Lucan. ‘Leamhcán’ in Irish. It derives from the Irish word ‘leamhán’, meaning ‘Elm Tree’. The placename therefore translates as ‘the place of the elm trees’. This is something I’ve known for as long as I can remember. But, it turns out, the translation might not be exactly right.
There is another Irish word that has begun to challenge the traditional translation. The Irish for ‘marshmallow’ is ‘Leamhcán’. This begs the question of whether we’ve had it wrong all of these years and whether some of the newer housing estates, such as Elmwood, should really be called Marshmallow Heights instead.
Now, I need to be clear about something. The ‘Marshmallow’ referred to isn’t the sweet little powdery pillow that tricks you into eating seventy or eighty at a go when all you wanted was one. No. The marshmallow is a plant – the Althaea officinalis – and is native to Europe and North Africa. It has been used in herbalism for millennia. The Egyptians extracted the sap from it and served it as a confection mixed with nuts and honey. In the 19th century, the French figured out that the sap could be whipped and sold as the treat that we’ve come to know today – although modern marshmallows no longer use the plant itself.
So, during one of the hottest weeks that I can ever recall, I have decided to go on a little bit of an adventure. I’ll go out in search of the Lucan Marshmallow plant.
I had read that the plant should be coming into full flower around now and that it was likely to be found in a damp (or ‘marshy’, if you will) place. Using my minimal botanical knowledge, I decided that the most likely place to find it would be along the river Liffey. And so, armed with only my raw determination (and a too-expensive plant identifier app), I set off on my journey.
Before leaving, I take time to google both the Marshmallow and the Elm. I certainly don’t want to confuse the two. One is a small, pinkish-white flowering perennial, the other a large tree. Good. I’m learning. One can be candied and enjoyed. The inner bark of the other can be eaten ‘to stave off starvation’ I learn. I think I know enough about the subtle differences between these two species now to tell them apart.
I begin my Liffey walk along the path that starts near the Lucan scout den. The heat is oppressive. I move through the first section quickly, hoping to make the cool shade of the nearby beech forest. However, the land between the scout den and the forest is teeming with tall pink flowers. Have I found the Marshmallow already? I wonder. But no. I have not. This was the Hairy Willowherb. I learn that it is toxic and can cause convulsions, but is apparently drank as a tea in some parts of Russia. I move on through what is now appearing to be an endless cresting wave of Hairy Willowherbs.
All of the plants in flower today appear to have a pink hue. I’ve always been fascinated that different colours appear to appear at the same time. In March, yellow things bloom. In July, it is the pink things. Very quickly, I identify and disregard a whole host of pink flowering plants. Fireweed. Bush vetch. Blackberry flowers. Flowering nettles. Even something called ‘Enchanter’s Nightshade’. But all fall short of the mark.
I cannot find any reference that the Marshmallow was used locally in confectionary. There is a reference in the Dúchas collection from a Lucan boy who claims it was used as a treatment for sprains.
There is an old cure for sprains that used to be used by people many years ago. There is a certain weed called marshmallow, or “beggar man’s cakes” that grows in wild places. This weed was used as a cure for sprains. When somebody sprains an arm or leg the children of the house if any are sent out to gather this weed. When the weed is got it is put in a small pot and water is poured over it. Then it is let boil for two hours; at the end of that time it is let cool, and the juice is put in a bowl, and the woman of the house gets a piece of white cloth and dips it in the bowl, and then puts the cloth on the sprain and keeps on doing so for sometime until it is cured.”
It seems then that the Marshmallow was a real thing in old Lucan and had a place in our community. This makes me yet more anxious to find it and rekindle the link between the modern community and this ancient plant.
I soon spy something that looks different to the endless tangle of hairy willowherb. Pinkish flowers, stalk consistent with the drawings I had seen online. Had I finally found it? I identify this as Marsh Woundwort – not quite there, but at least it has the word ‘Marsh’ in it.
I continue on, following the St Ed’s path until it trails back into the forest fringing the Liffey, continuing to where the Devil’s Mills appear across the river like the most perfect postcard you have ever seen.
I walk through the freshly cut stubble of the wheatfields closely inspecting the flora growing on the tangled Liffey slopes. A little bit past the mills, I spy something. It seems to be the right height and the flowers appear to be the right colour, but it is across on the North bank of the river. I genuinely cannot tell. This is as far as I had planned to ramble today, however, and it was time to head back.
I decide I will keep score on the way back. Thus far, I have had one possible sighting of a Marshmallow plant. That’s one point to the Leamhcán origin. On the way back I would count the Elm trees and see how abundant they were. If I see only one, then the Marshmallow plant origin myth will look stronger.
About five minutes in to my return hike, I lose count of the number of Elm trees somewhere between twenty and thirty. Looks like we’re on starvation rations and not dessert after all.