Nature’s Acre: An Irish Garden Memoir of Making a Place Where Life Grows, Ciarán De Buitléar (self-published, 2025) ISBN: 978-1919392813 €11.99 paperback, £2.99 e-book. Continue reading
All posts by Chris Gibson
The Wild Side of Beth Chatto Gardens: March goes out like a lamb…
It was the last day of the month, and the day dawned mizzly. When I arrived in the Gardens, it had stopped drifting down from the cloud, but moisture had congealed on every surface, mercurial drops turning every leaf into a work of art.
As the air dried out so the spring flowers perked up; only two weeks since my previous visit, but the whole floral palette had changed. Spring happens so quickly when the weather allows, a whole unfurling package of distinct microseasons, just a few days each.
Two plants for me were particularly noteworthy. The dramatic parasitic Purple Toothwort had erupted next to the Willow Room, and several of the damper borders were laced with a lime filigree of Town-hall-clock. One of my favourite unassuming native woodland plants, where else can it be seen bringing the sense of wildwood into our daily lives?
Birds were at their spring-singing best, with the first Blackcap joining the many Chiffchaffs, and up to half-a-dozen vocal males of both Chaffinch and Greenfinch. And in complete contrast, small groups of both Grey-lag Geese and Egyptian Geese flew over squawking.
After the dampening, it took the insects a while to become active, but the still warmth coaxed a few out. Two plants are the superstar attractors at this moment. Firstly, there is Skimmia, each plant producing a pool of sublime scent in the still, moist air, attractive to us, but also crucially also to pollinators, especially bumblebees and blowflies.
And then Euphorbia! So many different species and cultivars now in flower. All recognisably spurges, with their unique inflorescence structure known as a cyathium…
… but each with a different suite of shapes and colour of the obvious nectar glands.
And they really pull in the insects of all sorts, open inflorescences with lots of pollen and masses of nectar that are now doing the heavy lifting of feeding our insects. There were ladybirds everywhere…
… soggy solitary bees …
… and flies of all sorts, including several hoverflies, including a pair of Platycheirus: P. albimanus and P. scutatus.
For me Euphorbia is one of the most valuable, but overlooked, genera for insects in the garden, with one or more forms flowering almost throughout the year. Is ‘Euphorbiophile’ a real word? If so, I am one of them!
Along the Great Ouse: St Ives, Huntingdon & Godmanchester
Sadly it was a bit of a return to winter for our March short break in St Ives (the Cambridgeshire one!), staying at the very comfortable and warm coaching inn, the Golden Lion. Very comfortably priced as well: taking advantage of a Black Friday deal last November, we got two nights’ for the two of us B&B for the princely sum of just £107.50! We do like the Coaching Inn group of hotels, and especially when you can get deals like that…
The wind may have been spearing like darts of ice across the Fens, but the trip got off to a good start with our first experience of the Cambridge Guided Busway. Yes it’s a bus, which means it is free for us, but it runs to time on dedicated routes, including a former railway line that runs through the wetland complex of Fen Drayton Lakes.
A pretty small settlement, St Ives felt very different to what we had expected, more affluent than the insular caricature of so many places in the Fens. Flowing round the town is the Great Ouse, a river we last saw at King’s Lynn, some 80km downstream, in December 2025. And the similarities between the two towns were marked, in terms of the riverfront architecture influenced by that of the near-continent. Although now above the tidal limit, St Ives was also an important port in historic times.
A centrepiece feature is the ancient stone bridge, dating to about 1420, with a chapel incorporated mid-span. The chapel now seems a bit bare and forlorn, especially given some of its other former uses as a private dwelling and a hostelry.
The bridge and the adjacent wharfside are made of lovely honey-coloured oolitic limestone, just about as local a building stone as is possible here in the Fens: it was quarried from Barnack, just north of Peterborough, about 40km away and presumably transported overland as the Middle Level Navigation that links the Nene and Great Ouse had not then been created.
The bridge was partially destroyed for defensive reasons during the Civil War by Parliamentary forces under Cromwell (someone who will feature throughout this blog), the two southern arches replaced by drawbridges. When repaired several decades later, bridge-building techniques had evolved such the the new arches were round, rather than the gently pointed original Gothic ones. Nowadays, the bridge is traffic-free and a delight to potter over, and on to the 19th century causeway on a viaduct with 55 low arches across the water meadows.
One house next to the bridge is particularly fine and caught our attention, Jacobean in style with a Dutch gable, and polychrome brick and ‘diapering’ (I have learned something!), decorative brickwork with repeated geometric patterns. But its listing makes no reference to any use than as a domestic dwelling: perhaps it was built by a brickmaker (there were many in these parts, given the lack of local building stone) as a permanent advertising hoarding?
As soon as we disembarked the bus at the bus station, my eyes alit on interesting plants, Rue-leaved Saxifrage and Common Whitlow-grass in the paving cracks. Although common enough nationally, I was surprised to see them given what I assumed would be a marshland town.
But as we walked around we came across examples of genuine old stonework, where one would expect to find such plants, particularly around the remains of the Priory founded in 1017 when the settlement was known as Slepe. These walls are made of the same limestone as the bridge, but rubble rather than dressed blocks.
Then an amble around the rest of the old town proved that St Ives has much to offer, including a statue commemorating Oliver Cromwell:
Next day we turned our attention to Huntingdon, birthplace of Cromwell, but surprisingly seeming to lack the statuary of St Ives. It does have an interesting little museum that focuses upon his life and times, its exhibits including the recently acquired Cromwell’s watch.
When I asked the question ‘Cromwell – hero or villain?’ the helpful museum attendant said very appositely ‘It depends whether or not you are Irish!’. Cromwell is clearly a Marmite-man, hence the fact that Huntingdon it seems didn’t want a celebratory statue, so St Ives stepped into the breach. Our monarchy has provided many reasons to justify its abolition – in more recent times one just has to consider the Royals’ flirting with fascism in the ’30s and young girls in the noughties – but only Oliver Cromwell achieved it, in response to the attempted power-grab of Charles 1, seeking a return to absolute monarchy.
But history judges those in power by their failures, not successes: just ask Tony Blair… And Cromwell’s way of dealing with the ‘Irish problem’ was nothing short of Puritanical genocide: his purported religious tolerance extended only to the tolerance of other forms of Protestantism!
And in a classic demonstration of the fact that ‘Power Corrupts’ (nothing changes!), Cromwell’s end came about in no small part from a rebellion in his own ranks, the Levellers’ concerns that the democracy they had been promised was not coming. It is a sad indictment of the hold that those who ‘have’ on society that the rebels’ demands in 1646 were pretty similar to the demands of those massacred at Peterloo in 1819, the Chartists around 1850 and those of the Suffragettes at the start of the 20th century.
But I digress! Museums should make you think (as we found at Manchester [Peterloo] and Newport [Chartists] respectively), and this one certainly did. But it also provided us with welcome shelter as the day was turning into one of very sharp showers, including some heavy hailstorms:
With the weather changing rapidly throughout the day as the showers sped over, it was clearly one of those days to stay within easy reach of places of shelter: museums, churches and pubs! The two churches were St Mary’s, closed, but with Rue-leaved Saxifrage on the older graves…
… and All Saints’, very much open to all and providing a vital town centre community function for those in need. Both churches were low-rise, at least compared with the numerous besteepled ones we saw elsewhere, but why? It may come from a residual puritanical streak, or something as prosaic as the underlying ground conditions being insufficiently stable to support a tall steeple.
And so onto the pubs, again two in particular. We do like a galleried coaching inn (see the George in London and the New Inn in Gloucester from our previous trips), and the George in Huntingdon was in similarly pretty good condition, albeit not with an atmosphere that encouraged us to stay…
The pub we did decide to stay and enjoy was Sandford House, a fine Wetherspoons conversion of a former chapel, post office and private residence of Charles Sandford Windover, a major Victorian carriage-builder in the area. Given that Huntingdon lies on the old Great North Road, midway between York and London, it seems a very appropriate place to have both carriage builders’ and coaching inns.
And in Sandford House, Jude was thrilled to find the luxurious opulence of the ladies’ loos!
Other historic buildings abounded in the heart of the town….
… but one in particular attracted our attention, while we were waiting at a bus stop. Thanks to the magic of Google Lens, it was identified as the home of William Cowper, which sent us down another investigative rabbit-hole over a glass or two the following evening!
William Cowper was a troubled and, ultimately, tragic poet, hymn writer and Abolitionist in the 18th century, who was repeatedly institutionalised for ‘insanity’ through his life. Being what some might mockingly refer to as a ‘confirmed bachelor’, his rejection of both heteronormative and homonormative traits clearly created (or maybe derived from?) internal emotional tension. And his most famous legacy, the words ‘God moves in mysterious ways’ assume a tragic role as his attempt to rationalise these conflicts.
Huntingdon also has a fine stone bridge over the River Great Ouse, this one dating back to 1332, a century or so older than that at St Ives, reflecting the convergence of several historic roads and trading routes on this stretch of river.
Down by the river, the sun came out warmly, illuminating some early-flowering Greater Celandine, and banks of White Comfrey, the latter being visited by an avidly feeding female Hairy-footed Flower-bee being closely attended by a couple of hopeful suitors.
Unfortunately this bridge is not car-free, but it is bypassed by a footbridge. So across we went and found ourselves in Godmanchester (apparently still ‘Gumster’ to some older residents); on that side of the bridge lies an impressive (converted) mill building, and a small group of listed cottages around Bridge Place.
We took a bus into the town centre but walked back, accompanied by Red Kites overhead, when we realised how close the two towns are! Another church, St Mary the Virgin, this one with a spire, albeit one that is hollow and letting light through, no doubt to keep weight down. And lacking almost any trace of interior ornament, although the exterior gargoyles are fearsome!
The riverside was a timeless view of middle England, complete with ‘Chinese Bridge’…
… and an eel-pass to provide Eels with a chance to surmount human obstacles in the tamed river on their return from the Sargasso Sea. The lock walls formed a natural damp garden with both Hemlock Water-dropwort and Hart’s-tongue Fern.
Our third and final day dawned with another about-face weatherwise. Crystal blue skies, and the wind while still with a northern chill had dropped to a gentle breeze, such that inl the slightest shelter the burgeoning spring warmth made for a very pleasant day. Even Oliver seemed very pleased with himself, as the Free Church spire speared into the blue:
First we walked upriver, along the Waits, another former wharfage. The Norris Museum was well worth a look, and just across the road there was a very handsome building, the Methodist Hall. In sunlight, the ferruginous rocks from which it is built were particularly beautiful. These are carrstone, another fairly local stone, quarried from the King’s Lynn area; these very rocks reputedly constitute the last bargeload of rock brought to this wharf at the very start of the 20th century.
Carrstone is the basal layer of the cliffs at Hunstanton, an iron-rich sandstone dating from just before the Cretaceous chalk seas, and particularly suited for building given that its surface hardens considerably on weathering.
In the river at this point lies Holt Island nature reserve, although we were unable to access it due to flooding. But the song of a myriad Chiffchaffs drifted across the Backwater, over the heads of Mallards, Coots and Moorhens all in various stages of friskiness, and a melanic Grey Squirrel fed unconcernedly on the boardwalk.
On the riverbank, All Saints Church with its imposing steeple made for very attractive views:
But the best sighting of our trip came from looking down into the still waters: a shoal of fishes like no other, thousands upon thousands of Roach, up to about 15cm long, weaving around like a forest of waterweed. And then erupting in huge murmurations, spooked by a couple of Mallards swimming harmlessly over, creating an audible swish and stirring up a protective shroud of bottom-silt.
Finally it was back to see the old bridge in good light. Walking over, there were lots of swans and ducks…
… but then walking back twenty minutes later the Sand Martins had arrived. Half-a-dozen or more, presumably just in from Africa, and within another ten minutes they were busy investigating the drainage pipes coming out of the bridge as potential nest sites.
The wind had dropped, the sun was hot, and all was well with Spring!
The far out west (of East Anglia!) – Ashdon & Bartlow
The far north-west of Essex has long been a bit of a mystery to me, so it was good last week when the chance arose to explore awhile before giving a talk to the Ashdon Gardening Club. Barely 15km from the hi-tech heart of the country, Cambridge, Ashdon does feel very out of the way. Nestled by the river Granta, and seemingly without any mobile signal, it is enveloped in the chalkscape of the greater Chilterns. The chalk heights reach their Essex peak at Chrishall (147m) west of the M11, but rolling hills clad in chalky boulder clay extend the foothills eastwards.
On the hill high above the town is a fine windmill, reached after a bit of a nervous drive a few hundred metres up a single track road with bends and high hedges. But least there is a carpark at the top!
Ashdon Windmill, recently restored to working order by the local community, was built in 1757 and operated commercially until 1912, after which it went through several cycles of dereliction and repair.
On the windswept peak (at just over 100 metres altitude) is obviously a good place for a windmill, and also to get a feel for the well-wooded, farmed landscape, the fields often featuring Fallow Deer.
Back down in the village, the church was worth a visit, in a fine setting with the historic Vicarage and Guildhall, now well away from the heart of the village, perhaps a shift in response to the Black Death.
Then it was up the road a short way to the village of Bartlow. Now entirely within the county of Cambridgeshire, until a boundary review last century the land to the south of the River Granta was the last outpost of Essex. Indeed, about five kilometres to the east, I noticed that the three counties of Essex, Cambridgeshire and Suffolk converge, and wondered briefly if it would worth hunting the join. Then I looked at the satellite photo, showing it among a slew of arable fields, and had second thoughts. After all, having straddled the Equator and the Greenwich meridian, I realise that artificial lines have no lasting meaning!
Bartlow Church was also worth a visit, although fairly unremarkable inside; it is one of just two Cambridgeshire churches with round towers. And that tower is the oldest part of current church, dating back to perhaps the late 11th century.
In the afternoon heat, the churchyard was buzzing with life. Patches of Red Dead-nettles, Primroses and Sweet Violets were in full bloom, attracting Peacock butterflies, while Brimstones and Dark-edged Beeflies were everywhere, and Nursery-web Spiders were out basking on many a leaf.
The Primrose patches included one plant with slightly darker flowers and flowers raised on a common stalk. That might suggest Oxlip, perhaps the most iconic plant of the borderlands of Cambridgeshire, Suffolk and Essex, but it wasn’t quite right. From closer examination it appeared to be one of the ‘False Oxlip’ Primula hybrids, most likely Primrose x Cowslip.
Then it was south across the Granta into ‘old Essex’, over the old railway line (sadly closed as recently as 1967) until the distinctive looming shapes of the Bartlow Hills hove into view. A series of three large Roman tumuli, these are the visitable part of a group of seven earthworks, of which the remainder have been much reduced in height.
For a long time erroneously associated with King Cnut and the dead from the Battle of Assandun in 1016, subsequent excavation has demonstrated them to be the grave-mounds from a wealthy family of the 1st or 2nd century AD. Apparently all manner of artefacts were recovered, including large wooden chests, decorated vessels in bronze, glass and pottery and an iron folding chair, most of which were lost in a fire at Bartlow Hall.
The tallest mound, at 15 metres in height, is claimed as the largest Roman barrow north of the Alps, and well worth the slog up the steps. And following me up was a very special insect, a male Black Oil-beetle Meloe proscarabaeus. In Essex we know this only from a few sea walls and sand dunes, and on the NBN map it appears this is its only Cambridgeshire site, apart from a couple of spots on the edge of the Fens.
From the top you can peer down into modern Essex, and contemplate the changes over time. For me as a botanist, that includes the losses of our native plants. Bartlow Hills is justly famed as the only Essex locality for the beautiful Pasqueflower, apparently just now coming into flower on time (‘Pasque’ in Old French = ‘Easter’) in its heartlands. Sadly, however no longer on Bartlow Hills: it was last seen there around the start of the 20th century, just at the time the land on which the hills stand was reassigned to Cambridgeshire.
The Wild Side of Beth Chatto Gardens: Spring is unleashed…!
There comes a time every spring when one suddenly realises that whatever the vagaries of the British weather, spring is here to stay. The tipping point is sometimes as early as the start of March, but in other years it can be a good month later. In 2026 it seems to have come right in the middle of those extremes.
While the first two weeks of March saw a few glimmers of warmth, the overall impression was of cool days, sometimes breezy, damp (if not as downright wet as the preceding winter) and the occasional snatch of welcome sun. When Jude and I visited in the first week, it was misty and grey all day, rather chilly, and mist turning to fog in the afternoon. So we weren’t really expecting to see much in the way of insect life, and most of what we did find – masses of Seven-spot Ladybirds – were well hunkered-down or wrapped in a fur coat like this Common Earwig…
Of course Jude with her incredibly acute close vision also found some noteworthy stuff, including two colour-forms of Ten-spot Ladybird. Although this is one of the commoner British species, remarkably it seems to be the first time it has been found in the garden, at least according to our as yet incomplete biolisting. The two-spotted form was sharing a cosy niche with an Acorn Weevil and a spider.
Also new for the records, certainly overlooked in the past, was the moss Bryum capillare, its spore capsules standing bright and proud in the gloom.
And the same comments apply to the first record from the garden of a Yew gall caused by the fly Taxomyia taxi. This may be present wherever there is Yew, in gardens, parks and the wild, but it seems always to be under-recorded: the Essex Field Club map has only two spots on it.
Almost apologetically in the mirk the really special spring flowers like species daffodils and tulips were starting to appear. And Chiffchaffs were singing, probably newly in from their Mediterranean wintering sites, carried here a little prematurely by the Sahara-dust-laden winds at the end of February.
But two weeks later it was a very different picture. A couple of warm sunny days saw spring unleashed into the lives and hearts of a myriad of happy, smiling visitors. The Chiffchaffs, now perhaps half-a-dozen, expressed the joy of the season very effectively. As did two singing Stock Doves, the first time I have noticed territorial behaviour in the garden, and (now I come to think of it) possibly the first Stock Doves I have ever recorded there. Adding to the chorus were Chaffinches, at least three male Goldcrests and a Green Woodpecker in song, along with the mewling calls of displaying Buzzards overhead.
Four species of butterfly were on the wing: Comma, Peacock, Red Admiral and a rapid fly-past couple of male Brimstones. All species that overwinter as adults, it won’t be long before the spring-emergers like Orange Tips are with us!
Bees too, with bumbles (Buff-tailed and Red-tailed queens, the latter for me the first of the year) and lots of Honeybees especially on Skimmia ‘Kew Green’ and Scilla bifolia.
The Scilla was also the focus for many solitary bees, including Andrena dorsata and A. minutula agg.
Ladybirds were everywhere, as seems to be the norm this year, AND now getting active, strutting their stuff as predators, pollinators and partners; most were Seven-spots with just a few Harlequins.
Several Dark-edged Beeflies were feeding or resting around the flowery borders: the first beeflies of spring are always a thrill!
And shieldbugs were also out in force, mostly Green Shieldbugs greening up nicely out of their brown winter plumage, together with a few Hairy Shieldbugs.
As with the previous visit, there were also new records for the Gardens. A couple of very common species whose names have seemingly evaded being written down anywhere in the past were the Common Pond-skater Gerris lacustris and the ink-cap fungus Coprinellus micaceus, equally common although of course only fleetingly visible when its fruiting bodies emerge.
On Anemone blanda there was the distinctive stripy Orange-legged Furrow-bee Halictus rubicundus, new to the garden and indeed with only a few records, mostly coastal, in the Tendring district.
And an exciting new bug for the garden was the ground- bug Graptopeltus lynceus. This is traditionally associated with Echium species but seems increasingly to be moving to other Boraginaceae, of which we have lots; it was very close to a flowering patch of Trachystemon. It is classed as Rare in Essex, with just eight scattered records, the nearest being one just west of Colchester.
And of course spring flowers of every description, no hint of apology now and a wonderful pick-me-up after a dreary old winter!
Beth Chatto Gardens, THE place to be at this time of year. Where else would you find Lesser Celandines blooming in the lawns rather than being hounded out as ‘weeds’? Do visit, and help Rewild your Minds.
A tale of two churches – Westminster & Kensington
A flying visit to London gave us the opportunity to visit somewhere we have been meaning to for some time, inspired by the weekly blog A London Inheritance. In contrast to Westminster Abbey (£31 for adults to get in!) down the road, Westminster Cathedral is free, although we would have happily paid for the lift up to the viewing platform atop the campanile had it been open. Next time!
Whereas the Abbey is a typical, old, 13th Century Gothic one, the Cathedral is more modern, dating to the very end of the 19th Century. From the outside it is visually impressive with alternating strata of red brick and Portland stone, reminiscent of Italian churches we have seen in Florence and Orvieto, in a neo-Byzantine architectural style.
Inside is an oddly unsettling experience, with richly ornate side-chapels at the lower levels, but higher up what felt like a void of black (or blackened?) bricks. And the ceiling below the three vast brick domes is similarly unlit and featureless. I later read that this is typical of Byzantine building practices where the decoration is applied once the shell is complete, rather than designed into the structure, so its interior could be considered ‘work in progress’. Together it constitutes the 50th largest church in the world, in terms of its interior area.
The decorated areas are many and varied:
But for me, most interesting were the introduced aspects of the natural world, especially the mosaic of St Francis surrounded by an array of very recognisable European birds…
… and the magnificent naturally ornate marble columns and cladding, in all manner of shapes and patterns.
We were heading to the Royal Albert Hall and decided to walk, through impressive streetscapes new to us, although few photos as I was wanting to conserve my phone battery for the trip home.
But then we came across St Columba’s church, the absolute antithesis of the cathedral. Whereas the Catholic cathedral is busy, both with people and visually, the Church of Scotland church was as calm and undemanding as a still, summer lochside (minus the midges!). After the former, rather ordinary looking Victorian church was destroyed in the Blitz, the new church rose distinctively with bell-topped tower from the ashes in plain Portland stone.
Inside was such a feeling of peace and tranquillity we just had to sit down and let it wash over us. Plain stone, the only real colour coming from the stained glass arranged as a saltire.
It all felt strangely familiar, especially when we discovered the soaring heights in the wings of the church. Only later did we find out why: it was designed by Sir Edward Maufe, whose masterwork of Guildford Cathedral we had some admired only just over a year ago.
The contrast between these churches could not have been greater. Both were remarkable in their own way. Such differences in ways of worshipping the same God, and a rich store of imagery and experience for those of us with no religious persuasion at all!
We have never really visited this part of the London before, apart from the great museums, but certainly we will be back: the big houses, the mews, monumental buildings like Brompton Oratory, and of course the pubs – our meal in the Queen’s Arms was excellent despite the raucous atmosphere!
The Wild Side of Essex: Spring on the Colne Estuary
‘Spring’ perhaps more in theory than practice! It may have been mid-March, but the very cool breeze searing across the estuary and grey skies for much of the day made it feel like a return to winter. And as a reflection of the very wet winter past, another theme of the day was mud, especially on the clays lower down, as opposed to the Thames sands and gravels that cap the Essex Alps. But Naturetrek groups carry on regardless!
Starting around Ferry Marsh, all was quiet apart from the whispering churrs of Long-tailed Tits and angry chatter of a couple of Cetti’s Warblers, as so often only briefly glimpsed.
Down at the river upstream of Wivenhoe, the tide was falling away and the exposed mud supported Redshanks and Oystercatchers, with Black-tailed Godwits and Teals feeding in the shallows, and a Little Egret on the saltmarsh.
Along Wivenhoe waterfront, a chance to explore the changing socioeconomic trends that have shaped the town over the past fifty years ago as well as the eternal struggle against surge tides, the now-familiar rare plants were all present: Jersey Cudweed, Four-leaved Allseed and White Ramping-fumitory. Only the latter had flowers, but what a show!
Below the Barrier and into the wider estuary, more of the same waders, including a large flock of 400 or so Black-tailed Godwits, and the first few Curlews. But no smaller species, nor any Avocets: presumably these were hunkered down out of the biting wind in a more sheltered creek. But there were good numbers of Shelduck wading through the sloppy mud, single Cormorant and Great Crested Grebe fishing in the channel and Buzzards circling over the woods.
Along the seawall, especially on the warmer, south-facing slope, Hairy Bittercress and Red Dead-nettle were flowering, the latter a magnet for the few queen bumblebees foraging, making the most of their fur coats to be active when no other insects were.
As soon as we got into the shelter of Grange Wood, the temperature rocketed, and the first of several Chiffchaffs started to sing, probably ones that arrived along with Sahara dust last week. The Silver Birch trees were covered in Birch Bracket fungi, while on windblown twigs there were both Orange Brain Fungus and Stereum hirsutum.
Cherry-plum flowers were just past their peak, while those of Blackthorn were just starting to burst. A precocious Rhododendron was in full flower and the first Alexanders flowers were erupting, soon to become the most important insect forage before the full flush of spring.
And the shady pools were just crying out for Beavers!
For lunch we were back in the chill wind, but rewarded with flocks of Wigeons and Brent Geese, with a trio of Mute Swans surprisingly grazing on the saltmarsh. A Red Kite, presumably one of the local breeders, drifted low overhead and Skylarks were singing from the fields, bringing the promise of spring even in the teeth of an icy wind.
Heading up the hill to the top of the Essex Alps, moving from clay to gravel, we passed numerous vast pollards and coppice stools, mostly Oak but also Holly, boundary features of the ancient wood and the old trackway of Cutthroat Lane. Celandines were flowering, along with the very first Bluebells, amid the sprouting spring greens of Garlic Mustard and (more menacingly) Hemlock.
A Great Spotted Woodpecker and Jay showed themselves briefly along the lane, above large patches of fruiting, presumably ancient, Butcher’s Broom. And in the open at the end of the lane, acid-green in the verge highlighted a patch of Early Meadow-grass. Although we have known this plant close to the tide for the past five or so years, this is the first time I have found it inland round here.
Heading into Cockaynes Reserve, the volume of bird song increased, with Robins, Great Tits and Chiffchaffs featuring prominently. Sallow and Alder flowers were out, along with luxuriant Gorse, attracting numerous bees and flies.
The lichen heath seems to get more extensive every time I visit, and the Bunny Bee colony was coming to life in the admittedly weak sunshine, while a Little Grebe sang from the gravel pits and Long-tailed Tits seemed to be prospecting for a nest site.
Then through Villa Wood, a magnificent showing of Scarlet Elf-cups, highlighting the feature without which probably the reserve would never have come into being.
Heading back along the crest of the hill, the pastureland was graced not by the usual pair of Egyptian Geese, but three pairs and a singleton. From there the verges of Ballast Quay Lane were in fine flower, including Sweet Violets and the first few Three-cornered Leeks. Crossing Wivenhoe Brook, a peep over the parapet showed the continued presence of Water Crickets, the only local place I know for this bug.
Bringing us at the end of of a great day’s walk to Old George, our ‘celebrity’ old Oak tree. Chance for me to relate the saga of despair and hope, one which should never have happened but for the avarice of the insurance company and the acquiescence of the Town Council in contriving to hide from scrutiny the ‘evidence’ by which it has been condemned. Fortunately now, at great expense to the Protectors (and more still needed!), his future now lies in the reasoned hands of the High Court…
A couple of murky days in East London
Early March saw us heading to London for a gig in Docklands, but as always we tried to maximise our fun by building a short break around it. So when we arrived at Stratford it was a right turn, out by bus to Hackney and London Fields, inspired and intrigued by a recent London Inheritance blog.
The walk from the bus stop took us past some impressive buildings, including 5 King Edward’s Road, a 1920s clothing factory now converted to residential in a very pleasing style. And just across the road, the first of many welcome places of refreshment, this a coffee stop in the Mare Street Market.
The day (indeed the whole of our trip) was unremittingly dull, but the Flower Sellers sculpture/installation in London Fields certainly cheered things up. Joyful, with allusions to the former use of the area as a ‘staging post’ for livestock heading for their final destination of Smithfield Market, that dates back only to the 1980s, but now feels as timeless as the large Plane trees in the Fields themselves.
The London Planes harboured numerous Rose-ringed Parakeets (of course!), some trunks surrounded by a halo of flowering Sweet Violets, and throngs of happy people revelling in the Spring, even in the grey gloom of the day.
The larger trees showed clearly the unreliability of bark as an identification feature, that on the primary trunk being grey and deeply fissured, here with a spider’s nest, but on the younger stems, the more expected flaking mosaic of colour.
And those trees that had reached the end of their life were being recycled naturally by fungi of several sorts, interspersed with the orange tufts of a terrestrial alga, Trentepohlia.
Approaching lunchtime with darkening skies, a pub was in order. The Pub on the Park was functional, albeit rather soulless while delivering the necessary refreshment. But close by, the Cat & Mutton was altogether more welcoming, a genuinely historic hostelry (established 1729) which made us want to linger, especially as the skies had by now opened! Good surroundings, good beer, and very good food. We even discovered the reason for its apparently odd name: originally the ‘Cattle and Shoulder of Mutton’ it clearly had a function serving the meat market traders.
By the time lunch was over, it was really quite unpleasant weatherwise, so we headed by bus to Docklands, and our hotel, a very pleasant (and extremely reasonably priced) high-rise Travelodge right next to Bow Creek. Up we went to floor 13, and we were thrilled to see the view over Poplar to the City, with the beautiful Brutalist edifice of Balfron Tower, one of the Goldfinger-prints on the London landscape, taking centre stage!
From there it was an easy ride into Canary Wharf by DLR, for our evening’s entertainment on the Theatreship (Trappist Afterland, The Gentle Good and Henry Parker).
Next morning, it was at least dry although no less gloomy than previously. Down at the Bow Creek nature reserve, a Grey Heron and several Shelducks were feeding happily in the shadow of looming hi-rise, as the song of Cetti’s Warblers echoed around the concrete canyons.
Being low tide, muddy margins were exposed and were frequented by Oystercatchers, while Teals dabbled in the shallows.
Heading up the tidal River Lee/Lea, our first destination was Cody Dock, a redevelopment of a disused dock space, with sustainability at its heart. We felt very much at home, especially with the very fine coffee and breakfast inside us, in one of the vital edgelands of the river.
One of the features of the site is the Rolling Bridge, a novel, unique design that will ultimately allow the water access once again to and from the Dock. Cleverly counterweighted, it runs on a wavy track and can easily be operated single-handedly (apparently)!
Approaching the entrance, Elaeagnus x submacrophylla was in full fruit, while some of its leaves were galled and distorted, probably attacked by the Elaeagnus Sucker psyllid Cacopsylla fulguralis, originally from Japan but now spreading widely in the south of England.
The vegetation in the planters harboured several different-looking, but ultimately unidentifiable flies…
… along with Sage Planthoppers, and a couple of interesting snails, Kentish Snail and Girdled Snail, both native in more southerly parts of Europe and now spreading here, especially in urban habitats.
As we continued upriver, we saw or heard a couple of fly-by Kingfishers, together with more non-native, spreading molluscs: the terrestrial Wrinkled Snail and huge numbers of Asiatic Clams deposited on the path presumably by gulls trying the break open the shells. This species arrived as recently as 1997; it is now well-established in the Thames, the Norfolk Broads and the Great Ouse system, and still spreading.
Planted Hazel bushes alongside the path were in flower, but noticeable mainly by the abundance of Big Bud galls, caused by a microscopic mite.
As we approached Stratford, there were some interesting sculptures forming The Line public art trail, including a double-helix of shopping trolleys, and several trees with abundant lichens on their trunks, including Flavoparmelia caperata and (rather green) Sunburst Lichen, together with orange patches of the parasitic lichenicolous fungus Erythricium aurantiacum.
Looking back downstream, the Balfron Tower loomed large in the landscape, while in the other direction appeared the equally remarkable sculptural skeletons of the old gasometers of the Bromley-by-Bow Gas Works:
From this point the river becomes more braided and corralled into locks and mill pools of Three Mills Island, a beautifully preserved series of 18th century tide-mills, with Cormorants roosting atop the turrets.
And across the sewage works, tantalising glimpses of the ornate Byzantine-styled tower of Abbey Mills Pumping Station, a key part of Bazalgette’s mid-19th century grand plan to clean up the River Thames.
And so onto the Greenway, a raised walkway on the embankment formed by the Northern Outfall Sewer. Here there was Green Alkanet in good flower, its blooming brought forward no doubt by the urban heat-island effect, fruiting Old Man’s Beard, the Pumping Station from a different angle (we really must try and visit on one of its open days!), and the remarkable row of listed cottages built for the workforce in 1865.
All that was left was to wander into Stratford, for food and drink in the Abbey Tap, our final pub of the trip, as we waited for our train home!
#WildEssex: A Glorious Spring Walk to Cockaynes Reserve
We have often led a walk up to the Cockaynes Reserve searching for Spring, but never have we had such wonderful weather for it as yesterday. And it was only 3rd of March! Azure skies, light winds and warm sunshine were just what we needed after the grim, grey gloom of February.
And it seems nature needed it too as it was out in abundance. As we walked up Ballast Quay Lane, starting with the customary chirrups of the gaggle of House Sparrows, the air was alive with Greenfinches singing/wheezing and Great Tits getting frisky, while the verges were blooming with Sweet Violets and Lesser Celandines.
And everywhere a rainbow of greens, from the dusty, dull, dark Ivy green to the vibrant emerald of fresh Hawthorn leaves and moss spore-capsules.
As we crossed the open fields, enjoying some of the best views of this part of the world from the top of the Essex Alps, Skylarks filled the air with exuberance as Rooks probed for grubs, and in the distance a couple of Egyptian Geese grazed. Red Dead-nettle, Common Field Speedwell and Bulbous Buttercup flowers were shining among the twinkling Daisies and Dandelions.
Turning into Villa Wood alongside Sixpenny Brook, we entered a moss-clad world, the haunt of our Scarlet Elf-cups, the reason this reserve exists. Perhaps not so many as last year’s bumper haul, but they were there, mantled in mossy green, and maybe still more to come.
Spring is a time of rapid change but also delayed gratification: the spearing shoots of Bluebells will be transforming this woodland floor in six weeks or so:
Sibilant twitterings in the Alder tops revealed a party of at least 20 Siskins, and the first of half-a-dozen Chiffchaffs sang, surely new arrivals on the recent deep southerlies laden with Sahara dust.
Hazel flowers, always the pre-Christmas first sign of the Spring to come, going over, and the Big Bud galls starting to form; Alder catkins peaking with Silver Birch still to come; Sallow pompoms just bursting, attracting numerous bees; and Cherry-plum in full flower with Blackthorn bud-burst perhaps a couple of weeks away: Nature’s Calendar in full flow!
Onto the heath, the glorious Gorse flowers hid the glistening nuggets of Gorse Shield-bugs, so well camouflaged among the emerging buds. Queen bumblebees bumbled through the flowers, and there were Seven-spot Ladybirds everywhere. Much more numerous than I have ever seen before at this time of year, these are presumably the offspring from last July’s mega-influx.
Basking on a fencepost nearby was what may be an early Gorse Mining-bee, along with a pugnacious Zebra Jumping-spider, ready to take us all on! The bee bank was teeming with Bunny Bees, one of the key features of this reserve, and especially pleasing as only a day previously, on my recce in similar sunshine, I had seen just a couple.
Two lots of Buzzards were overhead, mewling in display flight and carrying nesting material, while a female Marsh Harrier quartered the reedy willow scrub.
Several pairs of Long-tailed Tits seemed to be setting up territory and there were fleeting flypasts of both Peacock and Red Admiral, though no sign of yesterday’s Comma, my first butterfly of the year. Nor were there any of the Hairy Shield-bugs on show: such is the excitement and unpredictability of the natural world. But the final reward for we two leaders was back in town, just after the last of our group peeled away, the most vibrant male Brimstone crossing our path …
Bring Me Sunshine…! Morecambe & Lancaster
Some welcome blue sky and sunshine peeping through broken cloud illuminated our two-and-a-half-hour rail trip from Euston to Morecambe, as we sped past numerous familiar sights from Camden Roundhouse and Wembley Stadium, to the Chilterns and Red Kites, canals and flooding, the Peak District and Forest of Bowland.
And so with a change at Lancaster we rolled into Morecambe just after lunchtime. And straight off the train we found ourselves immersed in birdiness, from sculptures to pavement poetry …
… as we walked the short distance to our hotel, the Midland, the whole reason we planned this short break. It all goes back to our visit to Dulwich Picture Gallery last May to see the Tirzah Garwood exhibition. A few days later Jude was reading a book on Seaside Architecture, where she came across this hotel and the fact that shortly after it was built in the 1930s, Tirzah and her husband Eric Ravilious had painted a mural therein. Unfortunately, the mural soon fell off the wall, and indeed the hotel fell into disrepair in the post-war period. Fortunately the building was rescued, revived and reopened in 2008, and a mural inspired by the original recreated for the filming of an episode of Agatha Christie’s Poirot: we just knew we had to visit, and we were not disappointed!
From the outside it is a classic Art Deco building, designed by Oliver Hill, whose work we are familiar with from the seafront at Frinton. And from the outset the artistic touches are apparent, including two seahorse sculptures over the entrance by Eric Gill.
And the delights continue inside, both public spaces and rooms adding to the feeling of luxury.
Art included a frieze by Eric Gill and THAT reimagined mural:
And the view from the room was an ever-changing montage of light and tide over Morecambe Bay, looking over to the hills of the Lake District.
The views from the rear were no less enticing, with the old railway station, now a pub (well, we had to..!) and the distinctive stepped outline of Ingleborough showing how close to my home county we were…
We could easily have spent the whole afternoon sipping wine in the Rotunda, but it was sunny and the prom and stone jetty were just out there. So out we went, for wonderful views of the hotel, and as the tide was in, just a few birds including Great Crested Grebes fishing and Redshanks and Turnstones roosting on the beach.
But the bird and marine life art theme continued all around us, with sculptures …
… to plaques in the pavements, along with natural adornments like Sunburst Lichens:
The sun was sinking so it was back to our very comfortable, spacious, stylish room to watch the natural light show. And as daylight slipped away, the art show continued with the shadows and light on our ceiling.
Thence to food. My venison fettuccine was simply lovely! Then breakfast, again overlooking the Bay, this time with a fast-receding tide and grey skies, as flocks of Eiders and Curlews flew along the shore. It may have been a bit more expensive than our usual hotels, but it really was worth it for the experience.
As we left the hotel, yelping overhead alerted us to a skein of Pink-footed Geese heading south, in a formation that was reflected in the flocks on the promenade fence:
Along the prom again, there were yet more bird artefacts, together with once-impressive but fading seaside buildings:
And before we departed we had of course to pay homage to Eric, proudly wearing his binoculars on the edge of one of the most important sites for wetland birds in the country. Sadly, he didn’t manage to bring us any sunshine for the rest of our trip…
It’s getting to that time of life when I am increasingly excited at getting my bus pass (just a month to go!). So taking a bus ride seemed a good way to get into the mood. We headed a little way down to the village of Heysham, to seek out an appealing looking ruin, St Patrick’s Chapel, happily screened from the ferryport and nuclear power stations.
A short walk past walls dripping in spleenworts brought us first to St Peter’s Church, its churchyard filled with flowering crocuses and running down to the cliff slopes.
The church was almost crypt-like in proportions, no doubt keeping a low profile from the teeth of salt-laden winds.
Inside, it felt very serene, and laced with intriguing history, including a Viking hog’s-back and a stone cross from a century earlier, both intricately carved. It really felt like it justified its Grade 1 listing, but given it is believed to be one of the earliest sites of Christian worship in Western Europe, with parts dating back possibly to the 6th century, the fact we were there alone was remarkable. And delightful! There is something so magnetic about carved rock, and we were happily transported back to two previous places of wonderful carvings, the Govan Stones near Glasgow and the church at Llantwit Major.
Then perched on the rocky knoll above the church was St Patrick’s Chapel, now ruined. From the 8th century, it postdates the founding of the church but predates the bulk of the present church building. Despite their exposed location, battered by wind, water and salt, the rocks and walls are still encrusted with lichens and wreathed in ferns.
And around the ruins, there were the rock-hewn coffins, dating from the 11th century, brought to wide notice on the cover of an album by Black Sabbath.
Such a swirl of intertwined history, and it came as no surprise to read when we returned home that the site was actually occupied some 12,000 years ago as the last Ice Age retreated into the depths of memory. Places separated by the centuries but connected through the very rock on which they stand, the recall of the ages. Very special indeed, bearing a windswept serenity, redolent of Lindisfarne or Iona or St Davids without the hordes….
As we headed on to our second location, again by bus, cloud turned to drizzle, and eventually to rain which stayed with us for the whole of our time in Lancaster. Such is the West Coast! And so after a short walk along the banks of the Lune, we felt fully justified in taking refuge in the Three Mariners for a drink, fortification for the steep slog up the hill to the Priory. But even the rain didn’t send the Sage Leafhoppers scurrying for cover!
While not having the same aura as the morning’s church, the Priory did feature historic artefacts, some fine modern stained glass (with yet more birds) and a warm welcome from the vicar without any expectation of religious observance.
Down the hill, past the Castle and more banks of flowering bulbs, we headed into town, dodging the worst of the rain in a café and charity shops.
The monumental stone buildings really didn’t look their best in the gloom, so as soon as we could we headed right through the city to our second hotel, the Toll House Inn.
Right next to the canal, before it got dark, a towpath walk was in order, to our next pub, the delightful Waterwitch.
After a good dinner and comfortable night at the Toll House, our third and final day dawned (just). Grey gloom and heavy rain almost all day kept us from venturing far, so a day of outstanding food and drink was in order, starting with the Toll House breakfast which I can say with certainty provided one of the very best full English breakfasts I have had during our two years of monthly short breaks. The local sausages and black pudding were just wonderful!
A super start to the day, giving us strength to face the rain and the frankly appalling busy roads just outside with no provision for pedestrian crossing. But safely back to the canal, we headed towards the Cathedral, welcome shelter among neo-gothic opulence.
And then next door, another excellent pub, the White Cross for a couple of drinks …
… before returning to the Waterwitch for the most wonderful late lunch, in fact, for me at least, some of the best food I have ever had. I opted for two starters – the creamiest seafood chowder followed by a medley of black puddings. Fantastic food in canalside surroundings, watching the rain, and contemplating the train ride home. Unfortunately, various delays en route meant our return home was an hour later than timetabled, but it did at least mean that our five hour train ride was free!
The Wild Side of Beth Chatto Gardens: February is the LONGEST month!
February continued the pattern of the preceding winter: rain, lots of it, and grey gloom. So while I like to get into the gardens to witness the arrival of spring, in practice that meant only two occasions, early and late in the month. Such was the lack of spring-ushering sunlight that the three week difference saw rather little change in nature.
At the time of my first visit, Winter Aconites, Spring Snowflakes and most Snowdrops were pretty much at their peak, albeit without the sunshine to open the flowers fully. Anyway it was too dank for insects to be flying …
Three weeks later, Snowdrops and Aconites were mostly past their best, but it was time for the lovely, endlessly varied Hellebores to pick up the floral baton:
And Daffodils, Squills and Crocuses were coming up fast in the outside lane, the latter with numerous queen Buff-tailed Bumblebees, bumbling out of torpor for a welcome meal in the weak sun.
More than I’ve ever seen before at this time of year, presumably related to last July’s bumper influx and favourable overwinter conditions, Seven-spot Ladybirds were out, crawling and trawling for aphids.
Harking back to midwinter, every Sarcococca sat in its own pool of olfactory pleasure…
… and trunks and branches showed off their lichens and mosses, so much easier to appreciate in the full light before bud-burst:
Skylarks were singing over the surrounding fields and Dabchicks diving on the Reservoir, while Robins, Blue and Great Tits, and at least five male Chaffinches serenaded the spring. And as if on cue, the next in the line of flowers were bursting through, a blossoming that will grow inexorably over the next few months:
How quickly spring will arrive depends on the weather over the next few weeks, but come it will. And whatever, the garden is always visit, whether in rain or shine!
BOOK REVIEW Turnstones and Turtle Doves by Jenny Coumbe
Turnstones and Turtle Doves: nature-watching in an Essex parish, Jenny Coumbe (New Generation Publishing, 2025) ISBN: 978-1-83563-919-1 £12.99
Everybody needs a sense of place, and every place needs people to have that sense, to love and nurture it, enjoy it and help keep it safe from the ravages of modern life. That is just what Jenny Coumbe has done here for a small part of the Tendring Peninsula in Essex, the area around her home. It is an area I know well, especially from a couple of decades ago and it is a pleasure to find out that much of what I remember still remains.
The book starts with a few pages of Foreword, well-written prose that evokes well the author’s hopes that the readers will take inspiration and look at their local patches in the way she has. And add natural colour to their lives in doing so.
In fact, the Foreword is so evocative that the short-form writing style of the bulk of the book could be seen as disappointing, an opportunity missed. Arranged as a series of short paragraphs grouped by season and spanning six years, the writing is sparse. But as the introduction explains, they originated as extracts from nature diary entries. A more familiar description today may be that they are like a series of self-contained tweets (other social media platforms are available!).
Others may complain that the information therein is not quantitative, and thus has limited ‘scientific’ use. But that is also to miss the point. Consider parallels with the mass observation programme of the 1940s in which ‘ordinary’ people captured the details of their ‘ordinary’ lives as the first citizen social scientists, leaving an unparalleled archive of a time of great post-war upheaval.
Well, nature is at that pivotal moment right now, where what we have all grown up with may not be available to our descendants, our children and grandchildren. And if they don’t know about it will they ever want to recover it? Anything we can do to foster desires to challenge Shifting Baseline Syndrome has to be a good thing.
This lovely little book, with well chosen photos by the author and Nick Levene, fills an essential gap between the hopes for, and the reality of, the natural world. It is a gentle beacon of hope in an uncertain world, as well as an advert for that most maligned of counties, Essex. Nothing links each short paragraph, other than the season and location. There is no attempt to curate the entries into stories: it just lets the reader create their own mental world. Read it right through in one sitting, or dip into it at will, there is no ‘best way’ of enjoying it.
Turnstones and Turtle Doves is an unashamedly modest book that can hold its head high on the local interest and natural history shelves of any bookshop. It epitomises the glorious unexpected, the wealth of change and events that give meaning to the life of any naturalist. Inspiration indeed!
Paperback available online £12.99, e-book at £4.99. Also available from Wrabness Community Shop and Red Lion Books, Colchester.