When I worked in the English Nature Colchester office in the early 1990s, on the wall was the whole county at 1:50,000 scale, a painstakingly collaged set of the relevant Ordnance Survey maps. At eye height was an intriguing prospect – half a hand-span of empty space surrounded by a sea wall, the only mapped features being a dozen parallel north-south ditches some 300m apart from each other: Wallasea Island. Nowhere else on the coast was nearly so empty….

That impression was not dispelled when I first visited. As thoughts turned from protection to enhancement, and what would now be called rewilding, though, it started to look more and more like an opportunity, a blank canvas on which to paint the environment of the future. That was my dream, but it took the dedication of others, especially the RSPB, to breathe life into it.

The first opportunity arose around the turn of the Millennium. The UK Government had just been found guilty under EU law of permitting the destruction of two areas of mud for port expansion. And quite right – it was legalised vandalism. Remember the EU, the ‘unelected bureaucrats’ that half the population voted to secede from, but that almost all conservationists were supportive of for their ability to hold renegade governments to account…?

The ruling of the European Court of Justice meant that our government was required to replace an equivalent area of the destroyed mudflats and salt marsh; fortunately in Essex we had both the experience and understanding how to do that – through managed realignment. The north shore of Wallasea was selected as the place for this to happen – the photos below are from 2008, a couple of years after the sea wall was breached.

But that was only the start, covering about a sixth of the island. The big vision for most of the remainder came from the RSPB who saw an opportunity to go into beneficial partnerships that would help deliver landscape re-creation on a very large scale. In order to raise the land level inside the sea wall to the level at which marsh and mudflat would form quickly, the RSPB was able to take more than 3 million tonnes of spoil (which needed to be disposed of safely and legally) from the Crossrail project tunnelling under London: a ‘win-win’ for conservation and construction, and so the Wallasea Island Wild Coast Project was born. More of the island was opened to the tide, and most of the rest fitted out with shallow pools and brackish wetlands.

Last month I had the opportunity to make my first visit there since the realignments were newly in place. The original schemes are progressing well, as expected, now a mosaic of mud and marsh, evidently with plenty of food for estuarine birds.

Looking inland, in contrast to my previous visits, the first impression was even more favourable – sheets of water on the fields, and the noise of the birds. Nesting gulls, terns and waders in raucous cacophony, caressed by the cadence of Skylarks and the jangling of Corn Buntings, pierced by the explosive shrill of Yellow Wagtails: that almost-forgotten summer symphony of the Essex coast. Wonderful!

And it’s not just about the birds – take the swathes of legume-rich grassland, with Clovers, from widespread Red and White, to Hop Trefoil and the masses of the local specialities Sea Clover and Narrow-leaved Bird’s-foot-trefoil.

Salsify brightened up the sea wall along with probably the prettiest Wild Carrot in the universe…

No doubt these flowering marshes would have been visited by the rare bumblebees for which the south Essex coast is so renowned, if the weather hadn’t been so dull!. But some insects were out and about, most notably Empis livida dance-flies, nectaring especially on thistles wherever there was a modicum of shelter from the breeze, and full-sized Lackey moth caterpillars preparing to pupate.

So just why did it take me so long to get down to the new Wallasea? I guess it is the distance and the lie of the land on the Essex coast: it always felt like an affront to natural justice to need to drive for an hour and a half to travel under 30km as the Brent Goose flies.

But it will not be so long until the next visit. The RSPB has given life to a dream I have harboured for thirty years, and it will only keep on improving. And instead of ‘turning the clock back’, the aim of so much conservation, I trust it will turn it forward and provide opportunities for birds such as Black-winged Stilts and Spoonbills, the vanguard of climate change refugees from an increasingly arid Mediterranean zone.

When a farming company got in touch earlier this year to ask if I could undertake a species survey on their farms, my immediate inclination was to say no…why on earth would I want to spend days of my life tramping over arable wastelands staring biodiversity deficit in the face….?

But then I looked again: ‘Fairfields Farming Company’, and had a vague recollection that our local Co-op seems to rate their locally-sourced crisps and spuds, and that maybe they were not the faceless agri-barons I had feared. A look at their website confirmed that memory, with a focus for example in using renewable energy throughout their operations.

So, I said yes, and was not disappointed, especially when it became clear the purpose of the survey was to help inform environmental and sustainability assurance schemes, which in the absence of conversion to organic production is as good as can reasonably be expected.

And so in mid-May I turned up at Fairfields Farm, Wormingford, two weeks later than originally intended following the bitter north-easterlies of April which held back the natural world. Even then the plants and insects were not really performing so most time was spent recording breeding birds. And almost the first thing heard was the ‘jangling keys’ song of a Corn Bunting, something which has largely been erased from the county (if not my memory) over the past couple of decades.

As the survey progressed, so the bird song chorus swelled. See here for a full listing, but especially notable was the total of 12 Corn Buntings and 56 Skylarks all singing away: it was like stepping back into an Essex from another era (or maybe the steppe-lands of Spain of Eastern Europe)…

This farm is on a plateau, the site of the former Wormingford Airfield, and at its core is the permanent grassland of the Glider club runway. The combination of permanent grass, farmed fields and scattered long grass and scrub must be what these birds need – certainly hedgerows – which are generally cited as important features for birds in an agricultural landscape – do not feature, except on the very periphery.

A couple of Brown Hares provided mammal interest, and insects were restricted largely to newly emerged swarms of St Mark’s Flies, legs dangling menacingly but harmlessly, and a few Painted Ladies, recent arrivals from the deep south of Europe.

Only a kilometre away, Kings & Lofthouses, the other farm owned by the company, has its northern sector on the edge of the same plateau; this has similar birds, although the comprising more grain crops than potatoes. But the rest of this second holding is very different, much more enclosed with hedges, and occupying a valley-side location sloping  right down to the River Colne.

Topographically more varied, it had fewer Corn Buntings, but many more Yellowhammers, and still lots of Skylarks. The hedges added many more breeding species, with 57 singing Whitethroats especially noteworthy. A full listing of breeding birds can be found here.

On this farm a few Grey and Red-legged Partridges and a Little Owl hinted at agricultural riches of the past, although sadly, and worryingly, there wasn’t a purr from a single Turtle Dove. One to work on perhaps…?

In the fields around Hillhouse Wood, Roe Deers were seen, including a group of five. In all probability they are not especially dependent on the wood, given the number of human and canine visitors, especially at Bluebell time. But the thicker, interlinked hedges, especially away from the public footpaths are likely to provide suitable safe feeding and breeding refuges.

The hedges are also the focus of botanical and insect interest on this farm. Some of them are rich in woody species, indicating considerable age; those which also incorporate watercourses also have a ghost of ancient woodland flora, with Wild Garlic in particular, plus Bluebell and Yellow Archangel.

Red Admirals, Small Tortoiseshells and Orange-tips brightened up the butterfly scene, along with Small Coppers, the first sparkling emergees of the year, and also my first Large Red Damselflies and Scorpion-flies of the summer.

And part of this holding also had the richest remnant arable plant (formerly called ‘weeds’) field margins, especially on the lighter soils which were growing onions. The more interesting species included Parsley-piert, Changing Forget-me-not, Field Madder and Common Cudweed.

All in all a very positive experience, finding wildlife where the agricultural revolution might have been expected to have eradicated it. And that also goes for the taste test: since working there we have actively sought to buy Fairfields potatoes and crisps, and found them delicious!

One of the good things about the pandemic has been the changes it has driven in our view of the world. From here in the Wivenhoe, the lands to the south of the river Colne have seemed like foreign territory:  every trip there has seen us on the alert for the new, the exciting and the interesting. And so it was last week at Layer Breton Heath, a visit to help inform our book project (see here).

The 20^th century was not kind to Layer Breton Heath. After centuries of grazing, and varied management by the holders of common rights, it was ploughed for agriculture during WW2. This was swiftly abandoned as the dry, sandy soils were so unproductive. But with fewer commoners exercising rights, it soon recolonised, and when the grazing pressure by Rabbits was eliminated in the 1950s by myxomatosis, the regrowth continued unchecked. Until 1976, when a wildfire during that long, hot summer swept everything (including a recovering Rabbit population) away again. Then unchecked growth once more, fertilised by fire-ash, and much of the ‘heath’ rapidly turned into a dense Silver Birch wood (not surprisingly given that the neighbouring village is called Birch), with a Bracken understorey. The photo below, taken in 2004, shows the open heath gone (along with much of its biodiversity), the only fragments left being along the most heavily trampled routes.

More recently though, with woody vegetation clearance and ongoing management, the heathy nature has started to return. There is still, and will always be, woodland, both Birch and Oak, but there are now bits in-between where light floods in and open-ground wildlife thrives.

The grass-heath seems to vary according (probably) to the soil. Where the soil is most shallow and sandy, plants such as Heath Bedstraw and Slender St John’s-wort (neither of which is especially common in the county) help to brighten up the Brown Bent grassland, while on slightly more fertile patches, Common Cat’s-ear and Lesser Stitchwort were most apparent during our visit.

Grass-heath, Gorse scrub and woodland are a potent combination in summer for invertebrates, and many were there to be found, including Red-banded Sand-wasps, Bracken Planthoppers and Violet Black-legged Robberflies, together with the distinctive flask-shaped egg-sacs of an Agroeca spider.

This habitat is very localised in Essex, so these and many other species  are similarly uncommon. But perhaps the most impressive feature of the site was the volume of invertebrates generally, from common to rare, shade-loving to light-demanding, indicating the benefits of structural diversity, shelter and warm, sandy soils.

From agriculture to myxomatosis-woodland to conflagration, Layer Breton Heath has survived them all, and is looking better now than I have ever known it over the past 35 years. If given the chance to breathe, in a world of small-minded tidiness, control-freakery, lashings of glyphosate and the choking embrace of trees everywhere, Nature can and will recover.