Beds and bedstraw

Lady's bedstraw is one of the plants I learnt about from my father at a very young age when names such as ragged robin, marsh marigold, herb robert and dog's mercury made an indelible impression upon my imagination.

Galium verum, which is in flower on the coast now, has several feminine associations: its new-mown-hay (coumarin) scent and its reputation for dispelling fleas made it in former times a desirable mattress stuffing and strewing herb for gentlewomen; according to legend it was one of the plants that lined the manger in which the Virgin Mary gave birth (another, bracken fern, did not recognize Jesus and lost its flower in consequence); and, sacred to the Norse goddess Frigg, it was used in Scandinavia as a sedative for women in labour.

Today though, another lady's bed was in the news when Tracy Emin's notorious artwork sold for twice as much as was expected. I know she's not a popular figure and an anathema to many with her disreputable behaviour and her rude/crude art (and her regrettable political affiliations too) but I've always admired her for her chutzpah and her refusal to be anyone but herself. All the sweet-scented bedstraw in the world could not have sanitized the desperate lifestyle she exposed in the form of her squalid divan but it was the reality of a woman struggling to cope with pain and loss. Now she calls it a time capsule: her life has moved on, she's a cultural icon and last year she became a CBE. If she deserves a bouquet it has to be bedstraw.