A soggy start

 “Mud, mud, glorious mud” sang Flanders and Swann, but unlike their Hippopotami, the Southrepps Commons Volunteers feel that there is a limit to how much mud is enjoyable, and currently that limit has been exceeded. The Common acts as a massive sponge, for which we Southrepps folk must be very grateful, but there’s still plenty of water available in the surrounding district. The fields are waterlogged, the footpaths are quagmires, and the lanes are filthy, due in part to the churning up of the road edges by vehicles too wide for our Quiet Lanes. When you have a dog as absorbent as ours, it can become a little trying.

A couple of days ago, Jubilee Boardwalk was as flooded as I can remember it; towards the Lower Street end the water was almost level with the top of the boards.

And at the bridge over Fox’s Beck the usually clear stream was full of the mud that should be in the fields, and flowing fast.

So it was that this morning 22 volunteers arrived to do their bit for their local nature reserve. We’re always encouraged to dress for the conditions, but why nobody thought to bring a snorkel was disappointing. Your usual correspondent unwisely chose not to bring warm headgear either, but finding the nip in the air too much for his rather reduced locks to be able to provide adequate insulation, on came a particularly stylish hat intended for rainier conditions. This excited some comment: it seemed that all 21 of my fellow volunteers found it unaccountably risible. Only the wetness of the ground prevented many of them from rolling around clutching their aching sides. Their names have been noted, and retribution will surely follow in this blog…

On arrival, the first sight that greeted us was not encouraging: a short-cut pathway between the storage container and the area we were working in was particularly sodden, and a yellow tarpaulin did little to inspire confidence.

Further in, it was no better. Movement was fraught with jeopardy, but standing still brought on a sinking feeling.

Having negotiated the first deadly bog, laid out before us was the sight of material cut a few days earlier by the ‘pre-cut’ team. We could make a joke here about being half-cut, but perhaps not.

The previous working party was four weeks ago, and with the prospect of minced pies and other Christmas goodies on our minds we had left two fully loaded sheets there. They had waited patiently, absorbing vast quantities of the rain that fell unceasingly in that intervening period, and were of course particularly heavy to shift. Thank goodness for our splendid winch (and winch operators of course)!

With so many hands at work, it was tempting to load the sheets well, as each pull and tipping out took some time across a significant distance. Even so, there was ample opportunity for people to catch up with news of each other’s festive breaks – running the risk of cold feet however.

Along the way, Team Leader Margaret found time to replace two broken board on the boardwalk – an all-too-frequently required task these days.

The half-time break came, on possibly the only fairly dry spot of that soggy area. A matter in common for many of us was whether are hands had thawed out yet.

Having drained their cups, the assembled multitude attempted a world-record tower of cups, reminiscent of the ‘beer snakes’ at rowdy cricket grounds. (Ours wasn’t rowdy of course.)

As is customary, Noel found a comfy seat.

As we have frequently discussed, the said Noel is prone to bursting into song at the slightest provocation. This time someone must have mentioned this was a suitable place for the likes of us, and blow me if Noel was immediately giving us his rendering of “Somewhere (There’s a place for us)” from West Side Story. Perhaps by way of distracting him, I tried to remember who had had a hit with it in 1964, with a very exaggerated delivery. Long John Baldry was my guess, but it was actually P J Proby – look it up on Youtube. Noel favoured the Tom Waits version – look that up too. They put Noel’s performance into perspective, it’s fair to say.

As ever, tipping the loaded sheets out is hard work, although it’s far easier when the winch is used.

After two hours, we stopped. Team leader Julie also tends to be involved in the folding up of the drag sheets at the end of the session. Here she is clutching one. They’re quite heavy, so it was entertaining to see if the extra weight would cause her to sink in the mire. Happily, it didn’t, but it was interesting to see if it would.

Once we had finished it looks like this…

… but there’s enough left to take another couple of sessions before we’re completely finished.

Here is Team Leader Margaret’s message of thanks:

A very Happy  New Year  to you all.

What a cracking start we have got off to. 22 of us turned out this morning. As usual the amount we achieved surpassed expectations. The cut area looks magnificent. Despite very wet conditions underfoot everyone managed just to stay upright.

Thank you for your continued commitment to the maintenance of the Commons and hopefully we will see you in two weeks’ time. Do feel free to join us just for coffee and a chat at 11.00. We are always pleased to see old faces and new ones.

Margaret (on behalf of the team leaders)

And finally, it’s customary to wallow in statistics as well as mud at this time of year, so fill your boots:

As for our volunteering activities in 2023, 38 of us collectively put in 800 hours. There were 21 working parties, with an average attendance of 15. By far the biggest recipient of our efforts was the SSSI (i.e. the main common), clocking up just under 560 hours. The next most worked on area was Pit Common, receiving 74.5 hours of our attention. The summertime activity of removing Himalayan Balsam took up a further 69.5 hours.

We reported exactly 500 sightings of plants and wildlife to NWT in 2023, mostly via the whiteboard at the Lower Street entrance to the boardwalk. 177 species were represented, including 68 flowering plants, 63 birds, 15 butterflies, and 11 mammals.

The other day I heard a Mistle thrush singing. That’s not unusual at this time of year, but it was still a pleasure to hear an early portent of Spring. Unlike most mornings recently, it was gloriously sunny and there was hardly any wind. Mistle thrushes also go by the name ‘Stormcock’ to their friends, due to their tendency to sing in loud and wild weather. On this occasion I had just endured the paralysing din of circling warplanes, so I wondered if that might be what triggered the thrush into shouting back. The couple of thousand geese I saw flying overhead the day before might perhaps have been disturbed in the same way.