A day out in the Cambridge University Botanic Garden
Not everything can be achieved with technology alone; it has to be mixed with passion and love. The Cambridge University Botanic Garden is a testament to that
The day started on a disappointing note. Adhip Aditya, a marine biology undergrad, and I had planned a sightseeing tour of Cambridge. It was 29 March. The Student Conference on Conservation Science had just ended the previous day.
As the busy semesters both at the University of St Andrews and the University of Glasgow are not so forgiving, we aimed to make the most of our time in Cambridge by giving ourselves a refresher.
Sadly, it was a bank holiday due to Easter, which we had overlooked. All the museums were closed—the Museum of Zoology, the Museum of Archaeology, and the Fitzwilliam Museum—all run by the University of Cambridge.
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We were worried that our last stop of the day, the town's botanic garden, also run by the university, would also be closed. So much so that we considered visiting the largest WWII-era aviation museum in Duxford instead.
But ultimately, we decided to stay on course. Thankfully, that turned out to be a good decision. The garden was open, making the day complete.
Home to 8,000 plant species
Built on 16 hectares of relatively flat land, the botanic garden is much more than a picturesque scenic place. The garden is an ancient botanic treasure trove, nearly 200 years old.
It was Professor John Stevens Henslow, mentor of Charles Darwin, who, in 1825, created the garden for the University of Cambridge. The initiative was to create a larger arboretum in a suburban area of Cambridge.
Since 1846, the garden has remained open to the public. It boasts an impressive collection of over 8,000 species of plants from around the globe. Currently, the garden is associated with the Department of Plant Sciences and includes nine National Collections.
The Plant Heritage, a registered botanical conservation charity and custodian of these collections in the UK, defines a National Collection as "a registered and documented collection of a group of plants. These can be linked botanically by plant group or perhaps have a shared history or geography." There are over 700 such collections in the UK.
Immediately on entrance, I felt like lightning had struck. Every plant, be it a tiny shrub or a huge tree, was tagged in the garden. The tags came with scientific and common names and a QR code.
No matter how minuscule the plant was, there was a plant tag. Having a mind for field biology, I was amazed by the continuous, intensive effort put into this systematic maintenance.
The glasshouses and more
A row of greenhouses came into view, following a small grove of towering dawn redwoods and primaeval-looking willows by a small body of water. They are designed thematically, showcasing temperate and tropical forests, wetlands, mountainous regions and island vegetation.
My experience mirrored that of a Bangladeshi colleague and student at the University of Cambridge, who commented just a couple of days before my visit, "after I reached here, I felt how heavy the Dhaka air was. The air felt so thin, as if I were breathing nothing."
However, going through one greenhouse after another taught me further subtleties of air thickness.
Based on its thematic collection, each greenhouse was meticulously maintained to provide optimal humidity and temperature. I learned about the slight variation in humidity between tropical forests and wetlands. The island display offered another category.
The New Guinea section felt like I was walking through the rain. The air can be dry in temperate mountains and deserts. Now, I can confirm the desert air is truly dry. The display featuring a variety of cacti from Arizona was the driest.
I could not memorise all the plants I saw there—it would require months, if not years. I remember the fresh bloom of the bird of paradise, the wild tulips, a rose with a cinnamon scent, our national fruit, sugarcane, large cacti with porcupine-like quills, etc.
In one of the island zones, there was a small section with plants naturally grown in volcanic rocks. It was a marvel to see how the experts created a diorama-like mini-environment, providing the necessary requirements for the plants to thrive.
This goes for every other plant in the greenhouse. They were grown there because the UK temperature is not ideal for them.
But maintaining a huge collection and keeping up with every little detail is truly remarkable. One additional thing I also noticed was that in the glasshouse, a very strict regime is being maintained to deter any pest attack. The technique involved 100% natural solutions.
Initially, I noticed some small sachets with a logo saying dragonfli.co.uk. Later, they made sense, so I looked them up on Google for more info. It turns out this company provides smart, natural solutions for every pest.
My first carnivorous plants
All the glasshouses were within a larger enclosure. Immediately after entering the shade, I noticed foot-long, strand-like growths on a tub to my left. These single-stalked plants widened towards the tip, forming a trumpet-like shape with an opening and a lid on top.
The whole top formation looked like a miniature cobra with a flared head. These were Sarracenia or American pitcher plants. The funnels are used to lure insects.
Proceeding further, in the tropical section with the right humidity levels, I noticed two different species of Asian pitcher plants, one with green pitcher traps and the other with rose-red ones. Asian pitcher plants produce true pitcher traps, not funnel-like ones. They are only found in the Indian Subcontinent and Southeast Asia.
Legends exist about pitcher plants in the forests of Bangladesh. Perhaps they were there in the past. Pitcher plants are habitat specialists, requiring nutrient-poor soil in bog- or pit-like conditions within a tropical wet forest. Our forests have been altered, and the pitcher plants are gone.
The Jade Vine
When we visit new places, certain experiences remain etched in our memory forever. For me, in this case, it was the Jade vine. The tropical plant's shade was the largest of all [those I saw]. It makes sense, as the tropics are the richest in every life form and habitually draw all sorts of interest.
I was taking a left turn in the alley. The plants were almost blocking the path and the sun, giving off a forest-like vibe.
Then I saw the flowers first. They bloomed in grape-like clusters, each flower with tiger-claw-shaped petals that were inverted upwards. The most fascinating aspect was the colour. It was a light jade, a mixture of turquoise green and teal—a combination beyond my imagination in a natural flower.
The plant was a woody vine, and a short passage was dedicated to it within the garden. Under the shade and broken light, the blooms were an absolute sight to behold. Jade vines are endemic to the mountain forests of the Philippines.
The Amazon moonflower
I didn't see the Amazon moonflower there. But a plaque mentioned its speciality. On the next immediate turn after the passage adorned with jade vines, it said, "The first-ever bloom in the UK happened here in 2021." Stoked with jade vines, and as there was no moon flower in bloom, I did not pay attention to it.
Only now, while writing, did I look it up. The image I found online appeared very similar to the Queen-of-the-Night bloom. Indeed, they are both biologically epiphytic cacti—blooming at night and for one night only. Once again, I almost missed out! Then, Wikipedia made my jaw drop.
Imagine a thick, rough skin resembling sandpaper or a slug, with bristled cactus-like spines along the edges, wrapped around a tree trunk. Well, that's a moonflower plant (only if I knew back then!). They grow in the flooded forests of the Amazon.
Neither plant is rare. In fact, Jade vines are easy to grow. But moonflowers are very hard to keep alive in gardens. Bangladesh's climate seems perfect for attempting the growth of both plants. I would love to see someone try.
Our visit didn't end at the glasshouse. We spent around three hours there. The rest of the garden was beautifully dedicated to trees, shrubs, and fens native to the UK and Europe. The birds were accustomed to human presence and quite comfortable with our attempts at photography.
I won't deny that the public gardens in Bangladesh popped into my memory. Not everything can be achieved with technology alone; it has to be mixed with passion and love. The Cambridge University Botanic Garden is a testament to that.
