WITHYWINDS AND WITHERSHINS. 



By HARWOOD BRIERLEY. 



An exact definition of the two strange terms, withy- 

 winds and withershins, is not easily given. A w ithe, 

 or withy, may be a flexible willow twig or osier, it 

 may be a band of twisted rings, or the spiral coil of 

 some plant-stem in the tangled hedgerow. The 

 poet's woodbine itself, better known as the honey- 

 suckle, is a typical winding withy, and, therefore, a 

 w ithywind. We call to mind the fact that there are 

 districts in which our great white convolvulus (C 

 sepium) is variously known as the hedgebell, 

 bellbine, ropewind, and withvwind. The latter 

 vernacular name is as appropriate as any, for this 

 plant's twisting stems are in some districts known 

 as " devil's garters," which, like the stem of the 

 woodbine, or honeysuckle, have been known to 

 strangle a fox in the brake after dragging at its 

 noose-like coils in a desperate attempt to extricate 

 himself. The "withershins" or " widdershins " of 

 Scottish literature is a compound of two Scandi- 

 navian or Gaelic words which have to do with 

 coiling stems and the sun. Originally a provincialism, 

 the term is now politely applied to some natural 

 object which elects to turn round in a direction 

 opposite to the sun. 



Why do our weak-stemmed hedgerow plants turn 

 spirally in totally different directions ? The rule 



commonly obeyed has, of 

 course, very few excep- 

 tions; and there is little 

 doubt that every indi- 

 genous climbing - plant 

 with corkscrew tendency 

 travels like the hands of 

 a watch, or follows the 

 sun as closely as it can 

 from east to west. Yet 

 some long acclimatised 

 species go the opposite 

 way, while some species 

 included in the same 

 genus are quite anti- 

 thetical in their feelings 

 on the matter. This 

 general habit of following 

 the sun must surely 

 depend on which hemis- 

 phere a plant's pro- 

 genitors first acquired 

 the instinct essential to 

 its welfare, and it may have been governed 

 by that same plant's desire to find either 

 light or shade. Overnight our convolvuli, bind- 



Figure 177. 



Stem of Convolvulus arvensis 

 twining to the left. 



ir 



&> 



^3 



tP^ 



Figure 178. 



Stem of Hop twining to the 

 right. 



weeds, bryonies, tarn uses, hopbines, and honey- 

 suckles become partially rigid in sleep, and more 

 supple again at sunrise, when they attempt again to 

 follow the source of 

 light around his orbit 

 from the east to the 

 far west of summer. 

 It is reasonable to 

 assume that a sun- 

 loving plant which 

 originated in the 

 southern hemisphere 

 would travel in an 

 opposite direction, from 

 right to left of the 

 observer. Unsuscept- 

 ible to the solar 

 influence is the tender 

 French bean, and the 

 contrariwise spirals it 

 makes proclaim it to be 

 a withershin. If you 

 unwind it from its 

 stick or post and 

 attempt to direct it 

 •aright, the snake-like 

 growing-tip casts itself free to hang stupidly 

 downward, and if the sap and cuticle have given 

 this bine a fixed "set" it declines to resume 

 its skyward journey, unless you place it in some of 

 its former contortions. Although you wrap it round 

 the stake in the direction it disdains, and tie it there 

 at intervals, it will not cease to make erratic twists 

 with new growth, until it can resume that eccen- 

 tricity of climbing which was established fast in its 

 nature, probably ages ago. 



Convolvulus sepium, the great white bindweed, 

 may be called the typical withy wind (see Figure 177), 

 because of the fact that that name for it 

 belongs to the vernacular of one or more 

 southern counties. Although doubtless bearing 

 the largest and handsomest of our white wild- 

 flowers, which are bell-shaped and as pure white 

 as foam, it is yet unfortunately an emblem of idle- 

 ness in a garden lying waste, or it is at home on a 

 high hedge which rarely suffers from the slasher. 

 Like the cuscutas or leafless dodders worming their 

 network of delicate pink stems among furze, thistles, 

 and nettles, the numerous white bells hanging amid 

 masses of lovely sagittate or arrow-shaped leaves 

 which half smother the hedge afford some idea of 

 the lianas which form such a striking feature of 



175 



