Searching for the snake’s head

The snake’s head fritillary has something of an iconic status in Oxford. It’s our county flower. And at this time of year locals race to be the first to spot one of these delicate chequered cup-shaped heads emerge from their watery winter sleep. For they like the dampness of the ground on which our city sits, the surrounding floodplains and water meadows one of the few places in the country where they still grow in great swathes of pixilated purple. Or so I am told. It was high time I made their acquaintance.

And so on the first day of April, I decide to cycle with my friend Gina and her camera to Iffley Meadows, a nature reserve a short distance east of the city and famous for its fritillaries. It’s our first day of proper sun, and the Thames towpath from Folly Bridge is teeming with runners and dogwalkers; boatpeople sit atop their barges having breakfast, blinking as the light dances and dives on the water’s sparkling surface; the river is alive with rowers, canoeists, and paddleboarders, as well as a plethora of honking, hooting and squawking wildlife on heat. Over Long Bridges, past the Isis Tavern and we park up by Iffley Lock alongside a small gate that leads into the 90-acre site that plays host to the meadow’s springtime stars.

The snake’s head part of the common name refers to the bud stage, its drooping head resembling a viper, opening to reveal a yellow tongue inside. Fritillary is from the Latin, Fritillaria meleagris, meaning ‘dice-cup’ after the shape of its flower and spotted like a guinea fowl. Good descriptive labels like their more colloquial counterparts, chess flower, chequered lily, frog cup and leper’s bell amongst others, the flora at one time so plentiful that huge bunches of their arching stems were picked to be sold in the markets of Oxford, Abingdon and Witney.

But that is not what has accounted for their demise. 90% of the UK’s water meadows, the ancient habitat on which these flowers depend has been drained and ploughed or used for housing since WW2. According to the welcome sign that greets us as we enter the fields, we have the Berkshire, Buckinghamshire and Oxfordshire Wildlife Trust to thank for saving the ones we are visiting today. They manage them as they have been for hundreds of years, cutting the grass for hay once only in July followed by gentle summer grazing, well after the plants are spent, leaving them dormant over the long, wet winter months. This is what creates the flower rich grasslands so beloved of rewilding enthusiasts today. 

In we go, eager for a glimpse of the snake’s head’s purple checkered petals. But there is nothing much to see in the first field we visit besides reeds. Making our way west through a gap between vegetation sprouting new lime leaf growth and pink blossom, we find ourselves in a large open space, bordered by trees and hedges through which you can see and hear the traffic at one end trundling over Donnington Bridge. And at first it looks like here too we may be disappointed. A friendly lady walking her small terrier tells us we have may have come too early. Though seeing as they are out and thriving in the shade of her own garden, that theory doesn’t add up, she admits. Maybe today is just not our lucky day.

But it’s then that I suddenly spot one. A gust of wind has sent a tessellated purple head the colour of a rich claret bowing and bobbing right in front of me. So bent over its slender stem, I had missed it before the breeze had lifted its skirts. I worry for its safety, the stalk so delicate it seems that the flowerhead might snap off at any moment. There are others too. Once our eyes adjust, they become easier to make out, their pretty tapered tutus available in a variety of shades of purple, from the darkest of mauves, through to pale pink. Some are all white. It’s not exactly the carpet of blooms I had been expecting, but I’m thrilled to have found them.  

The species is not thought to be native, but to have arrived from Europe and planted up in 16^th century ornamental English gardens. The earliest mention of them in the record books dates from 1735, so it seems likely they then escaped along rivers to colonise the meadows downstream. They certainly look exotic, here at Iffley peppering the early spring landscape with their beautiful, strange reptilian markings. 

Back at Folly Bridge, and we squeeze around the back of The Head of the River pub to emerge on the footpath on the other side of the water. Gina wants to show me some of the fritillaries she has seen growing there. And sure enough in a shady wooded area at the back of Christ Church meadows, there they are. The dark snaky heads bobbing above the lush green undergrowth mixed in with creeping buttercups and cowslips. A pastoral scene certainly, but with a touch of the ethereal. You half expect a frollick of fairies to fly by.

Magdalen College, seemingly, is another favourite Oxford spot to witness snake’s head fritillaries. They are thought to have flown over from the Botanic Gardens across the road, and thousands now populate the island meadow between the two branches of the Cherwell there. Before the deer are sent in to graze later on in the year. This special site was very nearly dug up and converted into a giant boating lake in 1801, but luckily for us the scheme never materialised. For the flowers are apparently quite fabulous. I can’t wait to visit.

Special thanks to Sarah Rhodes for her lovely photograph of snake’s heads at Magdalen College. You can see more of her pictures of Oxford on instagram @spiralling_oxford

And to Gina for the adventure.

A single sculler near Long Bridges on the path along the Thames to Iffley Meadows

The old stone bridge at Iffley Lock.

Welcome to Iffley Meadows.

And the map showing the location with Donnington Bridge at one end and the A34 cutting through the other.

At first all we saw were reeds and grasses.

The first sighting.

Snake’s head buds in various stages of anthesis.

Snake’s heads in the wooded area beside the river by Christ Church Meadows

At Magdalen College – with the light shining through these snake’s heads look like fairy lanterns. ©Sarah Rhodes