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Bob Maddox

Bob is a retired teacher living in the Alpujarra for most of the year with his wife Belinda. His interests include painting, photography and of course writing. He researches his articles meticulously and always manages to include his own brand of humour. Whatever the subject they are ‘a good read’. He has been a keen supporter of the Moor Times and has contributed many interesting pieces since its conception in September 2009.

 

 

 

Articles by Bob Maddox       

 

In Praise of the Blues

August 1st. Wolverhampton.  England.  Rain.  So, what is it, now that I'm here, which I miss most about being where you are. Looking through a rain-streaked window to a low flat sky of iron-grey stratus clouds, the colour blue swims easily into the mind.  Blue sky.  Blue sea.  And with the blue, its complimentary colour, yellow.  The very air alive with that unique yellow Andalucian light.

 

And with this, a picture comes to mind of a white-washed stone wall I know well in my home village of Yegen.  Each year, a simple weed  transforms this bare wall into a spectacular living waterfall of  rich green leaves and impossibly blue flowers - blue enough to swim in.  And there, deep in the throat of of each blue trumpet...that yellow.  That special yellow.  The yellow light of Andalucia.

 

So, what is it I miss most about August in Andalucia?  'Morning Glory'. I finally reply. 'Yes. Morning Glory.'

 

From June, through until darkening October robs them of warmth and sunlight and forces them back underground to wait out the winter in the shelter of their deep frost-proof tubers, these iconic plants seem almost as prolific as the Andalucian sun itself.  Ipomoea, the name of the genus of which that big blue flower just outside your front door is a part, contains over 500 hundred different species of flowering plant and are found throughout the tropical and sub-tropical regions of the world.  They come in a range of forms, from thick tropical lianas (Tarzan might have swung from one), through to shrubs and small trees.  

 

However, by far the commonest form is the twining variety and although these appear in a vast range of colours, the star is surely that deep heavenly blue trumpet, so familiar across the walls, fences and banks of Andalucia. This is one of the of the most prolific of flowering plants, producing a succession of new blooms each morning, ready to tempt a retinue of moths, butterflies and other daytime pollinators.  Typically the flowers survive for just a single morning and by late afternoon, the show is over.  In this way, one plant may produce thousands of  blooms over a single summer - with a fresh, bright start to each day.

 

'Morning Glory – Heavenly Blue'.  Was a plant ever more aptly named?

 

But this is a species with far more going for it than just a beautiful face - it has one or two useful tricks up its trumpet as well.  The story of Ipomoea begins in China, some four thousand years ago.  Here, records show that it was prized for its medicinal uses, particularly for the laxative properties of it seeds, which appear to have been rather effective in unblocking the imperial colon of many an overindulgent Emperor.

 

Now, before you bin the 'Sennacot' and rush out to purchase yourself a packet or two of Morning Glory seeds, you might like to consider another of its medicinal properties, also known in Imperial China.  For Ipomoea it seems, can mess with your brain as well as your bowels.  How? The seeds of a number of Ipomoea  species contain a chemical known as  D-Lysergic acid amide, or LSA.  Sound vaguely familiar?  Well, it appears that the effects as well as the name bear more than a passing resemblance to that old hallucinogenic devil of the Swinging Sixties, LSD.  

 

These psychoactive properties were certainly well known to the Aztecs, whose Shamans used the seeds of Mexican Morning Glory (Ipomoea tricolour)  to enhance their enjoyment during the odd round of mass human sacrifice.  They must have had one hell of a time back then.

 

One of the finer descriptions of the effects of eating one too many Morning Glory seeds, is to be found in the internet annals of that intrepid adventurer into the world of dodgy substances who goes under the fabulous pseudonym of John Jacob Jingleheimer Smith.  Smith, along with his accomplice 'Mr Jones',  leaves us this account of their adventures after swallowing several hundred seeds of  Impomoea purpurea....

 

"Mr Jones soon reported a kinaesthetic hallucination with his legs, which appeared to move through a much greater distance than he intended them to.  Later during a walk, the two subjects soon found themselves lost only a few blocks from their point of origin.  Mr Jones then became flushed in the face and began to cry.  Both subjects displayed an inability to navigate successfully in familiar territory."   

 

Unfortunately, no record appears to exist of the laxative side-effects of the intrepid duos ingestion of several hundred seeds. Shame really since this, coupled with their '...inability to navigate successfully in familiar territory' would surely have provided us with one of the great comedy moments of all time.

 

Purely in the interests of science, I should reveal that I once experienced remarkably similar psychoactive effects during a particularly lengthy tour of Yegen's bars as part of  our New Year celebrations - and all without the aid of LSA!   

 

It was the Japanese, back in the 9th century, who first cultivated Ipomoea for their ornamental value alone, producing a vast range of colours, sizes and habits and laying the foundations of the many different hybrids which crowd the seed racks of our garden centres today.  Shortly after its introduction, this versatile beauty  had swept Japan, where it was known as 'Asagao' or 'Morning Face'.  Incidentally, if by some strange chance you ever find yourself in Jingleheimer's home state of Louisiana, do remember that it is illegal to even grow Ipomoea there, other than for 'ornamental purposes'.

 

The ancient civilisations of Mesoamerica on the other hand, took a more practical approach to the cultivation of Ipomoea.  Over three thousand years before the credit for the discovery of how to turn latex into stretchy rubber went to the American Charles Goodyear, the Olmec people were using the sap of  Ipomoea alba to vulcanise raw latex and produce the world's first bouncing rubber balls.    The name 'Olmec' incidentally, means "rubber people" in ancient Aztec.  Fancy that.

 

The somewhat dubious effects of their seeds apart, certain Ipomoea also provide us with one or two important food crops.  Follow the twining tendrils of Ipomoea batatas underground and you will find a treasure - a long red-brown tuber, which you will no doubt recognise on sale in your local mercado  under its common name of Sweet Potato.  A native of tropical South America, I.batatas was being cultivated by those clever Aztecs long before the birth of European civilisation.  

 

If South-east Asian cuisine is more to your taste, try a little boiled Ipomoea aqautica, or "Swamp Cabbage", a vital ingredient of any good bowl of Mekong Sour Soup, apparently.  Aborigines, on the other hand, exhibit a preference for the tubers of I.costata, the Australian Bush Potato - particularly good when mashed and served with roast loin of kangaroo.

 

But if I may be permitted to indulge myself just a little, my own particular favourite has to be the tuber of Ipomoea jalapa, also known as 'John the Conqueror.'  Why?  Well, it seems that the dried tubers of this worthy vine bear more than a passing resemblance to human testicles and as such, are worn as amulets or sexual charms in certain of the more interesting countries of the Caribbean.  Indeed, such is the power over women which this simple root is said to impart to the wearer, that the great American blues singer Willie Dixon immortalised it in a song which he titled 'My John The Conqueror Root'.  A verse is repeated here for your edification.

 

 

  My pistol may snap, my mojo is frail

  But when I rub my root, my luck will never fail

  When I rub my root, my John the Conqueror Root

  Aww, you know there aint nothin' she can do, Lord

  I rub my John the Conqueror Root.

 

 

Unlike Sweet Potato, those old John the Conqueror Roots have yet to make it onto the vegetable stall of your local mercado - unless you know something I don't (in which case, please grab me a few kilos and contact the editor urgently with details).

 

Well, you still have a few months or so left to enjoy your Andalucian Morning Glory friends before October arrives to spoil the show, so don't miss out.  And meanwhile, do spare a thought for me as I look out through the rain-streaked window at the closest thing to a Morning Glory which Britain can produce - the gripping, iniquitous Bindweed; that pale-faced rampant enemy of so many English gardeners.  At least Andalucia has the blues all summer long - and long may it continue to do so.

 

© 2010 Bob Maddox

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