Summer Open Day has come around again (Sunday 23rd July) but it was so cold and with an easterly wind that few people ventured out until the sun came out late afternoon. Steve Oakes carried out a butterfly transect at noon and the temperature was 15degrees, not enough to even wake up a dormouse who do not stir below 16°C! During our Dormouse check on the 16th, we only found one animal and that was fast asleep in torpor, which tells you something of the appalling weather during the last month. Luckily the birds have managed to breed successfully around the various cold and wet spells. Of the 180 dormouse boxes, over sixty have been occupied by breeding birds and these nests have fledged over three hundred young. There have been the usual losses to interference from squirrels, mortality among the parent birds and possibly some human interference, but it has not been a bad year. This year we have had Wrens nesting in boxes for the first time and talking to other areas we find a similar picture. This bird has only just realised the potential of dormouse boxes, three years after all the tits starting using them. Once again the main occupants were Marsh, Blue and Great Tits with a few Long-Tailed for good measure.
Returning to the Open Day, those that came early and late saw marvellous displays of Silver Washed Fritillaries and other butterflies. The count for the day included, Gatekeeper, various whites including Green Veined, Comma, White & Red Admiral, Meadow Brown, Speckled Wood, Ringlet and Large Skipper. Incredibly, for the third summer Open Day running, a Scarlet Tiger Moth appeared in the Car Park just at the right time for the local team to see it at close quarters. The bird count started very slowly and with such luxurious top and undergrowth from all the rain this year it is very difficult to spot much through the leaves. However, the new ride through the Plantation produced an early Sparrowhawk and late afternoon a Goshawk flew over the Car Park. I do not think that Turtle Doves have bred in the woods this year due to the disturbance of their breeding habitat and the very few birds that have reached the region this year. Reports from all over the County indicate a drastic decline again in the numbers migrating back to breed. Birds have occurred in Garston at regular intervals and were heard again on the Open Day but it is not certain that they have actually paired up to breed. We shall have to wait another year to see how the trend is going.
Those of you that went on the very successful Bats and Moths evening last year (70 people attended), will want to know that the next one is on 9th August at 8.30pm in the Car Park. This year we are also holding a Dormouse morning on 2nd September, but numbers are strictly limited. If you are interested in the latter, please book through Arne. We look forward to seeing you at one or both of these free events.
3:40am 3rd July 2000 - Determined to be the first up, I dress and wearing shirt and trousers plus long sleeved sweater topped off with my cap but still with my slippers on, I venture outside into the half-light of the early morning. The temperature is reasonable but not warm enough for just shirtsleeves. In my hand the inevitable mug of steaming tea. The first noise I hear is the rapid wingbeat of a bat, which flashes past and away into the shadows of the high, Leylandii hedge, next I hear distant barn owls and then a heifer bawling in the field behind the house, obviously bulling. I venture along the lane, the light good enough to be able to avoid the puddles as I move westward, in the direction of Tollard Royal, where I can hear lambs in the Park, calling their mothers and the ewes replying. So far so good, I think I am the only human abroad, but immediately the peace is shattered, as away to the south a lorry changes down as it climbs the hill from The Inn On The Chase up to Thickthorn. The driver will have completed half a days work before most people are up.
3:50am - Time to return to the kitchen to replenish my cup with more tea. Now, I can see clearly to write, in the early dawn light coming from the direction of Martin Down.
4:04am - The dawn chorus has now started, led by a Cock Robin in the hedge opposite, immediately joined by many more small song birds of every description. The larger birds appear to prefer a few more minutes in bed. By 4:10am every small bird for miles seems to have joined in, even a duck has just flown by, where it came from goodness knows but it is heading for the woods, perhaps it is disorientated and does not know it is supposed to be aquatic. On looking up it is noticeable that the clouds are breaking up, letting the rays of the sun filter through leaving a red haze overall.
Red sky in the morning, shepherd's warning....
The peace and tranquillity, with the birds for company, oh how I wish I could paint! If I could, it would be a picture of red, pinks greys and black. (With a very special colour for the bird song.) The black would be the silhouette of the Manor's six tall chimneys and the walnut trees at the front, now betwixt myself and the sunrise, with Martin Down a dark grey, topped by lighter grey clouds and above them a red/pink sunrise.
4:15am - A vixen with a growling bark makes her presence known for some reason away to the west. This is where the pheasant release pens are, but as yet not occupied. It does not appear to affect the birds generally, it may be purely coincidental that a pheasant picks this precise time to leave its roost, hooting as it does so, apparently waking every pigeon in the area, who are now cooing in unison. (A large choir despite the organised shoot at the weekend.) It is now thirty minutes since the smaller birds got up, welcoming the new day, while their bigger brethren are just making it now, there must be a moral in it somewhere.
4:30am - My mug is empty again, you will have to excuse me while I return to the kitchen for a refill. Sorry, but I didn't want to risk withdrawal symptoms from lack of tea. Anyway I am now plodding along (still in my slippers I have just realised), between two excellent crops of winter wheat heading west again. These crops look so much better than last year's winter oil seed rape, a credit to the farmer's husbandry, in fact nothing in sight except the crop; not a weed, not an insect and in biological terms no natural food chain in fact an environmental disaster. As I stand and ponder on the meaning of the word AZOIC, suddenly there is a movement in headland weeds about five metres (I hope that's right, I mean fifteen feet in old money.) away and from between the lane and the wheat a deer dramatically appears, leaping to its feet and races away with great leaps and bounds down the nearest tramline for about fifty metres (I'm becoming quite cocky now), then stops, turns and stares at me for several seconds before leisurely ambling off to the other end of the field and disappearing through the hedge.
4:35am - On down by the old farm, now simply barns and disused buildings, the farmhouse tumbleded down long ago, just a shadow of bye-gone days but to the south new life. Here rows of beech and other indigenous species, planted in the past few years, disappear into the distance. Moving out of these trees some 400m. away two more deer trot out across the wheat, and are silhouetted against the skyline. It's not all bad news. Now on to the pheasant strip where neatly spaced rows of kale have been drilled. Here the kale is in the cotyledon stage with just the two seed leaves showing, while it's main competitor, fat hen is in the seven to eight true leaf stage, despite, I suspect the application of a herbicide, who says there isn't any justice.
4:50am - As I return homewards, I'm again serenaded by pigeons high in the elms and Leylandii, which I now pass. In front, of me, the chimneys of the Manor are red brick and mortar and the walnut trees green leaves and grey/green boles, no longer silouettes.
5:04am - Back to reality, sitting at the kitchen table, another mug of tea at my side, I start a long overdue assignment for the O.U. about the effects of traffic and travel on the environment. 6:18am - As I let the chicken out it begins to rain.
Red sky in the morning etc. etc………………..
For those of you who thought I'd finished or wished I had, HARD LUCK. In the spring edition of The Downsman I mentioned I had sown some early potatoes on the sixth of March this year, well I lifted the first two roots on the sixth of June, despite there being no flowers on the haulm, and was pleasantly suprised with the yield. The flavour wasn't so good, so I will probably go back to Homeguard next year; Rocket has not really taken off. Potato growing has always been a great challenge to me since a young lad. To begin with, an old neighbour of ours, many years ago in Hampshire, when it was still a rural county, took great pride in his garden especially his potatoes. It was he who sowed the initial seeds of interest. "Old Bob" was a countryman through and through, he did nothing he could not justify, believing in hard work, honesty and minding his own business. Bob, if born in an earlier age, would have been a Luddite; he neither believed in nor understood machinery; forges yes, tractors NO. His huge garden was dug completely by hand, often by the light of a lantern, hooked onto a forked hazel stick, cut especially for the purpose. While others were abed in the mornings or sitting by the fireside in the evening, Old Bob was digging relentlessly. From this, you might assume he had a large family, not at all; Bob just loved to dig, plant potatoes, ridge potatoes, hoe potatoes, harvest potatoes and eat and talk potatoes. If he had known about Sir Walter Raleigh, he would have built a shrine to him in his garden. His family did in fact, consist of his wife, himself and three very slim daughters. No, to Bob, potato growing was his purpose in life, his religion almost, C. of P. doesn't sound right, does it?
Once he had dug and manured his potato patch, Bob waited; Good Friday was the time to sow potatoes, irrespective of the date on which it fell. Come rain or shine, Bob planted potatoes on Good Friday. After planting, he nurtured his crop lovingly, weeding, hoeing, ridging until harvest time, when armed with a fork, he dug and dug in every dry moment leaving his harvest to dry on the soil surface, where it helped the skins to set, before his daughters helped to put them carefully into sacks, ready for him to carry down into the cellar. It was now time for "Old Bob" to pass judgement on the current year's crop. It was always the same comment: "Somes as big as peas, somes as big as marbles and the rest is lit'luns." So you see I had a good grounding in potatoes. College just filled in a few misses, and off I went to work in East Anglia, where I was involved in growing for the early and canning market. This was followed by moving to Ireland where I was responsible for growing hundreds of acres of earlies and maincrop, mostly for crisping, finishing my apprenticeship amongst the greatest connoisseurs in the world. The Irish are renowned for their liking of this tuber, and can wax lyrically on the subject for hours, especially in pubs. I can assure you all, there is no better place to be in nor are there nicer, friendlier people to discus this topic with. I recommend it to all. To say I became an expert in the potato crop, during my time in Ireland would be very wrong, but I did get to know some of the pubs very well. Perhaps I did though, depending on the definition of expert, the one I prefer is: "An expert is a person who knows more and more about less and less, until he knows everything about nothing." I guess under this meaning I qualify with honours. It really is time to finish now, so until the next time I write, when it will be about the churchyard, I have to say goodbye.
How many of these did you get?
The sun shone BRIGHTON the day we set sail for the ORIENT aboard an ancient wooden ship which had a HULL riddled with holes and a CREWE made up of Scots, Welshmen and others of the CELTIC race. They were a rowdy bunch and did in fact WREXHAM furniture after a heavy session. The exception was the cabin boy whose job it was to STOKE the boilers. He won our HEARTS with his honest endeavour to conquer his lack of learning by practising his READING alone as if sent to COVENTRY. On the whole the sea AYR was good for the family and did my MOTHERWELL as she had not had a holiday FORFAR too long. It certainly did her CHESTER lot of good. At last we docked at NEWPORT which had just been built and at once headed for the fabled residence of Hawaii's monarch. It was inhabited by the QUEEN OF THE SOUTH and was looked after by forest RANGERS dressed in LINCOLN green, who greeted us with a friendly ALLOA. We saw the hills where the WOLVES still roamed freely and where the natives BURY their dead. For tea each night we had DUNDEE cakes, CHELSEA buns and some OLDHAM which was best left alone.