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Sunday 17 March 2024

A Portrait of John Moore



Gloucester Services on the M5 (Northbound) is as good a place as any to begin to explore the writer John Moore. 

After an early start from Somerset I'd stopped here for breakfast while travelling up to Tewkesbury, or Elmbury as Moore referred to his home town in his Brensham Trilogy. While forking in the nourishment I took time to plan my day. This was to be a relaxed general discovery day, the second of my ad-hoc project to visit the graves and landscapes associated with rural authors I admire. Tewkesbury Abbey, John Moore's grave, John Moore Countryside Museum, Tudor House and finally the village of Kemerton. First though the Abbey.


Between the wars John Moore was tasked with fundraising by the then vicar of the Abbey, Edward Gough. At this time the fabric of the Abbey was crumbling and Moore, who was working for Gough,  had the not inconsiderable job of trying to raise £25,000 for the repairs. To raise such a large sum Moore organised a Tewkesbury Festival and to his credit the money flowed in allowing the repairs to occur. Nearly a century later this would be my first visit. And it is beautiful.


When I arrived it was still early, meaning I had the place virtually to myself. I sat for a while thinking  of Moore, who despite not being religious in the traditional sense loved this monument to religion. I can understand why as I gazed ever higher at the craftsmanship and detail. If I did nothing else today seeing this interior would have been worth the drive all on its own. However I'd come to the Abbey to find Moore's grave.


I'm not sure what the correct description of Moore is. Writer and broadcaster possibly, campaigner for certain. His biography by David Cole is titled True Countryman. I think then for me Countryside Writer fits a large swathe of his output over the years as it wasn't just nature he wrote about. His interests were many, ranging from the rural scene, changes to the social fabric of the countryside, the people and characters he encountered, conservation of buildings in the town he loved and customs and ways in farming. He also wrote about his time abroad and his World War 2 experiences as a pilot. He was also outspoken on topics that interested him, sometimes bringing him into conflict with those he opposed, or opposed him.


I asked the lady managing the Abbey gift shop if she knew where Moore's grave was. She didn't and confessed she'd heard of his name but had no idea who he was, before suggesting I ask a verger. "Oh yes" the verger said, "out the north door, then head to the left over the grass and it is over there". I thanked her and headed outside, to the area of the Abbey grounds she'd mentioned. There were a number of graves here but after a fruitless search I couldn't find Moore's. I'd been informed by the Chair of the John Moore Society that his grave had recently been cleaned. None of those I searched through were what I'd call clean. Maybe I'd misheard the verger, was it was located at the left of the Abbey as you entered. No, nothing. Checking an image I'd seen of his grave on my phone it had what looked like a gravel path next to it, and where I stood only grass was visible. I knew it was here, I wandered off to another part of the Abbey grounds.


I eventually found it nestled in near the south side of the Abbey, in the exact opposite direction to my instructions. It is a lovely spot to rest in, overlooking the river and with a little sitting area somewhere for the living to also rest a while. I sat on a bench next to the grave to reflect on a man who did so much for Tewkesbury and the Abbey, but who is almost forgotten today. If that is not a metaphor for life I'm not sure what is. My reverie was interrupted by a screeching and a low cronk cronk. A peregrine - they nest on the Abbey I was later told - was circling a pair of raven flying along the river. Other birds, chaffinch, goldfinch and robin especially were singing nearby. It all seemed apt, a peaceful spot to be enriched by nature, in the centre of a very busy town, a town which houses a museum in Moore's name.


I've been to the John Moore Countryside Museum once before, about eight or nine years ago. One of Moore's campaigns was to prevent the demolition of the timber framed and old buildings of Tewkesbury after the War. Many to be fair were in a perilous state and the Town Council wished to modernise the town as there had been a plan to make Tewkesbury an overspill town for the West Midlands. Some buildings were lost, but through Moore people rallied to the cause including his friend Sir John Betjeman adding weight to the fight in writing of the need to preserve this unique heritage. As a result of which around a hundred buildings avoided the wreckers ball. The Museum is housed in a row of buildings preserved by their efforts 


I chatted for over half an hour with the knowledgeable gentleman at the desk. Not just about Moore but a wider ranging chat about writers in general. The Museum itself is quite small and concerned mostly with education and information on the countryside. Display cases of stuffed animals are well presented and the information is up-to-date, such as the role the return of the pine marten would play in grey squirrel red squirrel fortunes. It has had a revamp since my last visit, now feeling less cluttered. Outside the museum is a lovely garden and next door a restored Tudor Merchant's house. I didn't visit either of these this time as there was a tour taking place and I didn't wish to tag along. 

Interestingly my conversation with the custodian touched on the similarities between Moore's legacy with that of Richard Jefferies' legacy. Both wrote about the rural scene, both campaigned for causes they felt warranted their attention and both have museums named after them. However in the opinion of the custodian although the two writers are sometimes favourably compared to each other, Moore himself was no fan of Jefferies' output, thinking it too anthropomorphic and fanciful, written by a dreamer. Which could explain why I almost never see references to Jefferies in Moore's writing. I left the Museum, with a first edition copy of Moore's September Moon, and headed to the home Moore lived in as a child, at the other end of the main street.


Tudor House as it was in the early part of the last century was where Moore lived in childhood. His family were part of the long established Moore & Sons auctioneers business. John Moore himself worked for the family firm but it was a vocation he never enjoyed and by all accounts wasn't very good at either. Today it is the Tudor House Hotel an imposing timber framed building, which despite its name actually dates from the 17th Century. On this visit I didn't go inside but the rooms from which  Moore looked out from over the busy street (and slum alleyways in his time) are bedrooms to stay in. There is however a plaque outside to commemorate his time here. I'd now visited Moore's grave, his home town and his childhood home, my final destination was the nearby village of Kemerton where Moore lived before his untimely death aged 59.


Kemerton is a picturesque village, a hotchpotch of architecture-Midland style. From timber buildings to Cotswold stone, Georgian brick to individual modern. Moore and his wife Lucille first moved here in the late 1940s, first to Chapel House then Lower Mill Farm where finally Moore had the space to develop his interests in creating a natural environment surrounding the house he could enjoy. It's not a large village to explore so first I'd have a tea in the village cafe and look at the map.


Chapel House is a beautiful Georgian brick building on Hill Lane. Running the length of Hill Lane is a culvert stream. As I walked up the gentle slope the trickling sound of water filled the air. This is middle England in its purest sense and I could imagine why Moore and his wife loved this village. On my visit grass was being cut, a hedge was being trimmed into shape, everywhere there were spring flowers. People out for a walk or working in their gardens said hello, while birds sang. After leaving busy Tewkesbury only 5 miles away Kemerton seems a calming peaceful place. I didn't loiter for long outside Chapel House, it is after all a private dwelling, but on this visit the garden was full of primroses and spring bulbs. I wonder if in Moore's time it was just as beautiful.


Lower Mill Farm is at the opposite end of the village tucked down a side lane leading only to the farm. This was Moore's final home and although his health was beginning to fade it was a place he threw his energies into to create what he'd always craved, a house within nature. As I walked through the village song thrush and blackbird song seemed to be everywhere, a nuthatch too. Rook and jackdaw squabbled in the mature trees. Here it seemed nature ruled village life and I could imagine Moore walking around the village absorbing the best that the natural world had to offer.


My visit to John Moore's land was drawing to a close. Before I left though I headed into St Nicholas Church. And that proved a revelation. Largely rebuilt in the Victorian era this hides an amazing artwork on the ceiling and behind the alter by a Miss Hopton. Sadly she was killed not long after completing this masterpiece in a dog-cart accident while out cycling. I discovered this information talking to the two church wardens, there to clean the church.

When he was a child one of the church wardens, as it turned out, said he knew and could remember John Moore. His father knew Moore but it seems they fell out over the collection of water charges. The story told to me being that the lower end of the village then had a private water supply and Moore was charged with collecting the usage fees. This chap's father refused to pay (why this was wasn't offered) causing his father and Moore to not speak. An interesting end to my visit. As I set off this morning I'd never imagined meeting someone who knew a man who died in 1967. By all accounts Moore and Lucille were very happy here, though ironically a year after his death a rare flood of Lower Mill Farm destroyed a lot of Moore's archive and letters.

As an aside St Nicholas Church is planning a fund raising evening in the autumn. As a result of our chat they suggested readings from John Moore may make an interesting addition to commemorate Moore's time in the village and maybe draw in extra people. I said I'd let the chair of the John Moore Society know this was happening and will try and attend this event myself if I can.


There is still more to discover about Moore, but for this my first visit I've expanded my knowledge of this complex writer immeasurably. Would I have liked to meet Moore? Most definitely, though he wasn't one to suffer fools gladly and had a long memory. 

Moore wrote many times about the villages surrounding Bredon Hill, as did farmer and author Fred Archer whose home was nearby Ashton-Under-Hill. 

They were contemporaries writing of the rural scene in this small part of the south Midlands. Chatting to the church warden he said some of the characters and stories in Fred Archer's books were also chronicled in Moore's output. Their styles were different but it seems the landscape and inhabitants of this rural place got under the skin of both. I can feel that, as on my visit I felt the draw of this area, there's something comforting about it. And as the church warden said "It is a shame Moore didn't live longer, otherwise we could have seen Moore and Archer in conversation together celebrating their love of the rural scene"

Now that would be a fund raising event I'd have liked to be part of and see.


John Moore Society 
https://johnmooresociety.org/

John Moore Museum 
https://www.johnmooremuseum.org/

Fred Archer Trust (now defunct I think) 
https://www.fredarcher.co.uk/society.htm

John Moore True Countryman (2007) Cole, David, Blacksmith Publishing (Available from the Museum)

Sunday 10 March 2024

Bittern by the SEO's

 


There is a lot to be said for going that little bit further, further away from the madding crowd. As happens every year March arrives and the urge in me to get outside more and more comes along. Especially so after the endless relentless wet weather this winter has been less than conducive to outdoor pursuits. However as the forecast for Friday looked fair of face, I booked myself a day of annual leave. The aim was to go and do some sound recording while also birdwatching. The reality was somewhat different.

Due to serious traffic problems on the M5 my planned early departure dissolved into gridlock chaos meaning my plan then became an 11am start. Not ideal, but the sun was shining. My aim was to visit the Catcott Complex, where a hide that is very rarely used as it involves a bit of a walk, has the peace and quiet I needed to set up some recording equipment. 

What I had not bargained for was the recent arrival of a male hen harrier at Catcott (there has been a female here all winter). Walking to the hide we passed a few 4x4 vehicles parked on the track up to the hide. I began to worry as no one should really be up here in vehicles. I was greeted at the gate to the hide by a man in full camouflage fatigues standing outside. Next to the entrance of the hide a collection of equipment trolleys were neatly arranged. I really worried now. As I walked up the path the other chap walked back into the hide and shut the door in front of me. That sort of behaviour never stops me and I opened the door. The hide was full to the gunnels of camouflaged clad photographers who all looked round at me as though I'd stood in something unpleasant. In all the 20+ years I've been coming to this hide I have never ever met anyone else inside. Of course I could have barged in between them but wanting to do some sound recording that'd have been pointless. I turned tail and exited.

That curtailment however provided the catalyst for what was to become a much better day, though I'll maybe gloss over the sound equipment debacle in any detail. That reason being the microphone kit I wanted to test, a shotgun microphone and a figure of eight surround sound microphone combination, known as an M&S set up, requires something called phantom power. In other words the microphones are powered by the field recorder batteries, rather than having their own internal batteries. Normally I would use something like a Narga recorder which has eight AA batteries. Today though I wanted to test the quite capable hand-held Zoom H5 recorder. This affordable kit copes well with a parabolic set up and the batteries will last a good eight hours. However as I was to discover today, using an M&S configuration drained both of the recorders AA batteries in ten minutes. And guess who forgot to bring replacement batteries which he'd left at home. Shall we move on?

I mentioned to Mrs Wessex Reiver who was with me that from this hide there's a nice track into the less well visited part of the reserve, let's wander up there. Not long into this walk a male tawny owl hooted, not unheard of in daytime, possibly a disturbed owl, or it had seen us and was voicing its displeasure. This came from a little copse by the track which produced a chiffchaff calling, also calling were wren, dunnock, blue tit and long tailed tit. [Ed. If only you'd brought some batteries to power the sound recording equipment with you].

There were quite a few gnats and bees hovering about too in the now warm sunshine. March does surprise like this, cold mornings can become very pleasant days though not warm enough today to get brimstones in the air. The noisy chattering of fieldfares rising from a clump of trees caught me off guard as we approached, a flock of about thirty, reminding me that winter has only recently released its grip. I think I heard a redwing with them but only saw the flash of feldgrau grey as they wheeled out, up and over the trees. They'll be gone from this landscape soon, leaving our shores as the first summer migrants arrive. Some already have. I heard later in the day that wheatear are now in Devon and previously read that sand martins have been along the south coast for a week. In the fields each side of the track the regular resident birds were around, robins were plentiful, a number of corvids hopped about, groups of magpie, some rook, and a few carrion crow. No raven overhead today which is unusual though a small party of jackdaw jak-jak'd as they passed over. This was turning into a proper nature ramble.

Eventually we made it to a dead end. I believe one day soon this track, or maybe another one nearby will be opened up further as there is a plan to create a 20km, or is it 20 mile? circular walk around the entire Avalon Marsh Super-NNR. I can see the real advantage of such a circular walk, though I also enjoy dead ends as no one passes through without reason. We stood in a gateway, taking time to look over the fields where Mrs Wessex Reiver had spotted some roe deer. I then heard a piping call. Peep-Peep, Peep-Peep. Kingfisher. Not just one kingfisher but a male and female flying at speed and in unison along a ditch, then out over the fields in a wide arc to then return to the far end of the ditch and fly fast and low over the water towards us, before the male alighted on a branch. I lost the female after that. A spectacular encounter we'd have missed if we'd been sitting in the hide. The male then flew off through some trees but not long after a Peep-Peep alerted us to the fact he was now behind us, perched on a branch over another ditch. He then flew off and despite our best efforts to see them again neither birds returned. Those efforts though were rewarded by a beautiful male sparrowhawk flying leisurely by just a few yards from us, quietly scanning the treeline for unsuspecting prey. Standing still and remaining quiet really does bring dividends even in an unremarkable landscape. I didn't manage any photographs of any of these encounters, but that is of little importance and the image below is simply a reminder of how an unremarkable looking habitat can offer so much. 

After that excitement we retraced our steps and headed off towards the 'tower hide'. I like this hide as, as its name suggests, it is high up, maybe 10 metres? It is a bit of a slog along boggy paths to get here but well worth the effort as it looks down over the reeds and because it's a bit of an effort to reach here it is a quiet part of the reserve. We had the hide to ourselves for a good half an hour, a half hour that yielded a marsh harrier flying by at our elevated head height. That spooked a flock of teal to noisily erupt from the reeds. I do like teal, they may be common but their plumage is stunning. A couple of Canada geese, a pair of mute swan, mallard, coot and a great white egret were here too. Then Mrs Wessex Reiver called out, what's that flying towards us? Lifting the binocular revealed a bittern, flying lazily across open water towards us, then past us, then away from us before dropping into the reeds some distance off. In the strong sunshine we had fantastic views from this elevated position for a good twenty seconds if not more. In flight the stippled browns and blacks look like striped lines of colour, which of course is why they blend in amongst the reeds so well. I've seen bitterns flying many times but that was a good one and for Mrs Wessex Reiver this was a first. She was thrilled.


View from the tower hide, where the bittern flew top right to bottom left 

Retracing our steps as we walked back past the track up to the first hide where a ragtag line of camouflaged men were walking back to their 4x4's, pulling behind them trolleys bristling with equipment. I wonder if they'd had as much success photographing a male hen harrier, that may or of course may not have appeared, as we had with our encounters.

I'll come onto a conversation about this topic of photographers later. 

Following Friday's glorious weather and even better encounters, on Saturday we went to the Steart Marsh complex. Rain was in the air, though not falling with any real effort. Steart is a strange place for me as I come here and rarely see very much and given the weather I wasn't hopefully today either. However the place was virtually empty, just how I like it. Upon arrival Mrs Wessex Reiver headed off for a five mile walk and I readied myself to visit the three main, and very upmarket, hides here. If nothing else I'd avoid the rain and the brisk wind. The Mendip hide was my first stop which produced absolutely nothing. There was a magpie by the entrance, but from the huge picture window looking over a vast salt marsh, not a bird stirred, though coltsfoot was already in flower outside. I had a cup of coffee and a biscuit.


Quite posh the hides here...

Ten minutes walk away is the Parrett hide which, as you may surmise, looks out over the river Parrett, a main drain out from the Somerset Levels into Bridgwater Bay. It was low tide exposing huge areas of mud showing a smattering of Canada geese, redshank, what looked like gadwall, but they were a long long way off plus a single curlew plodging through the mud. The biggest high tide of the year was due the next day that will overtop the Parrett and flood the whole site, as it is designed to do through an engineered breach. Today though the river was still sea-bound and very low. A lovely male  stonechat was singing as I exited the hide, a female close by listening. Stonechats, a favourite bird of mine,  are best known for their chak-chak alarm call but their song is a melody of soft whistles and single notes, almost like a dunnock but softer. I've probably only heard this a half a dozen times. 


View from the Parrett hide on a dull day, at low tide

Next stop the half mile walk to the Quantock hide. I could hear the teal and wigeon as I approached, though I decided not to enter the hide but instead look out from the screens. Quite a few redshank, shoveler, shelduck, mallard, little egret, and of course the aforementioned ducks. On one of the shingle islands a pair of greater black backed gulls, their backs looking almost jet black in this light, were resting. I'd like to know, are they are nesting here?  These really are huge birds when you compare them to say teal. I like them but they can wreak real havoc in a nesting colony. I then noticed some pied wagtail noisily flying about in tight circles over another island, males chasing females, males chasing males, I couldn't rightly tell. I was hoping they would stop and do some courtship display on the ground as I've never seen what some observers refer to as a wagtail dance.  However after a few minutes of frenetic activity they flew off towards the far fields where up on the ridge a very noisy rookery was also in full swing. I scanned the rookery and counted at least fifty nests. There was a lot of activity, individuals flying to nests with twigs, pairs of rook shadow-flying overhead, groups of rook just flying about enjoying the wind and despite the rookery being a good half a mile away their raucous calls filled the landscape. There was one odd sight though as I scanned the trees, a great white egret flying past the rookery, who'd have thought that twenty years ago this would be an everyday sight in Somerset.

My final highlight of the visit occurred was while ambling back to the car park. To my left I heard a commotion, a flock of linnet noisily flew overhead and a group of teal flew rapidly in all directions. I could see something light brown flying with purpose, half obscured behind a hedge so I stopped to try and see what is was. What it was, was a short eared owl. I had the binoculars on this bird immediately, what a stunning view of this top predator. As it flew towards me it casually looked left and right with those piercing eyes, and with a gentle flap and glide it flew towards me and then out of sight. There has been an influx of short eared owls into Britain this winter, especially along the North Sea Coast. Smaller numbers have overwintered here in Somerset but to see one in mid March is, while not unusual, a little late in the season. But what a lovely surprise ending to the day and as I got back to the car park I popped into the estate office. 

Yes they knew about the Short Eared Owl, though they are no longer publicising rare or unusual sightings, as WWT who manage the site have been having trouble here with a minority of photographers who disregard blocked off tracks or gateways and sometimes are found in restricted parts of the reserve looking for that perfect image. I'm glad though I popped into the office as I had a long chat about the reserve and its management and more importantly I learnt that WWT have taken over the management of the entire Bridgwater Bay NNR from Natural England.  And that has to be a very good thing.


Short Eared Owl landscape - well in this part of Somerset at least!

How fortunes have changed for many species in recent decades, some losers like the turtle dove, but we often forget the winners. That flypast of the bittern on Friday was a point of note, as I can remember when they were extremely rare, as can the writer Richard Jefferies in his 1879 book Wild Life in a Southern Country..

"Once, some five-and-twenty years ago, a sportsman startled a great bird out of the spot where the streams join, and shot it, thinking it was a heron. But seeing that it was no common heron, he had it examined, and it was found to be a bittern, and as such was carefully preserved. It was the last visit of bitterns to the place; even then they were so rare as not to be recognised: now the progress of agriculture has entirely banished them."

Through tireless work by the many agencies developing the Somerset Super-NNR now covering an area from Glastonbury to the coast we can see hen harrier, marsh harrier, bittern, great white egret, and short eared owls with relative ease once again. And that has to be a good thing. I just need to bring some batteries with me next time.

Sunday 3 March 2024

The Song of the Cirl Bunting

 Not that long ago, most lowland farms south of a line from the Humber across to Blackpool would have healthy populations of cirl bunting feeding on spilt grain and chaff. Then as agriculture cleaned up it's act, literally, and as the land became industrialised, the decline in farmland seed-eating species has been meteoric, and the cirl bunting range contracted to an unviable, in the long term, population in Devon. A poster bird for this decline, the turtle dove, is a species we'll probably lose as a breeding species in Britain soon, but the cirl bunting, with it fantastically exotic species name of Emberiza cirlus, a species naturally at the very northern extent of it's range, is returning from the brink, thanks to decades long conservation efforts. And I've now seen these birds return to Somerset.  


I had to look it up. It has been fourteen years since my one and only sighting of a cirl bunting. Back then, on a very snowy day in winter 2010 I headed down the scarily snowbound M5 to Labrador Bay in Devon to record a piece with the RSPB for the Radio 4 series Saving Species. Thankfully when I arrived there there hadn't been any snow falling in this warm part of Devon and better still the cirl buntings appeared at the windswept and steep project management site. On that day the issue as always with sound recording for the BBC was that I was concentrating on capturing the interviews rather than out for a day birdwatching. At the time I did make a mental note to return to Labrador Bay. I've never been back.

Today however I set off for a closer destination Stolford Beach, forty minutes by car.


How I found myself here involved reading a newly discovered blog to me, so new I only discovered it at lunchtime. The blog writer, Jeff had spent a day in Somerset on Saturday the 2nd of March and in his write up he mentioned seeing cirl buntings which have overwintered at this Bristol Channel site. The weather was perfect and I'd been meaning to visit Stolford Beach this summer anyway after reading it is a butterfly hotspot. No butterflies probably on the wing in March, a little too cold for brimstone, therefore if nothing else I'd treat this as a pleasant reconnaissance, a walk in the sun and if I saw a cirl bunting that would be perfect.  Out on the Bristol Channel the tide was out, with a number of shelduck on the mudflats. This part of the Bristol Channel is known as Bridgwater Bay and is internationally important for shelduck, and other waders such as curlew which were calling out there too.


Stolford Beach is a stones throw from the largest engineering site in Europe, Hinkley Point. I'd not realised how close this nuclear site was until arriving and looking west saw it looming into the sky just a couple of fields away. However look the other way and the landscape feels wild and remote despite the proximity of thousands of workers. I'd come here today only to see the cirl buntings and on arrival didn't really know where to go but a photograph accompanying the description on Jeff's blog showed a pond and a track. To the east there was indeed a pond in the distance, I walked along the path which runs a-top the sea wall. Within five minutes I noticed what looked like millet on the track. Again the blog had mentioned supplementary feeding was taking place. Hopefully then this was the right location and not a horror moment from a passing family spilling their granola.


A number of birds were moving each side of the path, chaffinch, blue tit, house sparrow, wren, robin, starling, meadow pipit and above them all a skylark high up in full beautiful clear song. What a fabulous place, why have I not been here before?  But as yet, no cirl bunting. 

Mrs Wessex_Reiver who'd accompanied me headed off for a walk along the coast path leaving me watching and listening. I'm no expert with birdsong, but after years recording bird calls, I can recognise the more common ones. Cupping my hands around my ears to produce a sound listening receiver I swivelled myself left then right. A chaffinch pink-pink, a blue tit angry chatter, meadow pipits twittering over the field, and the fluty tinkling of goldfinch, out on the mud a curlew again and some cawing corvids. But no cirl bunting. Their call is similar to its relative the yellowhammer, but without the bread, cheese or flourish. I tried again, yes, there,  back in the direction from where I'd come, definitely a cirl bunting call. But where was it? 


A good couple of hundred meters away a bird flew to a hawthorn and perched... before calling. Despite this bird being a long way off, through the binoculars the yellow striped head gave it away, a male cirl bunting. I shot off a quick record photo thinking at least there's proof if it flies off, and then I tried to walk slowly back towards the shrub for a better view. As I approached the bird dropped down into the main part of the shrub and for the next ten minutes it played cat and mouse with me as it was visible but always a little obscured by the tangle of branches. Looking through the binoculars though really showed that from behind these could be easily mistaken for a sparrow, reed bunting, even maybe a dunnock if on the ground, given their chestnut brown, black and grey back, though with a noticeable cleaner definition. From the front though the male is a riot of lime-green-yellow with dark stand-and-deliver highwayman stipes across the head.


Eventually after about ten minutes this male flew off and I was left on my own, alone but elated. I never thought for one minute I'd be lucky enough to find this stunning looking bird without any local help, though of course I had a good idea from Jeff's blog. 


Turning around to catch up with Mrs Wessex_Reiver, now well out of sight, there were some birds feeding on the grain on the path almost where I'd  stopped to listen earlier. No, it can't be, it was. An easy to distinguish male and a drabber female nearer to me, who were joined at various times by a robin, chaffinches and house sparrow. I was way too far away to get any closer to them without spooking them into flight so I contented myself to watch through the binoculars, both the birds feeding on the path and regularly scanning the gloriously untamed field they all flew in from, to the right of me.



While scanning this field I noticed a different bird fly into a thicket of brambles, whereupon checking what this was, it was another male. Difficult to spot, virtually impossible to photograph as it was in shade and I had the camera lens pointing directly towards the sun. It is thought there are four cirl bunting here, they arrived naturally but I guess the supplementary feeding, from whoever is doing that, is helping them stay. Will they breed here, only time will tell? However it is a quiet corner of Somerset and if there is enough seed it's highly possible. The habitat is right for breeding, however more stubble fields nearby would be needed to sustain any meaningful population.


Eventually after a number of minutes watching this male he flew back towards the sea wall and into a shrub behind me, the one on the left. I was now only fifty meters away or so and able to get good views, well slightly obscured but decent views for a good five minutes until that is a dog walker walked past the shrub and the cirl bunting was gone. I'd spent a good half hour or more in their company and they didn't disappoint.  





I really enjoyed today. A spontaneous decision made at lunchtime while sitting in the garden wondering what to do in the afternoon, and everything worked out famously. The weather was perfect, the location is somewhere I'm definitely coming back to in the summer looking for butterflies (Wall, Small Heath, Small Copper, Common Blue and Brown Argus are possible along the coast path I've read), and the cirl bunting were easy to see. I hope they stay. 

References:

Jeff Goodridge blogging site (Somerset Day March 2024)

https://thefinancialbirder2.blogspot.com/2024/03/an-amazing-day-in-somerset.html?sc=1709492370750#c8858072077053806649

Saving Species 2010 - Radio 4 involving the cirl bunting 

https://www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/b00t1xt1


Saturday 24 February 2024

B...is for....

It was a chance phone call yesterday that saw me down at the RSPB's Greylake Reserve in Somerset this morning. That call from my friend and erstwhile colleague Brett Westwood involved a well overdue and quite long gossipy catch up, which ended with a discussion over the Baikal teal which has been at Greylake all winter. This bird should be in East Asia but somehow made its way to Britain possibly two years ago, given a handful of sightings across a number of areas in southern Britain, of what is thought to be the same individual. This bird has now been accepted as a bone fide British record by the BOC and as such is now added to the official list of British birds.  Brett mentioned he's keen to see this vagrant from the Far East, however living in the Midlands it's a long drive down, and it wasn't visible when he led a birding walk to Greylake recently. I said I'd have a look over the weekend and report back to him.

I woke up to heavy rain on Saturday morning despite the forecast promising sunshine. Should I go, or stay indoors and sulk? In the end I went. It's about twenty miles to Greylake and I arrived around 11am just as the sun began to break through. My heart sank however as the car park was packed, I managed to squeeze into the last space with a feeling of dread. Images of camouflaged middle-aged men with huge lenses fixed to cameras, tripods be-topped with telescopes and the general chaos of twitchers came to mind.  However I was here, there was nothing for it, I headed towards the hide and viewing screen.

My fears were borne out. I couldn't get anywhere near the viewing screen for what looked like a traffic jam of green shopping trollies loaded with paraphernalia. I tried to get near but a dozen birdwatchers were well dug-in and definitely not moving any time soon. Massive scopes pointed outward through the gaps, cameras too, various bits of equipment littered the floor, flasks and sandwiches in evidence, and, the owners glued to their phones oblivious of what was happening on the reserve.


Failing to push my way to a viewing place, I turned tail and headed to the nearby hide itself. That was a little better, still burgeoning with birdwatchers but I managed to find a suitable corner to peer out of. I looked around, not one birdwatcher was actually watching birds, they were all either in huddles around a scope chatting (and moaning there was nothing to see) or on their phones looking for something, from which the constant pinging would suggest they had found. Do birdwatchers not watch birds through binoculars these days?

I don't mind any of this at all but they do tend to stay in one place for hours hoping for that elusive photograph, in doing so preventing the casual visitor access to their inner sanctum. I'm big enough and ugly enough to barge in but it is intimidating I feel for those less robust.

I settled down. Beautiful views of snipe just outside the hide, Greylake is a good reserve for these lovely waders. Beyond the snipe hundreds of teal, wigeon and mallard, some shoveler, a lot more snipe and a handful of other birds such as moorhen and gadwall. A good number of lapwing too with their lovely call regularly piercing the landscape. Beyond the main scrape great white egret, little egret and grey heron plus the usual smattering of corvids perched on fence posts. It's been a while since I've visited Greylake and the one thing a birdwatcher must do here is scan the pylons which march across the wetland. No perched peregrine this time but a lovely kestrel right on the top in the sun.



It was at this point that a conversation struck up between my nemesis birdwatchers over how few birds there are to see from these hides these days? One bemoaned that "[at Greylake] it's the same birds I see every time I come, it's the same at Catcott, it's just wigeon, more bl##dy wigeon everywhere". I refrained from adding to their discussion and so having had enough of all this I got up and left the hide to escape the conversation bemoaning common species. 

As I exited the hide however a 'chip chip' sound caught my ears. Bearded tit, or moustached reedling as the phenomenal birdwatcher and photographer Carl Bovis referred to them a few years back. Given the males sport a moustache rather than a beard, I like that name, better than bearded reedling. Now, I've learnt a technique when watching these beautiful birds, as they are ventriloquists. That call never seems to come from anywhere near the bird and so what you do is watch for a reed stem in the surrounding area to begin wobbling and then look down to about a foot or so above the water. There, if luck is with you, you'll find the bird, as it creeps along in a direct line foraging from reed to reed. I followed this one for a good ten minutes but it never gave me a good enough view for a photograph. Interestingly not one birdwatcher passing me, as they exited or entered the hide,  asked what I was doing peering intently into the reedbed. Eventually the bearded tit flew off, in doing so startling a Cettis warbler into its exploding song.

While watching this activity my ears picked up that the air was being filled with what I can only describe as 'snap, crackle and pop' to use a well known rice based cereal slogan. It took me a while to tune in before I realised it was individual reed stems either drying out in the sun or expanding in the sun and as they did they popped. I've not heard this before but as a sound recordist it fascinated me. I should imagine however if I turned up with a microphone to capture it, all would be silent.


After this immersion into that reedbed soundscape I fancied a walk, therefore retracing my steps I joined the waymarked reedbed-walk where once again I heard the 'chip chip' of bearded tit, this time however they were invisible. In this part of the reserve people too were invisible, just one chap out looking for grey heron. 


The twenty minute walk terminated in a willow screen which offered some cover from the few birds visible out here, great white egret, four greylag geese, mute swan and a marsh harrier. At my feet however a pond skater caught my eye. The sun was warming the water in a ditch by the viewing screen where I then noticed a swarm of winter crane-fly scudding over the water surface. There are around ten species of Trichoceridae flying in the winter in the UK, they're poorly recorded so there may be many more species yet to be discovered in the landscape. Some observers call them simply winter gnats, I'm amongst that body of observers, lacking the knowledge to identify down to species level. It then struck me that despite the aforementioned conversation possibly still going on at length in the hide, Greylake was providing a number of interesting things to see. 


Many years ago when the social media platform Twitter was gaining popularity I organised a 'Tweet-Up' of like minded natural history buffs. We spent a day on the Somerset Levels, including coming to Greylake where a superb entomologist Richard grubbed around in the undergrowth and in doing so discovered a number of species not known on the site at that time, including a freshwater snail which if my memory serves me well, was new to Somerset. These were good events to be part of, and those species we recorded were submitted to the relevant biological records office. Citizen science in action. It's sad these events fell by the wayside after a few years,  not least as today I'd have enjoyed having someone as phenomenally knowledgeable as Richard alongside me to put a species name to my 'winter gnats'.

I'd been here now for three hours and whilst enjoying being out in the fresh air and sunshine, it was time to call it a day. However on my way back to the car park once again I heard the 'chip chip' of a moustached reedling. This time I took some time following the wobbling reeds as they shimmered along a ditch, and after a dozen or so images of empty reed stems and nothing else, I was finally rewarded with a photograph of the male reedling as it appeared, all too briefly, into the open. This was the icing on the cake for me watching this bird, a species now becoming established in Somerset albeit still with small localised populations.


I had one final B to add to my list of B's I'd collected today, Balkai teal (reason for visit, absent), Birdwatchers (many), Bearded tit (lovely) and finally Beetle. This green ground beetle was crawling across my rucksack as I packed it up. I tried to key it out as a Harpalus affinis, the right size and shape, but this species is one of dry sites, a wetland seems a little too moist a habitat for it.  Then I thought maybe Carabus spp. but they are much larger. Once again my lack of knowledge is letting me down with beetle identification. 

There's so much to learn, or in my case, forget, but I'll not forget this wonderful visit to Greylake. As for the Baikal teal, well it was on the reserve today, though not somewhere the public had access to.

Sunday 18 February 2024

James Allen; Snowdrop King

As days go, a thick fog across the Mendip Hills, dark clouds without energy blanketing the sky, and a half light creating a scene of dullness across the countryside, is not on everyone's list as perfect conditions to venture outdoors on a late winter exploration. But venture out I did to visit the Shepton Mallet Snowdrop Festival, and even in such desolate conditions as this that visit uplifted the spirits. This Festival, which I believe is now in its seventh year (it began eight years ago but I understand it didn't run during the Pandemic) has amongst its objectives to promote both James Allen and the town of Shepton Mallet to a wider audience. In a small way then it has achieved this goal as after a 45 minute drive from home, myself and Mrs Wessex Reiver found ourselves in this mid-Somerset town looking for snowdrops. For over thirty years I've driven through or around Shepton Mallet, this visit would be the first time I'd actually stopped and looked about the town on foot.


As strangers to the town we had no idea where anything was, however spying the church tower of St Peter and St Paul's, thrusting itself into the gloom, that seemed a good a place as any to begin. Walking along a cobbled alleyway I asked a lady "How far is the school?" I particularly wanted to find the school as within its four walls, according to the events listed on the Festival website, were plant stalls selling snowdrops. This lady was very helpful, and as we discovered later in our visit, we were actually speaking to Amanda Hirst, the Festival Director, who couldn't have been more helpful. 

In many ways the Festival could be called the James Allen Festival, yet most of the population will not know of this exceptional plantsman. Born in 1830 to a wealthy mercantile family in the town, Allen would go on to be dubbed the Snowdrop King for his drive and enthusiasm for the humble snowdrop. By the mid 1870's and 1880's Allen had built up an enviable reputation amongst fellow Galanthophiles through the sourcing of new varieties, bulb swaps, breeding and the sharing of knowledge taking place both here in Britain but also across Europe, with Allen as something of a hub from which this activity revolved. He wrote many articles, initially under the journalistic pen name of 'Hesperus', only finally writing under his own name in 1885. Allen's collection was believed to number hundreds of varieties yet today only two remain that are purported to be directly attributed to his collection, Galanthus 'Magnet' and G. 'Merlin'. It was an outbreak in 1889 of grey snowdrop mould, Botrytis galanthina which over the following years wiped out virtually all of his collection. One can only imagine how distraught he must have felt in losing his life's work.


We received a very warm welcome from the volunteers within the church, it was physically warm too which was welcome on such a damp dark day. Ahead of us at the end of the nave was a most eye catching display of 'common' snowdrops against the matt-black pyramid of wooden crates. I've seen similar displays of auriculas, sometimes succulents many times, but I think this is the first time, for me at least, seeing a stunning indoor display of snowdrops. Elsewhere there were snowdrop based poems by local children, a storyteller, leaflets to browse through and craft stalls selling snowdrop-themed artworks. 

Many snowdrop events take place outdoors, either walking through snowdrop filled landscapes or as we experienced recently at specialist gardens such as East Lambrook Manor. Shepton Mallet's is mostly an indoor Festival which, having begun in 2017 as a much shorter event, is growing year by year so that this year it runs across a full week. There were a couple of walks around the town during the week but it is not an event to come and see drifts of snowdrops, well not yet, as I've read the Festival volunteers have now planted over 500,000 bulbs around the town. That will be a stunning sight in years to come. I can't remember where I'd first heard of this Festival, a couple of years ago I think, then quite recently I'd read about plantsman Alan Down's visit in 2022, which spurred me on to actually put my coat on and go and visit.

From the church we headed to St Peter and St Paul's school, where the serious business of plant sales was taking place. For a while now I've had an inkling to add G. 'Fly-Fishing' to my small collection. Avon Bulbs who were in the school hall discovered and cultivated this variety, sadly though they didn't have one in stock today. Neither did another stall, Elworthy Cottage Plants from near Stogumber, who did have an impressively large number of other varieties. It is a garden I'd like to visit next year when it is open under the National Garden Scheme. Mrs Wessex Reiver also had a long and fascinating chat with Juliet Davis the owner of Kapunda plants near Bath. She is a hellebore specialist and only opens her garden twice a year in March. This year it is March 3rd or 10th, I have a feeling we may be going there in a couple of weeks.


From the school, our penultimate stop was the Baptist Chapel, mostly as this was where the teas and coffees were to be found, a display board of Allen's life and work, plus a memorial tablet to James Allen with a nice simple snowdrop display in front of it. Entirely run by volunteers I do think this is an impressive feat to bring this Festival off successfully, an awful lot of hard work has taken place. In another venue in the town pre-booked art and craft workshops were taking place. We were just looking through the window when the aforementioned Amanda Hirst came out. We had a long and fascinating conversation with her, she really seems to be someone who gets things done.

I wanted to end my visit by visiting Allen's grave, which I'd previously been informed was in the town's cemetery about five minutes walk away, and not at St Peter and St Paul's church where I'd first thought. We set off into the mizzly weather.


I walked right past it. I'd been told to look for a newly created obelisk erected in 2022 by the Festival. In my mind I was looking for a bright sandy-coloured gleaming piece of stonework although as I walked by this huge memorial right by the entrance I did wonder if that might be it, aged prematurely by the damp weather in this part of the Mendips. I should have looked, as it was Mrs Wessex Reiver who spotted it after I'd wandered off. A simple beautifully carved obelisk, detailing the plants Allen was known for, on top of the original memorial base from the Edwardian era. The original obelisk fell to pieces some years earlier. Apparently on the day of Allen's burial in 1906 there was a tremendous snowstorm, swirling around the spring flowers brought in pots and tubs to accompany the funeral cortège. That must have been one impressive sight for a man who devoted his life to these snow-piercers of spring joy. It was nice too to visit an important grave to find it not festooned with information boards or garish tributes, just a simple resting place in a small town in Somerset.



I'd not finished my day however. While in the school one of the stalls, which I can't recall the name of,  was selling freshly-dug-up G. 'Merlin' for £10. As one of the only two of Allen's varieties still in cultivation it seemed apt to buy it here, in Shepton Mallet, only a stone's throw from where Allen lived and is buried. Now finding myself back home it needed potting up quickly. During the week I'd actually bought some terracotta pots, John Innes No.3 compost and grit to pot up the snowdrops I'd bought at East Lambrook earlier in the month. Despite the torrential rain now settling in for the day I popped into the greenhouse. Merlin, with its inner segments entirely green, is now safely potted up in its new home. Only next year will I know whether this and my other pot grown varieties, (part of a new plan), will be successful or not. 

I may need help though, I think I'm fast becoming a Galanthophile.


 

References : 

Shepton Mallet Snowdrop Festival : https://www.sheptonsnowdrops.org.uk/

James Allen Biography : https://www.sheptonsnowdrops.org.uk/james-allen-snowdrop-king-galanthophile/

Alan Down's Blog : https://down-to-earth.co.uk/bulbous-plants/shepton-mallet-snowdrop-festival/

Kapunda Plants : https://www.kapundaplants.co.uk/

Elworthy Cottage Plants :  www.elworthy-cottage.co.uk