. So they didn't come in other flavours yet, you could still drop a pickled egg in the bag, if that took your fancy? Or is that too working-class for you?

'Healthy food consisted of anything edible'; 'Sugar enjoyed a good press in those days and was regarded as being white gold. Cubed sugar was regarded as posh.' Of course sugar was regarded with joy, it only came off the ration in 1953. Rationing severely restricted the availability and quantity of food available in Britain for most people, and unavailability of some items became worse after the war. Meat and any other foods which were still restricted came off-ration in 1954.

'Fish didn't have fingers.' There was a reference to fish fingers dating to 1900, though they started to appear more after WWII. However, fish cakes, as a way to use up leftover fish and cold potatoes, were a thing since the 19th century and much more likely to be made by thrifty housewives or sold at the fish and chip shop.

'A takeaway was a mathematical problem'. No, it was called subtraction then, just as now, except then, you did it in your head or on paper, not with a calculator. Of course, food-to-go was available, just limited by how to wrap the food. Fish and chips or pie and chips were traditional, and could be wrapped in newspaper. Cornish Pasties had their own wrapping of pastry.

'People who didn't peel potatoes were regarded as lazy.' Really? Potatoes then weren't washed by suppliers, they came covered in soil, which helped them not to go green or mouldy quite as quickly as they seem to these days when washed and packaged in transparent plastic. Potatoes baked in their jackets were another street food, although of course eating on the street was viewed as a low-class thing to do.

A working-class equivalent of take-out was eating at a food stall, where you could (for example) get a very good hot pork pie, mushy peas and mint sauce in Bradford's Rawson Market to keep the wind out, in a bowl and eaten at the stall.

'Brown bread was something only poor people ate.' Brown bread was widely available and eaten, but after WWII, there was something of a backlash, a demand for soft, white bread after the gritty, hard, wholemeal 'national loaf'. It's not the only example on the list of something perceived as being eaten only by the poor.

'Pasta was not eaten'; 'A pizza was something to do with a leaning tower'; 'Oil was for lubricating, fat was for cooking'. Pasta, and pizza, were of course eaten, but largely made at home by Italian immigrant families, not available to the wider public unless they could afford to eat out at an Italian restaurant. Most food was home cooked, few could afford to eat at a restaurant except on a very special occasion. Most vegetable oil was used for making margarine, so of course lard, suet, bacon fat, margarine and butter were more readily available.

'Rice was only eaten as a milk pudding.' Short grain rice was grown and used in Europe since medieval times, and came to England (for the rich) in the Tudor period, traditionally as a pudding (with ingredients such as beef broth), because given the above, you wouldn't care about any foreign muck like risotto, would you?

'Curry was a  surname'; 'Indian restaurants were only found in India.' Curry was then and is still a colonial European name for various spicy dishes from the Indian subcontinent and beyond. Curry and rice had become popular specialities in some restaurants around London's Piccadilly by the late 1700s. The first Indian restaurant was a coffee house, in Mayfair, London in 1810. The popularity for all things Indian took a knock after the 1857 revolt, but Queen Victoria's fascination for India revived interest and there were a handful of restaurants in London. The arrival of Bangladeshi immigrants in the 1970s brought a surge of 'curry houses', often open very late to catch those suffering from the munchies when the pubs closed (been there, done that. If the place had a number of locals from the Indian subcontinent also enjoying some food, you knew it was going to be all right. The first time I went to an 'Indian Restaurant' where there were tablecloths and cutlery and only white British customers was a bit of a culture shock, I was so used to tearing off a bit of chapatti and eating with my fingers!)

'Kebab was not even a word, never mind a food.' Spit or skewer-roasted food is nothing new, even in England. The word 'kebab' has been used in England since the late 17th Century. The food may only have been popularised here since the 1970s, but the word existed, and so did the food. 

'None of us had ever heard of yoghurt; surprisingly, muesli was readily available, it was called cattle feed'.  Cattle were grass fed, not fed muesli or anything like, and I wonder what the Swiss would make of this idea. Although neither you nor the people around you had heard of yogurt, I'm sure even in England, there were those who had, and perhaps even made it!

'Seaweed was not a recognised food'. Not in your small world, maybe, but Laverbread (from the seaweed Porphyria) has long been a food in Wales.

'Prunes were medicinal'. I've always liked prunes. Brandy was often described as 'medicinal' too. Of course, the French  recognised the benefits of prunes and brandy (as well as many other fine foods) a long time ago, well before Béchamp and his 'food is medicine' and Terrain Theory, so much derided by Pasteur and his Germ Theory. Guess what, boys, you were both partly right. Another instance of black and white thinking. Alors, plus ça change, plus c'est  la même chose. 

'Eating raw fish was called poverty not sushi'. You're just displaying your ignorance now. Raw fish isn't sushi, it's sashimi, in Japan, but other countries have their equivalents. I'm sure the Great British upper classes enjoyed the occasional Gravad Lax. So where did this idea that eating raw fish implied poverty come from?

'Cooking outside was called camping'. And wasn't it fun, enjoyed by hordes of girl guides and boy scouts. Oh, you mean, barbecues were still only a thing in the USA, like burger bars?

'A big mac was what we wore when it was raining'. Yes, but you were probably aware of Wimpy burger bars opening from 1954, even if you felt it beneath you to visit one.

'Tea was made in a teapot using leaves and never green.' I'm sure there were people who made herb teas, just as now, and black tea can still be made with tea leaves in a pot, if you so choose. This is one where I can't work out if it's really a complaint about the availability of tea bags and green tea, or not. 

'And the things that we never ever had on our table in the 50s and 60s: elbows or phones!' Come off it, most houses in the 1950s didn't have phones, and even in the 1960s, they were limited to a front room or hallway within reach of the GPO socket into which their lead was wired! At the time, the discussion was about whether newspapers and books should be allowed at the table. Okay, so seeing a group of people scrolling on their phones while eating rather than interacting with each other might annoy you. If they are in your home, impose your own rules, otherwise mind your own business and stop making judgements! 

Finished whining about how things aren't like the good old days yet? That was then, this is now, things have changed, and largely for the better (exceptions include the extinction of the hot pie and peas stall, and of Rawson Market itself, as was).

My need to comment on this probably says a lot about me, not least that the writer's apparent pride in their own, small experience, and their scorn and derision of the poor and anything foreign, was more than I could stand.

Back in 2001, the then Foreign Secretary Robin Cook made a great speech (which you can read here) arguing that the idea of a homogenous white, Anglo-Saxon British identity wasn't and isn't true, nor was/is the idea that, due to immigration and multi-culturalism, British identity was under siege and in terminal decline. Then, chicken tikka masala had recently been voted the favourite national dish, and Robin Cook upheld this as a 'perfect illustration of the way Britain absorbs and adapts external influences', because the masala sauce reflected the British liking for meat to be served in gravy. It's a rather British-centric view; my thought was that it's a perfect illustration of the way that immigrants in Britain find food a good way to integrate into and adapt to British life.

He summed up with: 'Tolerance is important, but it is not enough. We should celebrate the enormous contribution of the many communities in Britain to strengthening our economy, to supporting our public services, and to enriching our culture and cuisine. And we should recognise that its diversity is part of the reason why Britain is a great place to live.'

The popularity of other cultures' foods has increased in the past 20 years, with an ever-wider choice available from restaurants, take-aways, supermarkets and food fairs.

Sadly, at the same time, the clamp-downs on immigration, the Windrush scandal and (sorry) Brexit have all shown that far from decreasing, there is still a racism or xenophobia driven by a perception of a homogenous, white, Christian/protestant British identity and idea of a 'sovereign nation' under threat from other cultures. 

The real takeaway from that list has to be a renewed awareness of changes which aren't improvements. Unseasonal, unsustainable foods, litter from takeaways, single-use plastics, too much sugar, salt, palm oil, highly processed foods and a pervasive, racist worldview of which the British should be extremely ashamed.

Enjoy your food and drink, be thankful of the diversity we enjoy, make the best choices you can in terms of health, packaging, food miles and sustainability, and recognise that we all need to eat, drink and have somewhere we can call home.

Couch to 5K Walking; hit and miss

In theory, this should be week 20, but the walking has been a little hit and miss.

I hit my aim of doing a mile by midsummer, early. For my first walk in week 4, I had a nice evening and set off down the Brunel Trail with a spring in my step. After a while, I realised I hadn't set a timer and thought I should really stop and go back. The return trip felt progressively harder, and I was glad to collapse in a heap on the sofa and look at what I'd achieved, which was just a smidge over a mile!

The next day, my knees hurt, so I decided to take a rest day from walking, but had to go shopping. When I got out of the car, my left knee gave way. I limped my way around the supermarket, using the trolley as a walker. Once home, I found my left knee gave way every so often, and only managed a little garden work and one other walk that week. 

In the following few weeks, I did another couple of walks which were a little over a mile, and got to the point where I was really enjoying walking, taking my rainbow umbrella with me to ward off the drizzle.

Unfortunately, there is a physical backlash. It's as if I only have energy for walking or doing housework and gardening, but not both. After walks of a mile or more (and some walks of less than a mile) my body aches, especially my knees and feet. I had planned to walk 5 days, rest 2 days each week, but it was progressively harder to do more than one walk a week. It started affecting my motivation to go for a walk.

Then I banged my little toe one night, trying not to stand on one of the cats in the dark. There was a nasty crunch and when I examined my toe, I found it was straighter, but bleeding into the nail bed. It was so bruised and painful, I erred on the safe side in case I had broken it and kept off my feet as much as I could for a week.

While I was resting my toe, I thought about how to help my motivation to walk and realised that just launching myself out of my front door, walking just for the time and distance, was not enough. I want to get to 5 km/3 miles so that from there, I can walk further, not so that I can finish some charity walk in an hour or so. I love Pembrokeshire for its wildlife, history and landscapes; that's what I want to explore, on foot. With my foot up on the couch, I got out maps and did a little list of places I wanted to go. 

Once the toe felt better, off I went again, deciding not to press the distance, but to include some hills.  had a lovely couple of walks in Milford, on the steep streets down to Castle Pill and around The Rath.

Then the skin on the side of my left foot split, leaving it very raw and sore. (I get a type of eczema called pompholyx, where the skin comes up in little itchy, burning blisters, which merge into bigger blisters, which then dry out into flaky plates of skin. Then after a couple of weeks, the cycle starts again.  I get it on my hands too. No real cause or cure. Sorry, probably too much information, but it's a damned nuisance.)

It took the best part of a week to heal, and despite care and moisturiser, it split again on my next walk, though not as badly. 

I've just had a very busy couple of weeks, where walking has been low on the agenda, partly to conserve energy. I planned a walk at the start of this week, but had to give it a miss because it was absolutely pouring with rain. And going into autumn with more unsettled weather, this is increasingly going to be the case. I was rather hoping for some lovely autumn sunshine to walk in. As the nights are drawing in, I'll have to walk earlier.

I've nearly 30 walks on the list, not including a few I've already done (such as down to Castle Pill). Most are longer than I can manage at the moment. The longest walk so far has been about a mile and three quarters. I'm looking forward to more exploratory walks, but it may be some time before I hit the 5K target.

Yards and Gardens

 I was baffled to see a large front lawn surrounded by flowering shrubs described as a 'front yard' in an American magazine article. This space was larger than most British gardens. We Brits would call it a garden, so why was it being described as a 'yard'? I've also seen lawned or rough areas around and at the back of the house described by Americans as 'yards'. 

Yards, to my mind, are generally paved, utilitarian areas. They may be small, like the yards at the back of Victorian terraced houses, space for a washing line, perhaps with a privy shed and a coal shed,  or just access to the privy and coal hole, a few strides between the back door and the gate to the back lane.  Or larger, like a farmyard, livery yard, scrapyard or builders' yard.

Intrigued, I asked an American friend to explain their use of yard and garden. It seems a 'yard', in addition to a paved, utilitarian space, is an outside space attached to a property, which isn't being deliberately designed and used as a growing space. Okay, there might be a stretch of lawn surrounded by shrubs, but it's whatever, nothing special. The grass gets cut and the shrubs pruned and mulched, the leaves raked up, but there's no thought of design, no intent beyond a tidy bit of kerb-appeal. It may be a space to play catch, have barbecues, sit in the sun, but it isn't being actively 'gardened'. To count as a garden, the same space would have design and intent behind it, from which plants to grow and how they work together, to landscaping of paths and levels, or a space designed for growing fruit and vegetables. If you happen to have a few citrus and olive trees in your Californian 'garden', it may nevertheless be a 'yard'.

So many people here in the UK, especially in houses built from the 1960s on, have a small, private, outside space - a 'garden'. Often described in estate agents' details as an 'easily-maintained garden', which they think is a positive, but is not attractive to someone who really wants to garden. There is an almost cultural imperative to have a lawn, which one feeds and seeds to make it grow, then cuts to keep the growth down, keeping it free of 'weeds' by using a broad leaf herbicide, keeping any shrubs around it free of pests by using a pesticide. Controlling the space is what makes it a 'garden' here in the UK. So if it's an outside patch with a patio, a shed and a patchy stretch of grass with a trampoline and swing, it's a garden in the UK, but a yard in the USA.

I can see the point here; this differentiation of yard and garden makes sense and is growing on me (sorry, couldn't resist the pun!). I would not often (if ever?) say this, but this is an example of American English usage that I would like to see introduced here in the UK.

A new plan for Couch to 5K Walking

My Couch to 5K walking plan last year bit the dust after a patchy several weeks, when increasing knee pain coincided with lockdown. I did a few walks which went unrecorded in Strava because I forgot to press the start button (facepalm). A few more were rather inaccurate because of interference with the phone's GPS (high buildings, bridges, having the phone in a pocket, can apparently all interfere). I trudged through hail showers trying to convince myself that this was good, while the cold increased my pain levels. What doesn't kill you makes you stronger, right? Stop whining, JFDI, don't be so lazy, where's your self-discipline? There's nothing special about you, stop making excuses, try harder! etc. A friend commented that I might have some internalised ableism. I had to look it up and found she was right - I'm generally happy to accommodate others' disabilities and differences, but struggle to do the same for myself. It's the way I was brought up; to strive, work hard, be strong and independent (and with all the above thrown at me when I fell short of expectations). Although the judgemental comments could be reworded to be more encouraging, (my ballet and dance teachers never used that sort of language!) I don't see anything wrong with that, except that it goes hand-in-hand with being hard on yourself. I still find it impossible to find the line between enough and too much, to navigate a fair path and forgive myself when I fail.

I also lost my dance mojo (still haven't really found that, although I do find myself boogying slightly to supermarket music). I transferred my energies to gardening, which remains a battle with brambles, pendulous sedge and bindweed, but it now feels as though I am making progress. I can't control the weather, but I can take a pickaxe to those roots and I feel the stronger for it!

This year, with lockdown easing, and friends posting beautiful photos and stories of miles walked in the sunshine, I started to feel totally pathetic about my inability to comfortably walk even a mile. See? Ableist! Others who struggle to walk a mile have my sympathy and understanding, but I can't accept that I can't walk a mile, or three, or five. It's time to dust off the plan and get out there again. The bonus is that at the moment, my knee pain is not as bad as it was when I was doing this last year; it feels as though the gardening work has improved things.

However much I tell myself not to overdo things, it seems I don't notice while I'm gardening/walking/ dancing until I've overdone it. I blame those endorphins. I had a lovely day in the garden a week ago and couldn't move the following day. As soon as it eased off the day after, I did only a little more and spent the next two days in agony. Also, while I want to walk, I need to leave enough energy to garden or whatever else in the day. I need a new plan.

Last year's plan involved starting with 15 minutes a day, increasing to 20 minutes in week 2, walking for five days and having two rest days in a week. That was too much and it didn't help that I got totally carried away one day when I was feeling good and did 2 kilometres (1.25 miles) in 45 minutes. Oops. I also turned a blind eye to the comment that this was for beginners 'without significant health complaints'.

I've looked around for walking plans this year, and find that most are for people who are aiming to walk 5K for charity, and need to train (that is, push themselves), with 10 week plans involving daily walks, interval training (changing the pace), a speed of 3 mph or faster and significant step-ups after week 4 or 6. Obviously, a generic training plan takes no account of how you are personally on a daily basis.

So, here are some self-imposed rules:

• Aim for 5 walks/2 rests a week, weather allowing, starting with 10 minute walks
• Walk for time, not for distance
• Walk at an easy pace, no interval training. The easy pace should get faster as you get fitter.
• Walk mindfully, think about your posture and gait, take in details of your surroundings.
• Review progress every 4 weeks
• Stay at or go down a level if it starts to feel too much, add in a little more if it feels too easy.

My first 4 weeks look like this:

• Week 1: 5 x 10 mins
• Week 2: 3 x 10 mins, 2 x 15 mins
• Week 3: 2 x 10 mins, 3 x 15 mins
• Week 4: 1 x 10 mins, 4 x 15 mins
• Review: is 5 x 15 minutes in week 5 okay?

This pattern has me walking 5 x 30 minutes in week 13 (that's 3 months) which feels like quite a time commitment. From there, I envisage staying at that with a day's longer walk each week and see how I am doing. I would like to be able to walk a mile (approx. 1.6K) by midsummer, (I used to be able to walk at 3 mph quite comfortably).

I announced my intention on my Facebook timeline late last night and found such an outpouring of support from my friends this morning, I feel loved. 💖

Time to get my walking shoes on!

How many steps a day?

After a couple of months of largely rainy weather, local beaches busy with tourists (good for those local businesses reliant on tourism, but the Covid-19 pandemic has brought a new wariness of strangers), my dance mojo still absent and all attempts to get the garden under control and more productive having been thwarted by the excessive numbers of slugs and snails (and rain), by mid-August I had to admit to myself that I was in something of a slough of despond and apathy. 

I noticed some stasis dermatitis on my lower shins, a sign that the circulation in my legs could be better. Realising I needed to take action, I wanted something which would buzz me to move every so often, without having to set alarms, as I can get hyperfocused and end up sitting at my computer for hours. I finally cracked and got myself a fitness tracker watch. 

Not that I am very interested in step counting. The suggested 10000 steps a day is supposed to be roughly equivalent to five miles. However, I can no longer comfortably walk a mile, so I would have to scale back considerably when setting myself a motivational target number of steps. 

In the end, I chose a Fitbit Inspire HR, on offer because an upgraded version was about to go on sale. I didn't need anything very flashy, not being into sports and gym. The HR is the ability to measure heart rate, so I could look at cardio and sleep, and it would give me a little buzz at ten to the hour during the day to prompt me to complete at least 250 steps.

I settled on a target of 3000 steps a day initially, and found that my baseline was around 2000, 2500 on a good day. Gradually I found the number I did creeping up, but my 'crash' days, when my knees really hurt, and I feel tired and generally achy and low on energy, are obvious; I struggle to make 1000 steps on those days.

I saw a few complaints in reviews that there weren't enough instructions on how to use it, and that it was difficult to navigate, not intuitive. I found it easy to set up, and with a certain amount of 'poke it and see what it does', I found my way around quite enough to be going on with. I didn't feel the need to know everything about how it worked, because I was happy not using all the functionality (it can also allow you to record food and water intake, give message notifications and probably more besides, but if it's not going to make tea and cook a meal for me, I don't really care).

I found that if I walk slowly and smoothly with no arm-swinging, the tracker has a problem realising I'm walking and doesn't record steps. The upside of that is that if I do some seated exercise with arm swinging as I step, it still records them as steps. Not that it recognises the steps as part of 'seated exercise'; it's very walk/run/cycle/swim/aerobics focused. I did some dance on the beach when lockdown lifted a bit, and it finally concluded I was swimming. Obviously dance isn't 'sporty' enough.

The sleep function is a bit flaky, sometimes giving a nice graph of light, deep and REM sleep and wakefulness (although you get an error message informing you that the database didn't allow that sleep to be logged. Er, what?), other times just giving some basic measurements. I read from the help/forum that a lot of people have found this, and no one has found a way to resolve it. Fitbit's answer was to subscribe to the app and/or buy the latest watch, which is no help at all. I notice it is sensitive to 'wakefulness', as brief stretching a knee to relieve pain or sleepily stroking a cat means I am awake, however briefly. It usually recognises when I fall asleep again after I get up in the night for a quick trip to the bathroom, but sometimes, it doesn't. I start the 'sleep now' when I decide to turn off the light and sleep, but it sometimes doesn't record my sleep from that time. To get sleep details, it needs to be longer than three hours (I think it's three). I was watching a thriller on TV, very absorbed, and found that the watch had recorded me as being asleep. Despite the excitement, my heart rate didn't increase. She's not moving, must be asleep? I haven't seen a murder/crime programme yet where Forensics download the fitness tracker data to narrow time of death, but it surely can't be long now. 

Recording active minutes is another issue. If you aren't doing anything it can automatically recognise as exercise, it relies on heart rate being up in the cardio zone consistently for ten minutes. I quickly found I could work in the garden until I felt wobbly and light-headed from the effort, but it wasn't recognised as exercise or active minutes, and if I was working in one place, taking occasional rather than continuous steps, not recording steps either. FYI Fitbit, pickaxing bramble and sedge roots really is effort. Maybe I should experiment with recording it as aerobics or something.

it's been three months since I started wearing it. I still cannot conceive of managing 5000, let alone 10000 steps a day and I've found it easy to be so focused on what I'm doing that the hourly 'shift yer bum' buzz goes unnoticed too. It will be interesting to see if continued use changes anything.

A lot can happen in 10 years ...

One of the best sets of records to trace family groups in 19th and early 20th century England and Wales are the UK Census returns. I've been using them extensively to try to uncover my extended family's history, and have enjoyed looking up the places they lived, speculating on what  life was like for them. The starting point for a family tree is information from the memories of living relatives, but, unless you have a close family with lots of notes on who's who, perhaps even a family bible, maybe still living locally to your ancestors, then there are still plenty of gaps to be filled.

The census returns are a great resource, revealing a lot about how people lived; the size of families, the work people did and where they lived. The way in which, early on and especially in rural areas, there were no addresses - everyone knew each other, and few received letters because illiteracy was quite high.

The census returns are by no means perfect, something which, for me, adds to the fascination and frustration of working with them.

The recorders/enumerators had a very important job. Some created beautiful records, with clear handwriting, taking care to check and spell names of people and places correctly. At the other end of the scale, the records are almost faded to illegibility or are in a scarcely legible scrawl, with mistakes and misspellings, and on some, the black marks made by people checking or counting up the returns obscure the information.

This however pales into insignificance against the sheer weight of transcription errors I find. Many come from an inability to read older handwriting, failure to compare script on the same page and perhaps no knowledge of copperplate or cursive hand to work it out. (I'm old enough that we were taught 'joined-up' writing from age seven, with a big chart on the wall and hours of practice at forming the shapes of letters, then writing syllables and words.) Some errors are down to reading with insufficient magnification, the transcriber typing what they think they see, or expect to; others are due to downright laziness, or someone unfamiliar with the language, or perhaps they'd been drinking, or something. There was evidently no quality control, so if the genealogy company paid for this work, they were robbed, and if they didn't pay for it, well they can't expect anything of reasonable quality. Okay, so correct spelling is something I care about, but it's important in this context because of its effect on searches, in terms of their success and the amount of time and creative guesses it can take to get results.

An then there's the misreporting, which can be very entertaining. I expect most people told the truth to the best of what they remembered, but ages can float around (quite apart from the strange 1841 thing of rounding down adults' ages by up to four years!). I've had relatives grow younger by a couple of years on each successive census, or a couple who both reduced their ages by five years (which would have made their marriage illegal, if it were true) and a family of siblings, still single in their thirties, who variously selected ages up to nine years younger than they were according to their birth records.

Tracing the Irish parts of the family is proving very difficult, because the original census returns for Ireland 1861 and 1871 were destroyed shortly after the censuses were taken. Those for 1881 and 1891 were pulped during the First World War, probably because of the paper shortage. The returns for 1821, 1831, 1841 and 1851 were, apart from a few survivals, notably for a few counties for 1821 and 1831, destroyed in 1922 in the fire at the Public Record Office at the beginning of the Civil War.

Wonderful though these ten-yearly records are, they are still only snapshots. Some families are quite stable, remaining in the same house or the same area, with the same spouse, and you can track the children growing up, getting married, leaving home. Others seem to disappear, a particular problem when dealing with common names and moving to another county, or if you happen to need some of the missing records.

And there are some things that a ten yearly snapshot will miss, because a lot can happen in ten years. For example, it's long enough to lose one wife, marry another, have three children, for the youngest of those children and then your second wife to die, and you decide to foster the two remaining children with their aunts and emigrate to the USA. There are no records which will reveal whether the younger children of the first marriage were left with their older siblings, or whether the second wife became their step-mother, no personal histories to know how they felt about that.

I feel like a detective. For every small step forward and question answered, a whole new crop of questions can arise. Every chink of light creates more shadows.

I can't wait for the 1921 census to be released, although it won't be available until 2022. It will be essential to help fill some holes in my knowledge of who did what, where and with whom. And I hope I won't see as many transcription errors!

Big Butterfly Count 2020

One thing still possible amid all the restrictions imposed around the Covid-19 pandemic is to linger somewhere quiet for a quarter of an hour or so, and count butterflies. Despite the changeable weather for this year's butterfly count (17 July to 9 August), including several days which were a complete washout, I did several 'counts' in my garden and became quite obsessed with going out to see what I could find, noting my observations in my diary.

Here are the results, which include a couple of day-flying moths:

Species/Dates	19-Jul	28-Jul	29-Jul	30-Jul	06-Aug	07-Aug	08-Aug	09-Aug
Small White			1	1
Large White		1	1	2	2	1	1	2
Common Blue						1
Small Tortoiseshell			1	1			4	3
Red Admiral		2	2	2			1	1
Peacock		2	1	2	3	2	1	1
Comma				1
Meadow Brown			2
Ringlet	1
Six-Spot Burnet	1
Hummingbird Hawk Moth				1
Day total	2	5	8	10	5	4	7	7

11 species was quite good compared to other years, but even on the best day, I could count the day-flying lepidoptera on both hands, so I could have wished for more. There were days where I didn't really look and others where I was out in the garden for a quarter of an hour or more, but saw nothing, and then forgot to record that I saw nothing. Most of my observations were more than quarter of an hour, which probably increased the number of species observed, but the numbers are the maximum number observed at any one time, to avoid double-counting.

What no Painted Ladies, Orange Tip, Large Skipper, Speckled Wood, some sort of Fritillary perhaps? I would also have expected to see Silver Y moths on the Buddleias, if not in full sun, then at least in the evening, but I didn't see any. It might be that the adult butterflies aren't on the wing in the three weeks of the survey.

Buddleia davidii is a controversial plant. I even saw a post of Facebook claiming that the nectar is toxic to butterflies and bees. Of course, whoever posted it didn't give a source or link for reference and I have found nothing to support this (because, of course, I cannot resist searching online to do a bit of fact-checking). There's no denying it is an extremely invasive plant, which can grow in all sorts of conditions, from nooks and crannies with very little soil, light, dry soils, compacted and often wet clay, and given a nice depth of fertile soil can go from seedling to flower within one year, and become a spreading, towering shrub within two.

I have a love-hate relationship with it. I was lazy last year and didn't dead-head assiduously enough or even prune, and this year there have been seedlings everywhere, and new shrubs which escaped being weeded out last autumn (I think I thought they were Verbena bonariensis seedlings. No such luck). None of the shrubs I have are in quite the right place, a visual reminder of how much work I need to do in the garden. On the other hand, once they flower, they attract all sorts of invertebrates; not just butterflies and moths, but drone flies, hoverflies, various bumble bees and this year, lots of honey bees. Various spiders hang out in the leaves and branches, as do snails, which don't seem to do much damage to it. When I work in the garden, I get to see them all up close and get wafts of honeyed scent.

The problem with invasive species like this is that in the wild, and potentially even a garden, they can affect local biodiversity. They outcompete and replace native species of wildflowers, so reducing both species diversity and nutritional diversity of those native plant species. Although the bees, butterflies and other foraging species love the Buddleia, they need diversity as well as quantity and quality of nectar and pollen, to ensure a good nutritional content and balance, 

When I input my observations and checked my profile, I found they have leaderboards for the number of observation sessions (counts) and butterflies. I am waaaaaay down the boards;  at 3000+ for counts, at 7000+ for total butterflies seen. Not that it ever occurred to me that this was a competitive thing, but there are some very serious butterfly counters out there. I was feeling very pleased with myself to submit results from 8 counts, now I feel like I should do better next year.

Clockwise from top left:

female Common Blue; Comma, just hanging around; Busy bee; Humming-bird Hawk-moth