Himalayan Balsam (Impatiens glandulifera) is an infamously invasive weed, a holy terror that has taken over vast swathes of the UK’s wild places, and which must be utterly destroyed. Or so most wildflower books and articles would have you believe.
Wikipedia says this:
“In the UK, the plant was first introduced in 1839, at the same time as giant hogweed and Japanese knotweed. These plants were all promoted at the time as having the virtues of “herculean proportions” and “splendid invasiveness” which meant that ordinary people could buy them for the cost of a packet of seeds to rival the expensive orchids grown in the greenhouses of the rich. Within ten years, however, Himalayan balsam had escaped from the confines of cultivation and begun to spread along the river systems of England.”
The many names of Himalayan Balsam
The flowers do have a rather orchidaceous look, but other common names seemed to find the resemblance to an old-style policeman’s helmet more striking:
- Policeman’s helmet
- Bobby tops
- Copper tops
- Gnome’s hatstand
- Kiss-me-on-the-mountain
- Ornamental jewelweed
- Poor-man’s orchid
- Jumping jacks
- Bee-bums
I wonder if part of the aggression shown towards this extraordinary plant is connected in some measure to the erotic quality of the flowers. When you see the robust endeavours of bumblebees as they push their way into the flowers (hence the name ‘bee-bums’) you can’t deny the attractiveness of the flowers to pollinators.
Himalayan Balsam flowers in poetry
I subtitled this painting ‘Three Sisters’ to call attention to that eroticism. I have Richard Mabey to thank for introducing me to the poetry of Anne Stevenson. She also recognised the erotic in her beautiful poem ‘Himalayan Balsam’:
“Orchid-lipped, loose-jointed, purplish, indolent flowers,
with a ripe smell of peaches, like a girl’s breath through lipstick…”
And at the end:
“Love, it was you who said, ‘Murder the killer
we have to call life and we’d be a bare planet under a dead sun.’
Then I loved you with the usual soft lust of October
that says ‘yes’ to the coming winter and a summoning odour of balsam.”
The idea of inviting foreign natives to these shores and then attacking them when they make a home here does not sit well with me. If the riparian habitats that Balsam is supposed to destroy were pristine, there might be some argument for its control. But since our waterways are so thick with pollutants, the charge seems to me to be nothing but displacement.
If you like this painting you might also like some of my other paintings of flowers. Maybe this Wild Rose, or this Bindweed.