A remarkable man: erudite, eclectic and idiosyncratic
One century ago, on 2 March 1905, Geoffrey Grigson was born in the vicarage of the parish of Pelynt in east Cornwall. He was one of seven children of the incumbent, all of them born in the vicarage, christened in the church and brought up in the midst of farms and cottages, as Grigson recounts in his autobiographical ‘Freedom of the parish’ (1954).
One of his contemporaries described him as “erudite, eclectic and idiosyncratic” — a
fair description of a versatile man who published poems of his own and anthologies
as well as minute details of his father’s parish, its surroundings, its
inhabitants and its history. The lords of the manor whose accomplishments Grigson
noted included the ancient families of Achym, Buller and Trelawny, who from time
to time indulged in remarkable rivalry after the dissolution of the monasteries
in the 16th century.
The young Geoffrey, by his own account, spent most of his time in exploring the
archaeology, topography and natural history of his native parish, together with
the habits and customs of his local contemporaries and recent neighbours. He
climbed into the treetops in search of birds’ eggs, fished the rivers,
ventured into every corner of the landscape and in particular studied the flora
of his territory.
Indeed, his book ‘The Englishman’s flora’ (1955) is a treasure
trove of Cornish plants, their uses in folk medicine and crafts, and the many
superstitions regarding them. Moreover, He lists traditional and dialect names
of his plants, not only those of the West Country but hundreds of others used
throughout Britain, from the Channel to Scotland.
Grigson quotes liberally from ancient authorities, such as Dioscorides, Pliny,
Coles, Parkinson, Evelyn, Turner, Pomet and Culpepper and presents references
to
writers on plant lore.
When he died in 1985 he left a heritage which is much valued by all those interested
in the uses of plant products within the human economy.
One characteristic of Grigson’s book is the simplicity of the language
and the variety of attitudes towards terms used by children and promoters of
slang. He writes of the pennywort: “In the south-west every child has picked
off the walls the fat, dimpled, shining penny leaves and played with them.” And
he remarks that “cowslip is not the most elegant of names” because
it was so called since it appears “in the meadow wherever a cow had lifted
its tail”.
And among his many recipes making use of wild plants he comments: “Dried
leaves of blackcurrant transform a pot of Indian tea, and give it the taste of
a green tea from China.” But he remains careful not to tempt his readers
into making rash experiments with their native plants.
Grigson’s culinary interest was something he shared with his wife and daughter — the
well-known food writers Jane and Sophie Grigson.
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