NOTES from. the plant kingdom // Himalayan balsam

It's not often that I'm completely clueless when it comes to naming wild plants. Usually, there's at least a nod to a plant family but the overtly blooming Himalayan balsam required the full ID.

Himalayan balsam (Impatiens glandulifera) as I now know this plant to be so named is not a species I feel like I’ve seen that much before. It’s pretty in your face with it’s bright pink, bonnet-shaped flowers and relatively large, veined leaves so it would be hard to miss out on a walk. It certainly caught our attention while strolling through the hills and glades of Somerset but we didn’t have a signal to check what it was while out and about.

Apparently it’s an invasive species, which suggests that there is an abundance of it marching across the British Isles, but delving further into its vital statistics, this bloomer is a lover of riverbanks and ditches so perhaps I just haven’t frequented the moister parts of the country enough to make it a regular acquaintance.

Flowering between July and October, it was first introduced by the Victorians in 1839, quickly escaping the gardens it was designed to ornament to run riot around the fields and marshes nearby. Explosive seedpods and a proclivity to put down roots then gave it an advantage over native wildflowers as the seeds would both germinate in situ and race downstream to colonise other areas too.

It’s now our tallest annual plant growing to heights of 2 metres, which is high enough to make a towering thicket, even if only for a year. The flowers turn into pendulous green seedpods when they are pollinated by insects and bees drawn to its colourful petals and vats of nectar. Great for its visitors but not so great for nearby native wildflowers who must compete with their lesser offerings.

It’s now an offence to plant Himalayan balsam or cause it to grow in the wild. Growing it in gardens is permitted but not advised as it is such a prolific escapee. Opt instead, perhaps for the busy lizzie (Impatiens walleriana), a relative with no such travelling agenda, but with equally bold flowers in shades of pink, red, orange, purple, and white that bloom right through summer and autumn. You may know them from borders and pots in public parks where they are used to brighten the place up during the warmer months. Or if it’s height and exoticism you’re after, opt for a Himalayan honeysuckle (Leycesteria formosa), a vigorous deciduous shrub with pendulous white/dark red flower/bracts that would give Pat Butcher’s earrings a run for their money.

Back to the ornamental jewelweed, poor man’s orchid, stinky-pops, kiss-me-on-the-mountain, policeman’s helmet, and bee bums –as Himalayan balsam is also known – it’s a case of enjoy it while you can before it’s ripped out to make way for plants that better mingle than overrule. Not so easy to keep this one down though – those seeds remain viable for 2 years and can leap as far as 7 metres away. Obviously not what Dr John Forbes Royle had in mind when he first brought this resident of Kashmir/Uttarakhand from thousands of feet up in the Himalayas to British shores.

As Superintendent of the Botanic Gardens, Saharanpur, India, as well as a professor of medicine at King’s College, London, Royle may well have eaten the leaves, flowers, and pods in a curry however, which is still popular in parts of Asia today. The flowers can also be used to make a jam or parfait or to create colourful drinks. Himalayan balsam does contain high levels of minerals and calcium oxalate in raw form, though, so proceed with caution especially if you suffer from arthritis, kidney stones or gout. Also take care collecting pods as this is one plant that doesn’t need any help dispersing its wares.