The Marvel of the Day – but which one?
The sharp-eyed reader will immediately spot that this close-up photo of lichen on a bright autumn day, has a moth hiding on it in plain sight – a Merveille du Jour. Hands up if you need me to translate the name of this marvellous moth from the French. Its cryptic colouring and pattern has evolved so it is concealed on lichen, usually on the bark of old oak trees. With a wingspan of up to 50mm it is a spectacular moth, most likley to be seen in Autumn. When its eggs hatch in spring the caterpillars feed first on the tree’s buds, then its flowers and eventually its leaves. Another unexpected marvel of this moth’s story is that there appears to be little or no folklore attached to it, apart from this:
The Whispering Moth of Wanshurst Shaw
In the Low Weald, where the land folds gently between clay fields and alder-lined brooks, there once stood a hamlet called Wanshurst—long since vanished, its name lingering only in the shaw that bears it. The people of Wanshurst lived close to the land, tending orchards, coppicing hazel, and listening to the wind for signs of change.
One autumn, the oaks of Wanshurst Shaw began to shed their leaves too early. The hedgerows grew silent, and the marsh tit—once a daily companion—vanished. The villagers feared a curse, whispered to have come from disturbing an ancient boundary stone buried beneath the roots of the oldest oak.
An elder named Maud, known for her knowledge of moths and mosses, recalled a tale her grandmother told: that when the land forgets its balance, the merveille du jour moth will appear—not in flight, but resting, perfectly still, on the bark of the tree that holds the memory of the place.
Maud searched the shaw by moonlight, her lantern dimmed to a glow. On the third night, she found it—green as lichen, veined like the leaf of a dying oak, perched on the very tree that marked the old boundary. She whispered an apology to the land, placed a sprig of meadowsweet at the base, and left without turning back.
By spring, the marsh tits returned. The hedgerows bloomed with blackthorn, and the villagers spoke again of balance—not as superstition, but as stewardship.
To this day, moth recorders in Kent say that if you find a Merveille du Jour in Wanshurst Shaw, you must speak gently to it. For it remembers the land, and it listens.
This is how many of Kent’s moth recorders come across this moth nowadays – packed in an egg box in the bottom of the moth trap they left out overnight to sample the local population.
But, in this case, perhaps the real marvel of the day is the fact that the ‘traditional’ Kentish folk tale printed above was not handed down by word of mouth over centuries of contact with nature, but in a matter of seconds by the AI program on my computer.
A marvel, perhaps, to be wary of.
Ray Morris