How The Butterfly Got Her Name - Katherine Roberts
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| photo by WanderingMogwai (wikipedia, CC) |
It's butterfly season in the UK. Yes, I know... torrential rain as usual! But on sunny days they will be back on the butterfly bushes in search of food. I've always preferred to call them flutterbys, which makes more sense when you watch one flutter past - or should that be flutterbies? Never mind. It is apparently a myth that 'flutterby' was the original name for a butterfly! But why 'butterfly' as a common name?
One explanation could be that when Dutch scientists were studying butterflies in the early days they thought the yellow droppings looked like butter, so they named the insects 'butterfly'. In old Dutch, that's apparently what it means...boterschijte... butter-pooer. Another explanation knocking around the internet is that they were named after the colour of their wings, which in some species is buttery-yellow, although I think that's unlikely since there are plenty of other colours more commonly seen? I prefer the old folk belief that witches could turn themselves into butterflies and fly off in search of food, especially butter... and it's true that butterflies enjoy a bit of butter if you leave it out for them (or maybe for the witches?), which sounds like one of those circular arguments when nobody really knows the answer. If we're being really scientific, of course, they are Lepidoptera, which includes moths and comprises around 180,000 species worldwide. But before they were butterflies, they were fat squishy caterpillars confined to crawling about on leaves and munching like mad in the race to form a pupa, metamorphose and eventually fly.
One explanation could be that when Dutch scientists were studying butterflies in the early days they thought the yellow droppings looked like butter, so they named the insects 'butterfly'. In old Dutch, that's apparently what it means...boterschijte... butter-pooer. Another explanation knocking around the internet is that they were named after the colour of their wings, which in some species is buttery-yellow, although I think that's unlikely since there are plenty of other colours more commonly seen? I prefer the old folk belief that witches could turn themselves into butterflies and fly off in search of food, especially butter... and it's true that butterflies enjoy a bit of butter if you leave it out for them (or maybe for the witches?), which sounds like one of those circular arguments when nobody really knows the answer. If we're being really scientific, of course, they are Lepidoptera, which includes moths and comprises around 180,000 species worldwide. But before they were butterflies, they were fat squishy caterpillars confined to crawling about on leaves and munching like mad in the race to form a pupa, metamorphose and eventually fly.
Metamorphosis has fascinated me for a long time. How exactly does a caterpillar cope with spinning its own tomb in the form of a pupa, breaking down inside it into some sort of goo, then reforming as a butterfly? Does it retain any memory of its previous life? Are the changes painful? Or does it emerge a brand new baby creature, fresh to the world, with the instinctive knowledge of flight? Because surely flying is not something a caterpillar knows much about? I'm sure there must be some scientific investigations into this miraculous transformation, but I am a fantasy author with some younger readers so, just for a bit of fun, here is a short tale to explain the mystery.
When Butterfly emerged from her pupa, she had no idea what sort of creature she was.
"I have wings!" she said to no-one in particular. "Rather sticky ones, though..." But they soon felt better when she shook off the last of her pupa and spread them out to dry in the sunshine. "How strange!" she exclaimed, admiring the pattern. "Someone has painted me while I slept!"
A sparrow flew past, chirping loudly, and she fluttered up to join it at the bird feeder. "Hello! please can you tell me what I am?"
The sparrow chirpy-chirped, along with its entire family, which made her head hurt. "If you have wings, then you must be a bird, obviously. But we're hungry today and can't spare any food for the likes of you!" And he proceeded to spray her with seeds until she fluttered off.
She landed on a leaf and spread her wings to recover. "Phew, what noisy neighbours!" she decided. "I can't possibly be a bird. I don't chirp like that when I'm hungry." And she was rather hungry, having been sealed inside her pupa for - how long exactly? - she didn't know. But it didn't matter, because she had more important things to think about, such as the weirdly long tongue that had just uncoiled from her mouth.
"Now, how am I supposed to eat with this?" she wondered, coiling and uncoiling it again. Then she saw a lovely purple flower waving to her, and fluttered over to investigate.
"Hi! I'm Buddleia!" said the flowering bush. "You can call me Bud. Lots of little honeypots here, mostly full, just help yourself."
Butterfly's tongue proved very useful for sucking out the sweet nectar from Bud's purple flowers, and she soon felt much stronger. "Thank you very much," she said. "That was delicious. Can you tell me what I am, please?"
"Lots of you around this year," said Bud. "And you've got a long tendril coming from your mouth, so maybe you're some kind of vine? Us plants use them to cling to fences and climb trees... not me, though! I'm strong enough to stand on my own roots."
"A vine? But why do I need to cling to fences and climb trees if I have wings?" Butterfly mused. "I can simply fly up there!" And she coiled up her tongue and flew off.
"You goin' to lay them there, then?" grunted a deep voice. "I wouldn't, if I were you!"
She looked up into a gnarled face with a hairy chin and shiny red nose, topped off with a straw hat. This creature stood on two legs, but leaned heavily on the handle of a spade.
"Lay what?" whispered Butterfly, although she could already feel something coming out and tried desperately to hold them back. "My eggs!" she thought. "My precious eggs! I must leave them somewhere safer."
"S-sorry, sir," she stammered. "I must have fallen asleep... I was just on my way."
"Hmmm, polite little thing, aren't you?" The gnarled face broke into a smile. "Well, go on then - just as long as they're not hatching in my veggie patch, I don't begrudge your children a few leaves. Head on down to the wild patch, I would, some nice nasturtium leaves over there."
"Er... thank you, sir," said Butterfly, taking off in relief because his spade had looked sharp. But first, she had to ask. "Um, sir?" she asked, landing on the brim of his hat. "Do you know what I am?"
"Of course I know!" he replied. "You're a Cabbage White. Wake up and find holes in all me cabbages, if I'm not careful, once you little witches get in there."
"Sparrow. Vine. Prey. Dancer-of-the-Air... and now some kind of cabbage?" She flew off, disappointed, spraying his hat with a few unintended eggs as she went. But she cheered up when she found the perfect plant in a quiet corner of the wild garden and laid the rest of her eggs under it, firmly attached to a nasturtium leaf where they would be safe.
"Does it matter what I am?" she said to a passing bee, not expecting an answer. "It's summer, and my children will hatch to be pretty little winged creatures, just like me."
The bee buzzed in amusement. "You wish!"
"What do you mean?" she asked.
"No time to explain, busy busy busy!" said the bee, and buzzed off.
"Well, at least I know I'm not a bee," she said, feeling quite pleased with herself. "I'm not nearly that busy."
Her eggs laid, she glided over another fence into the next garden, where she found two small children playing on the lawn. "Flutterby!" one squealed, pointing at her in excitement.
"Yes, darling," said their mother. "Another white one! Shall we count it for the Big Butterfly Count?"
"I'm a flutterby butterfly, and I count!" said Butterfly happily, as she fluttered off into the sunset.
A few days later, her children were born under their leaf, never knowing their mother's name. Which, if you think about it, is probably just as well, because when you're a wriggly little caterpillar it's quite scary to think about metamorphosis and flying, to say nothing of all that nonsense you read about in fairytales where butterflies can talk and might be witches in disguise.
How The Butterfly Got Her Name
(c) Katherine Roberts, 2024
"I have wings!" she said to no-one in particular. "Rather sticky ones, though..." But they soon felt better when she shook off the last of her pupa and spread them out to dry in the sunshine. "How strange!" she exclaimed, admiring the pattern. "Someone has painted me while I slept!"
A sparrow flew past, chirping loudly, and she fluttered up to join it at the bird feeder. "Hello! please can you tell me what I am?"
The sparrow chirpy-chirped, along with its entire family, which made her head hurt. "If you have wings, then you must be a bird, obviously. But we're hungry today and can't spare any food for the likes of you!" And he proceeded to spray her with seeds until she fluttered off.
She landed on a leaf and spread her wings to recover. "Phew, what noisy neighbours!" she decided. "I can't possibly be a bird. I don't chirp like that when I'm hungry." And she was rather hungry, having been sealed inside her pupa for - how long exactly? - she didn't know. But it didn't matter, because she had more important things to think about, such as the weirdly long tongue that had just uncoiled from her mouth.
"Now, how am I supposed to eat with this?" she wondered, coiling and uncoiling it again. Then she saw a lovely purple flower waving to her, and fluttered over to investigate.
"Hi! I'm Buddleia!" said the flowering bush. "You can call me Bud. Lots of little honeypots here, mostly full, just help yourself."
Butterfly's tongue proved very useful for sucking out the sweet nectar from Bud's purple flowers, and she soon felt much stronger. "Thank you very much," she said. "That was delicious. Can you tell me what I am, please?"
"Lots of you around this year," said Bud. "And you've got a long tendril coming from your mouth, so maybe you're some kind of vine? Us plants use them to cling to fences and climb trees... not me, though! I'm strong enough to stand on my own roots."
"A vine? But why do I need to cling to fences and climb trees if I have wings?" Butterfly mused. "I can simply fly up there!" And she coiled up her tongue and flew off.
On top of the fence, she closed her wings to rest for a while because Bud's flowers were rich and she'd eaten too much.
"Wouldn't sit there!" a voice growled. "Cat coming!"
Butterfly started awake and found herself staring into two narrow green eyes. A black furry body loomed behind, and a stiff whisker poked her folded wingtips. "Ouch!" she said, spreading her wings again in alarm.
The cat pounced, excited by her fluttering, but she escaped the swiping paw and dodged the furry tail as the cat spun around on the fence and lost its balance. She couldn't help a giggle as it dug its claws into the wood to avoid falling.
From a safe distance, she called, "Do you know what I am?"
"Silly fluttery little thing!" hissed the cat, swiping another paw in her direction. "Of course I know what you are! You're prey. Come back down here! First I'll play with you a bit, then I'll gobble you up for breakfast."
"No you won't," said Butterfly, flying higher. "I can't be prey, because you can't catch me!" And she left the cat's territory in search of a safer (and quieter) neighbourhood.
After many more visits to flowers, all tasting sweet and slightly different, she spotted another fluttering creature flying towards her. "Another me!" she exclaimed. "Oh, surely this time I'll find out what I am!" And she flew as close as she dared, until they danced together in the air.
"What am I?" she called breathlessly to her new friend.
"Beautiful!" he replied. "Come closer, I won't hurt you."
"I mean, what are you? What are we?"
"We're Dancers-of-the-Air," said her new friend, gripping her tightly so that they tumbled over and over into a cabbage patch. "Isn't this fun? But we don't have long, so we'd better get on with it."
"It?" she asked, slightly worried he meant to gobble her up afterwards, like the cat had threatened to. But before she could say anything else, 'it' was over, and her new friend was flying off in search of another dancing partner.
"Ah well," she thought. "Maybe he didn't know, either."
She felt a bit strange after their dance, so she folded her wings to recover and dozed off in the sunshine.
"Wouldn't sit there!" a voice growled. "Cat coming!"
Butterfly started awake and found herself staring into two narrow green eyes. A black furry body loomed behind, and a stiff whisker poked her folded wingtips. "Ouch!" she said, spreading her wings again in alarm.
The cat pounced, excited by her fluttering, but she escaped the swiping paw and dodged the furry tail as the cat spun around on the fence and lost its balance. She couldn't help a giggle as it dug its claws into the wood to avoid falling.
From a safe distance, she called, "Do you know what I am?"
"Silly fluttery little thing!" hissed the cat, swiping another paw in her direction. "Of course I know what you are! You're prey. Come back down here! First I'll play with you a bit, then I'll gobble you up for breakfast."
"No you won't," said Butterfly, flying higher. "I can't be prey, because you can't catch me!" And she left the cat's territory in search of a safer (and quieter) neighbourhood.
After many more visits to flowers, all tasting sweet and slightly different, she spotted another fluttering creature flying towards her. "Another me!" she exclaimed. "Oh, surely this time I'll find out what I am!" And she flew as close as she dared, until they danced together in the air.
"What am I?" she called breathlessly to her new friend.
"Beautiful!" he replied. "Come closer, I won't hurt you."
"I mean, what are you? What are we?"
"We're Dancers-of-the-Air," said her new friend, gripping her tightly so that they tumbled over and over into a cabbage patch. "Isn't this fun? But we don't have long, so we'd better get on with it."
"It?" she asked, slightly worried he meant to gobble her up afterwards, like the cat had threatened to. But before she could say anything else, 'it' was over, and her new friend was flying off in search of another dancing partner.
"Ah well," she thought. "Maybe he didn't know, either."
She felt a bit strange after their dance, so she folded her wings to recover and dozed off in the sunshine.
"You goin' to lay them there, then?" grunted a deep voice. "I wouldn't, if I were you!"
She looked up into a gnarled face with a hairy chin and shiny red nose, topped off with a straw hat. This creature stood on two legs, but leaned heavily on the handle of a spade.
"Lay what?" whispered Butterfly, although she could already feel something coming out and tried desperately to hold them back. "My eggs!" she thought. "My precious eggs! I must leave them somewhere safer."
"S-sorry, sir," she stammered. "I must have fallen asleep... I was just on my way."
"Hmmm, polite little thing, aren't you?" The gnarled face broke into a smile. "Well, go on then - just as long as they're not hatching in my veggie patch, I don't begrudge your children a few leaves. Head on down to the wild patch, I would, some nice nasturtium leaves over there."
"Er... thank you, sir," said Butterfly, taking off in relief because his spade had looked sharp. But first, she had to ask. "Um, sir?" she asked, landing on the brim of his hat. "Do you know what I am?"
"Of course I know!" he replied. "You're a Cabbage White. Wake up and find holes in all me cabbages, if I'm not careful, once you little witches get in there."
"Sparrow. Vine. Prey. Dancer-of-the-Air... and now some kind of cabbage?" She flew off, disappointed, spraying his hat with a few unintended eggs as she went. But she cheered up when she found the perfect plant in a quiet corner of the wild garden and laid the rest of her eggs under it, firmly attached to a nasturtium leaf where they would be safe.
"Does it matter what I am?" she said to a passing bee, not expecting an answer. "It's summer, and my children will hatch to be pretty little winged creatures, just like me."
The bee buzzed in amusement. "You wish!"
"What do you mean?" she asked.
"No time to explain, busy busy busy!" said the bee, and buzzed off.
"Well, at least I know I'm not a bee," she said, feeling quite pleased with herself. "I'm not nearly that busy."
Her eggs laid, she glided over another fence into the next garden, where she found two small children playing on the lawn. "Flutterby!" one squealed, pointing at her in excitement.
"Yes, darling," said their mother. "Another white one! Shall we count it for the Big Butterfly Count?"
"I'm a flutterby butterfly, and I count!" said Butterfly happily, as she fluttered off into the sunset.
A few days later, her children were born under their leaf, never knowing their mother's name. Which, if you think about it, is probably just as well, because when you're a wriggly little caterpillar it's quite scary to think about metamorphosis and flying, to say nothing of all that nonsense you read about in fairytales where butterflies can talk and might be witches in disguise.
It's not too late to take part in the 2024 Big Butterfly Count! Download your butterfly chart now and help make a few more flutterbies happy :-) Counts to be completed by 4th August 2024.
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Katherine Roberts won the Branford Boase Award for her debut novel 'Song Quest'.
There is a character called Butterfly in the sequel to her fantasy novel 'Spellfall', which is now available as an audiobook from Apple if you would like to catch up with Natalie and her friends in Earthaven.
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| SPELLFALL audiobook |
Visit Katherine's website for details of all her books.
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