Music therapy

The world needs more song thrushes – many more. Last Sunday, a mere 90 minutes after listening to Radio 4’s Tweet of the Day by Amy-Jane Beer (author of The Flow, recommended here a couple of years ago) about this species, I found one dead on the road. Not a major road, but our Wellspring Road, as quiet a country lane as you could hope to find. How this beautiful creature could have been flattened by a passing car is hard to imagine, let alone condone. As shown on the RSPB website, the song thrush has the amber conservation status because of the declines it has suffered, so every individual is precious. It also happens to be right up there as one of my all-time favourite birds.

 

The long rainless period is now over, and we’ve had some much-needed precipitation. Fortunately not this morning, as that would have made for soggy and disgruntled volunteers, 18 of which turned up for duty on the central area (Area G for the afficionado) of the Common. The rain had sufficiently moistened the fen to make those who wore wellies grateful, and those who didn’t merely had to curse their luck. It was also rather warmer than the Met. Office had indicated; warm enough for your correspondent to quickly remove his jacket (gasp). The big news of the day was that Grillo the mower had broken down on its pre-cut outing, so was not able to be used today. Intense debate ensued…

Once a quorum of Team Leaders was in place, it was decided that enough had been cut before the Grillo strike for the usual task of moving its arisings to a dump site at the area’s periphery to proceed. As to further cutting, Team Leader Kevin’s expertise on the brush cutter was called into play – noisily.

Sundays can be a day of rest for some, but not necessarily NWT volunteers. Never mind, Kevin still felt the urge to offer up a prayer for the continued service of the brush cutter.

The pre-cut area before us did not look too daunting.

Let’s focus again on the winch team. Last time I expounded on the important contribution the winch man’s wing man makes to the finely tuned winching operation. This time we were back with the ‘A’ team, with Noel as wing man this time. He’s very experienced in the role…

… and finds it easy to relax when the opportunity arises. He would like us to think of him as a page 7 fella (ahem).

Even if winch man Dave doesn’t quite agree.

As we all know by now, down at the dump site is where the music happens (there's no room under the boardwalk); or at least a lot of chat about it, and the occasional heart-wrenching rendition of a much-loved number. A lot of old songs are mentioned, largely because we don’t know any new ones. Noel, of course, started it with “all the leaves are brown” from the Mamas and the Papas California Dreamin’. This was brought on by the perceived hint of autumn. Not to be outdone, your correspondent contributed Working on a Chain Gang, which after some debate I discover came from Sam Cooke originally – although my rendition was perhaps more authentic, having just tripped over a chain connecting the drag sheet to the winch rope.

You know how it is, one train of thought sets more in motion, and the chain theme developed with Unchain my Heart which many people beside ourselves have released over the years; notably Ray Charles. Take these chains from my heart was next up: further research reveals that this came to us from Hank Williams and the Drifting Cowboys.

Finally, consensus was reached about the liking for the canon of Bruce Springsteen, although no unanimity emerged about his best offering (Thunder Road for me.)

Anyway, back to the working party, many of whom had actually been working hard whilst we were not. Team Leader Michelle's shirt expressed nicely what we all felt.

Whether we really were that fit or otherwise, the half-time break was at least as welcome as usual, the weather being so warm. On reaching the trolley (can we call it the tea trolley for now at least?), we were impressed to see the cups set out so neatly.

Here’s the obligatory group picture of a bunch of happy and refreshed volunteers.

While the majority of us had been clearing the cut material, Team Leaders Julie and Michelle undertook to chop back some of the tall reeds that border the boardwalk, and had become a trial to walk through after they had had a soaking and were drooping over the thoroughfare. I found that the easiest way to stay dry was to let someone else go first (thanks Sheila!).

Here’s how it looked before the dynamic duo, armed with sickles, got to work.

And here’s the considerable improvement after they had finished.

Despite the best efforts of Kevin with his brush cutter, the amount of cut material did not match what a functioning Grillo can produce, so we ended up finishing a little earlier than usual. On the trudge back to the storage container Kevin was happily pulling the trolley shortly before it fell off the boardwalk (sadly, Julie ran to help so it didn’t tip over and therefore missed the action shot - boo!)

Here's how the area looks after our efforts today.

And here is Team Leader Julie’s message of thanks:

Hello all

Thanks once again to our active volunteers. We had 18 turn out on a beautiful warm Sunday morning to clear the cut reed on the central area and clear the boardwalk edges.  We were hampered today by Grillo being sidelined so we had to rely on our one working brushcutter to finish the cutting. Thanks to the team for doing the pre-cut and operating the brushcutter.  We seem to be suffering with equipment failure at present but it does not stop us!

We will return to the central area (when we will be adjacent to the bench) on 14th September.

Enjoy the sunshine.

Regards, Julie for the TLs

 

Lichens are fabulous and fascinating things, defying classification or indeed identification by all but the most dedicated specialists. They are hybrid colonies of algae or cyanobacteria living symbiotically among filaments of multiple fungus species, along with bacteria. They may be long-lived, with some considered to be among the oldest living things, and have been around on the planet for at least 400 million years. As Merlin Sheldrake says in his wonderful book Entangled Life, “… lichens confuse our concept of identity and force us to question where one organism stops and another begins.” Lichens actually digest the rock they lie on, and when they die and decompose, they give rise to the first soils in new ecosystems. And they’re good indicators of clean air, or in their absence, an indicator of polluted air. So they’re good things, mystifying things, and often beautiful things too. Here’s a picture of a lichen-encrusted blackthorn bush on School Meadow, complete with this year’s crop of sloes.

In recent years I have felt that the number of dragonflies around our patch was considerably down from when I first started taking notice of them. Right up to now, that still seemed to be true, but the other day I was walking along the boardwalk and was struck by how many were zooming around; at least eight seemed to be chasing each other, either amorously or aggressively – it’s hard to tell. I don’t imagine they get particularly playful however. They refused to stay still of course, so I have no idea what they were, other than a species of Hawker. And today I spotted what was probably a Common Darter on the boardwalk, although it might have been a Ruddy Darter. Or perhaps just a ruddy common one. All good to see though.

Some of the more sensational parts of the press have been calling this a “wasp year” – the implication being that we’re all in terrible danger. As it’s been abnormally hot and dry this year, the stripey-jumpered beasties are apparently out to get us. Well, casting an eye over the great eighteenth century clergyman-naturalist Gilbert White’s journals, it seems that this is another example of “shifting baseline syndrome”. This is when our frames of reference have changed from those of previous generations, disguising the true nature of the decline of nature. Thus, at this time of year 250 years ago, White recorded that the Selborne area was inundated by the critters, which “abound & destroy the fruit”. In the last week of August 1775, 25 wasp nests were destroyed in the village. Personally, I have seen very few this summer, for whatever that is worth.

Mad dogs and Englishmen...

 

Now that the birds’ breeding season has all but finished, the need for singing has been overtaken by the need for rest and recuperation, including the replacement of worn-out feathers. I love birdsong: I do most of my birdwatching with my ears, so the lack of it can feel sad – as though Rachel Carson’s Silent Spring has moved on a season. However, a walk in the Quiet Lanes of Southrepps yesterday was indeed deliciously quiet: no warplanes; no helicopters; no tractors or microlights – just the occasional manic wren or an inevitable woodpigeon. (If pigeons ganged together and attempted to take over the country, would it be reported on The News as a coup? Just asking.)

Be that as it may, a not particularly Dirty Dozen volunteers convened this morning for the second instalment in the current series of Cutting the Common. It was a relief to all concerned that the fierce temperatures earlier in the week had abated to a degree, or indeed several degrees. Unlike the previous Monday, when in the searing heat of that afternoon four English persons, minus their dogs (there’s a laboured Noel Coward reference there if you can spot it) spent an exhausting hour labouring on Pit Common. A few days previously the mower had been at work, including over the wildflower patch, and after a decent interval for any seeds to drop, the ‘arisings’ had to be cleared away. Here’s a picture of the resulting scene.

The mower had also been out on Area G on The Common on another hot day (Thursday), and our task today was to clear the arisings from that session. At least they were light and dry, making the work much easier than it sometimes is. Several key personnel being absent, Team Leader Kevin promoted your correspondent to the role of winch man’s wing man – the winch man in question being the redoubtable Noel, whose delight was well disguised. Learning the dark arts of winching was an eye-opener for me, which is good, as being around the winch with closed eyes is way too risky. Down in the lonely depths of the dump sites, where the winch is operated, if you do have your eyes open the view out is like this:

It’s like being way up in the Gods at the 02 arena I imagine, with only slightly less noise.

Before we got that far, we stepped out onto the fen with a song in our hearts. (More on songs later.) The work of transferring cut material to the drag sheets proceeded apace. The beauty of working in this area at this time of the year is that the stuff is very dry and light.

Still time for a chat though.

Mowing duties were divided between Team Leaders Kevin and Michelle:

Here’s a short sequence showing Michelle’s mastery of the beast.

Meanwhile, Team Leader Julie was plucking reeds out by hand from the section…

… that is being especially protected as it houses the rather rare and important Marsh Lousewort

The regular catering department was missing in action today, so those duties were performed by Kevin and Linda. The usual stampede took place at 11.00 a.m. precisely.

Apparently, Kevin bought the excellent dark chocolate digestives himself. Does that explain his reluctance to allow your correspondent to pounce like a striking cobra? Just asking.

I teased above that there would be more about songs. Talk at the winch site inevitably took in pretty much the full range of popular music over the past many decades. Initiating this, as so often before, was winch man Noel, the context being a chance remark from one of the sheet haulers that the job of the winch crew seemed pretty blooming easy. Noel’s retort was that it might be fairly light now, but wait for the muck and mire of January. This seamlessly led to a brief rendition of the song bearing that month’s name as its title, by Pilot, which is (or was) a beat combo m’lud.

We are blessed with a plethora of Andrews in our group, one of which offered up The Damned as the finest beat combo ever to have twanged a guitar. His credibility was reduced when he then waxed lyrical about Captain Sensible, and then Captain Beaky and His Band (Not Forgetting Hissing Sid!!!). Actor Keith Michell was mentioned in this context, and Wikipedia reveals that he sang this on the Captain Beaky record:

“The bravest animals in the land are Captain Beaky and his band

That's Timid Toad, Reckless Rat, Artful Owl and Batty Bat

They march through the woodlands singing songs

That tell how they have righted wrongs.”

That led to some lively discussion, as might be imagined, about how these characters related to our own band of brothers.

But I digress. We were mainly there to cut, rake, pitchfork and haul. The resulting heaps were described by a different Andrew as “quite the neatest piles I have seen”. And he’s not even a doctor.

With delight, I noticed my first Grass of Parnassus of the season, bravely flowering in defiance of the mower.

With excellent timing, for which our Team Leaders must be commended, we packed up at noon, with all that remained to be done being putting the gear away. Kevin can just be made out here, demonstrating his prowess with parking Grillo back in its box, to the acclaim of the assembled company.

And then we dispersed. As your correspondent was heard to remark, without the slightest hint of irony, in summary, it had been a joy to be there.

Here’s how the area looked after our exertions.

And here is Team Leader Michelle’s message of thanks:

Thank you to the 12 volunteers today  - the area opposite the Chadwick bench is looking really good at the moment.  I overheard a few positive comments from passers-by this morning, so your efforts are certainly appreciated!

Thank you also to Kevin and Linda who spent a few hours on a hot Thursday morning preparing the site.

Hope you all have a restful Sunday and hopefully see you on our next meet-up on 31st August.

Kind regards

Michelle (for the Team Leaders)

 

 

 

 

Here we go again

Sandwiched between a bright breezy day and a threatened stormy one, the first session of the new cutting season took place on the central area of the Common - the bit we affectionately call Area G. (It’s tempting fate to say so, but we do seem to be fairly lucky with the weather for our sessions; this morning was a bit on the warm and humid side, but the rain held off until we were long gone.) 15 volunteers turned up at the advertised start time of 10.00, ready to remove the material cut a few days earlier by Brian, John and Kevin – for which we were suitably grateful. Here’s the area as they left it.

Before long the Grillo was in use, in the capable hands of Team Leaders Kevin and Michelle. This part of the Common is relatively easy to deal with I am told (being a wimp I have never touched the terrifying machine), so there was soon a lot of nice light material lying around ready for those of us more comfortable with a pitchfork or rake to deal with. (I was told it was too early in the season for me trot out my usual joke about this being the rake’s progress, but Noel was allowed to say that as unpaid volunteers this was all we were raking in.)

Some of the sheets, if loaded lightly enough, were close enough to the dumping site to be dragged by hand…

… leaving the winch crew to mechanically drag the heavier and more distant loads.

Early on in the session a bees’ nest was discovered in the grass. We think they’re escaped honey bees, and we could see (cautiously) some exposed honeycomb. Naturally, we didn’t want to upset them further, so made sure to give them a wide berth.

We might have experienced unusually hot and dry weather in the spring and early summer, but the sponge that is our common has been partially replenished since. One of our iconic plants is the Bogbean, and this image perhaps illustrates why it has that name.

Another important plant here is the Marsh Lousewort – again, not a pretty name. Its great value is that it parasitises adjacent plants and weakens them. In this case, it helps keep reeds in check in this area, leaving room for other, rarer plants which it finds less toothsome to thrive. A section of the area where it is particularly numerous has been taped off to keep the Grillo and its drivers away, but some grows outside that exclusion zone, and is fair game for the chop. Here’s one languishing on a drag sheet, as an example to its friends.

The half-time break came at, well, half time, and was an opportunity to catch up with folk we might not have seen for months. Dark chocolate digestives were gratefully received, along with the usual hot beverages. (Where, oh where, are those flagons of scrumpy that used to accompany harvest in days of yore?)

Work continued in much the same vein after our reviving refreshment, until all that had been cut had been removed. And that was a considerable amount.

Then it was a case of packing up. Amongst the impressive skill sets held by our volunteers is the ability to fold up a large tarpaulin into a tiny space; almost, but not quite, napkin-sized. It’s a skill we see here being passed on.

Here’s how Area G looked at the end of the session.

And here is Team Leader Michelle’s message of thanks.

HI all

Well, welcome back to another season of reed bashing!

Thank you to the 15 volunteers today, it was pretty humid out there, but with your hard efforts the area was left looking good.

Thank you also to Kevin, Brian and John for cutting the area last week and thank you, as always, to Margaret for organising and for providing the refreshments.

Hopefully see you all on 17th.

Michelle (for the Team Leaders)

Before the onset of this main part of our work, there was one last chance for half a dozen dedicated souls to hoik out a load more Himalayan Balsam plants. We speculated on the number and weight of what we have jointly removed this year – the answer was a xx!! lot. Here’s an exciting shot of the heap of rotting and indeed rotten balsam as we left it.

Meanwhile, nature has been taking its course, with some creatures coming whilst others have gone. In the latter camp are the swifts, which I at least have not noticed for a week or two now. There are still plenty of swallows however, flitting and chittering around: no doubt in a month or so they will start gathering together on overhead phone lines before heading off for the African skies. Most other birds have decided now is the time to keep a low profile and put their feet up after a hard summer’s child rearing. They’re also preparing their winter wardrobe, and moulting leaves them vulnerable, so it’s best that they don’t draw attention to themselves.

Invertebrates however are very visible; in the case of wasps too much so for some people’s tastes. No doubt they’re making up for the unfavourable conditions of the last couple of years, and even if they don’t actually make hay, they’re certainly taking advantage of times when the sun shines. Large numbers of Gatekeeper, Comma and Large White butterflies have been fluttering around, and your own correspondent was honoured with a visit by this Hummingbird Hawk Moth.

Another garden visitor, this time from the famous “garden adjacent to the Common”, and indeed right indoors, was a fabulous Roesel’s Bush Cricket.

I couldn’t get a good enough photo to show here, but I was also excited to see a Hornet Mimic Hoverfly in the garden a few days ago. I gather these fabulous (if fearsome-looking) harmless beasts are able to infiltrate nests of wasps and hornets in order to lay their eggs there, with the resulting grubs helping themselves to the rubbish in the nest in a relationship called commensalism. So good news all round.

On a damp morning on Jubilee Boardwalk this Southern Hawker dragonfly was spotted, unwilling to flit between the raindrops.

Balsam and books

You know the saying about how in the heat horses sweat, gentlemen perspire but ladies merely glow? Well, on the latest foray beside Fox’s Beck to rebuke the Himalayan Balsam, I was treading a fine line between gentleman and horse, and the three ladies with me were glowing very successfully. Due to the accurately predicted heat and humidity we had started at 9.00 again: now that we’re some way past the solstice, that means we’re starting nearer to dawn each time – before long we’ll be there in the dark!

In addition to the four of us hardcore balsam bashers, three botanists braved the heat on the central area, conducting a plant survey.

Growth seems to be the most important thing currently, and growth of the biological kind has been cracking on to great effect on the Common. No doubt the hot weather and the soggy substrate make for ideal conditions. However, beware – there will be a cut coming soon!

This session’s target was the area near the car park on either side of the Beck. Team leader Margaret, Sheila and I forded the stream…

… while Team Leader Julie plunged into the reeds to get at the Balsam lurking there. As she says, “It was dense stuff to get through…

… and way above my head!!” (To be fair, that’s not a high bar Julie! – ed)

Meanwhile, my two companions and I were in a more open area on the other side of the stream. We found plenty of plants to uproot; some were ridiculously thick...

... and some ridiculously tall.

The normal tactic is to grasp the stem and pull gently, and the plant will usually come out whole. Sheila tried looking sternly in the hope they would wither…

… whilst Margaret took the less subtle approach.

Once we were satisfied that we had got everything we could reach, we re-crossed the stream, Sheila lubricating the inside of one boot in the process (it’s deeper than it looks, and there’s plenty of silt to sink into). While she emptied our sacks onto the rotting pile behind the information point, Margaret and I went off to try to find Julie.

Incidentally, last time there was some talk that my sack was less full than it might have been, which I put down to the other bashers grabbing all the plants before I could. With less opposition this time, I think I managed rather well. Here’s the impressive evidence m’lud.

We followed the trail Julie had left through the reeds. We found her eventually but then got distracted by more sightings of the elusive balsam.

Eventually, back at the information point the patiently waiting Sheila added the final haul, leaving the pile even bigger, despite being stamped down.

We know there will be plenty more plants showing up in the weeks ahead, so there’s scope for more of us to enjoy the thrill of the chase!

Here is Team Leader Margaret's message of thanks:

Thank you so much to the four volunteers who braved the heat and humidity. We crossed the beck and did a good clearance and revisited the reed bed by the bridge. We were able to remove quite a lot that were in flower but had not set seed.

I know this looks like a mad obsession but we have made so much progress. It is very much a long term project, I have been pulling Himalayan balsam on the common for over twenty years but if we hadn't been then all the Common would be is Himalayan Balsam, it is really that invasive. To that end I will be in area A on TUESDAY 22nd at 10.00 to revisit area A and possibly B as a quick walk through revealed plants that were missed. If you wish to join me you would be very welcome.

I really can't thank you all enough for your help as it is making a difference.

If you see a plant in flower or not please feel free to pull it up.

Margaret

Screaming swifts are very much in evidence now, presumably gearing up for their long migration back to the skies of Africa. Ted Hughes’ famous quote “They’ve made it again, Which means the globe’s still working…” from his poem Swifts is looking increasingly over-optimistic, but it’s still a joy to see and hear them, and a loss when you realise they’ve left us again.

After a worrying start to the Summer, butterfly numbers are now good, with the latest to join the party being one of my favourite species, the Gatekeeper: this year they suddenly seem to be everywhere. There’s a lot of Ragwort in flower now and although it’s dangerous to many creatures, the flowers attract huge numbers of pollinators, and the poisonous leaves are the staple food for Cinnabar moth caterpillars. I have been looking for them for days but finally found this splendid fellow beside a local footpath.

And the Bracket fungus on a tree at the school end of Jubilee Boardwalk is looking particularly good right now too.

There’s growing awareness at last about the urgent necessity to rescue our rivers (and indeed everywhere there’s water) from the terrible atrocities that we humans have inflicted on them. I mentioned Amy-Jane Beer’s wonderful book The Flow in a previous posting of this blog, and having recently finished reading Is a River Alive? By the renowned Robert Macfarlane it feels timely to mention that one too.

He is a sublimely gifted writer, and all of those gifts are on show in this latest work of his. It describes expeditions he made to see rivers under threat or already dead in Ecuador (mining for rare metals the main issue there); Chennai in India (pollution so appalling it’s off the scale); and Canada (proposals for hydro-electric dams). Despite the dire situation in all three places, he still manages to find hope; mainly because he meets with exceptional people committed to protecting their rivers (our politicians would call them blockers and nimbies). There is much in common here with what Beer writes about, including gripping descriptions of white-water kayaking. The title of this book refers to a growing ‘Rights of Nature’ movement to get rivers (and forests and other ecosystems) declared living entities in their own right – with rights which should be legally enforceable – as has been achieved in Ecuador and a few other places, including gratifyingly Lewes in Sussex. At first glance this appears wacky, but we all know what a dead river looks like, so by extension we implicitly understand that until it’s dead it must be alive. Sometimes it is a challenging read, but if nothing else it added to my vocabulary!

I went to NWT Cley Marshes last weekend, where seven spoonbills, including one juvenile, were the highlight. (Can we claim Cley as our sister reserve, since we share a warden?) Whilst in the always busy Visitor Centre I bought a copy of Language of the Land, a newly published compilation of writings by the attendees of the Creative Writing Outside workshops that have run there since the post-Covid lockdown summer of 2021. One of those writers is our own Cornell, who contributed three splendid pieces; hearty congratulations to him!