It is especially disappointing that once again I have to report more vandalism: This time it concerns the nesting birds using boxes in the wood. Whilst checking them in May, it became clear that many had been taken down and opened, eggs and birds destroyed and on some the catches left open, allowing squirrels to get at the residents. This has occurred while the woods have been subject to Foot & Mouth restrictions, which is of even more concern. This is an especially serious offence. Garston Wood boxes usually produces around 400 fledglings a year, but this year less than a quarter of that number will survive and woodland birds do not have second broods.
There is also evidence of other intrusions into closed areas, involving the removal of timber and coppicing materials, despite the fact that Garston Wood is a privately owned nature reserve. In one case, an enclosure gate had been left open. The local Police and their Wildlife Constable have been informed, but if anyone has any information regarding these offences, please contact them at Blandford Police station. Instances of children firing guns indiscriminately at wildlife, across gardens and nature areas has also been reported to me. In most cases they appear to be air guns that often only maim and do not kill, but it is still an offence to fire at anything just because it moves. Please exercise proper control if you have guns in the house and explain the laws.
Since Friday 18th May, most of the paths in the wood have been re-opened and by the time you read this it may be that both Dorset and Wiltshire have agreed access to the other local paths, subject to exemption applications. Notices will appear on the gates and the Shire Rack to show where it is possible to walk. In the meantime, please avoid both the Plantation path and the one adjacent to Upwood Farm, as indicated on the map.
There is still a wonderful show of Ramsons and Bluebells due to the late season, and most summer migrants have returned, including some Turtle Doves. Because the woods have been quiet for so long, many more pheasants have nested where they may be trodden on, while the deer and other residents have forgotten about the public and seem very surprised to see walkers.
I hope everything is back to normal soon, not least because finding somewhere to walk the dog has been such a problem for so many local people! When using the woods, can I urge you to keep an eye out for anyone abusing the wildlife and let the Police or the RSPB know. Thank you.
April 25th 2001
This is a very special day in the history of the tiny hamlet of Woodcutts, mainly because of something printed in the last edition of The Downsman. For those of you who read that issue, you would remember that this day is the birthday of Shep, Bob, Jock or even Mr. Jock. Obviously not everybody had read it, because a few days ago, his neighbour when talking with visitors about the forthcoming event, was asked by one of them in a very surprised voice, "Why is he being "knighted?" (I lost the ‘k’ again there for a minute, so there has been a delay while I found it, went back and put it in.) May I take this opportunity to set the record straight, today Jock is NINETY YEARS OLD, he is NOT BEING KNIGHTED. The capital letters are for the hard of hearing!
Hopefully that has cleared it up, if these misunderstandings continue to occur, it may be necessary for Woodcutts to have a full time embassy in Sixpenny Handley. Anyway that is something for the future.
Now back to the present, possibly you will have read the heading of this article, and you will be thinking, "What the heck is this all about?" There is of course a simple explanation. Since Mr. Robert Meehan is not being recognised for honours, by the 'powers that be', I thought it might be appropriate to give him the honorary title, "The Laird of Woodcutts". Presumably it won’t change his lifestyle too much, although he could get used to partying.
25th April 2001 6:30 p.m. I am on my way to collect Jock for what he expects to be tea with Madge; myself and his next door neighbour Win Kirby. Apparently Win has told him to be dressed for the occasion. As I walk along the mown grass path to his back gate, it is fairly blustery with rain clouds scudding across the sky but the sun is shining, a cool enough day for this time of year, it is probably reminiscent of his home away to the north, for Jock.
Despite the temperature, he is waiting at his constantly open back door. He can only be described as 'dapper', please could younger readers look this up in the dictionary; it has to be used, as it is so appropriate here. From his shiny, black shoes, his dark suit with a light pin-stripe, his neat white shirt and dark blue tie with small, silverywhite spots, clean shaven and hair neatly combed he is immaculate. Does he think he is having tea with the Queen? Hopefully for his sake, it will be all worth while.
I lock the door for him and pocket the key, looking like he does you don't know what might happen. We walk along the lane towards home, its starts spitting with rain, we happen to be abreast of our parked car, so I suggest we get in out of the rain. Since we are in the car it might be a sensible idea to have a short drive while it is still light. Madge comes out and decides to come too. Down the lane through Dean, passed Chapel Farm, out on to the main road, where we decide to turn in the direction of Blandford. It is now clear and we have trees, fields and crops to view and discuss, until the hedges and then the houses of Pimperne obstruct the view. Since it now looks like rain and it is considerably darker, we all agree (I was going to say unanimously but I'm not sure how to spell it.) why don't we go in for a quick celebratory drink? The Anvil is handy.
On entering the small, central bar, surprise, surprise, there are people here Jock knows. His great friends Maggie, Brian and Dave along with Jock's son Sandy, and their wives have organised a surprise party. Jock sits down, more out of astonishment than of necessity and is greeted in turn by everybody present, 21 in number. A buffet supper followed by a birthday cake appears, which together with a couple of 'wee drams' find their way into Jock's stomach. Now there are more cards to open, adding to the twenty odd already received. Presents as well, including a beautiful china tea mug, which he immediately has filled with tea, this is to be his tipple for the rest of the evening, he wants to be able to remember all this in the future, a treasured time, his final comment being, "I didn't know I had so many friends." How glad we all are he has not dressed up in vain.
It would be great to think we'll all be here in ten years time. So we drink to the health of "The Laird of Woodcutts". May he walk with God for the remainder of his life.
This account of the Fire was written by the Revd A. Turing Bruce, who was curate of Sixpenny Handley for many years. It first appeared in his booklet "0ur Parish", now long out of print.
Whether or not his claim that more than a thousand pounds still lie in Chancery is true, the Fire Relief Fund raised £203 18s 9d from the Blandford District, and by November 1894, the Subscribers were ready to meet claims made to them for relief - two and a half years after the Fire.
The Vicar had been out of the village when the fire struck, and took no part in the relief committee's work. The villagers appointed Mr Herbert William Dibben as their representative.
For our Parish like London had its "Great Fire"
On May 20, 1892 the wheelwright was bonding wheels at the top of the village. That is to say, the big iron bonds or wagon wheel rims were being heated red hot in the yard and then clamped on the wheels so that as the iron cooled, it would grip them firmly. There was a high N. E. wind that day, and the sparks from the open fire and the sizzling wheels flew hither and yon & it was not seen till too late that they had set fire to the heather thatch of one of the sheds. The wind tossed the blazing thatch high in the air and dropped it in all directions on the village roofs. It had been a very dry spring and the thatched roofs were like tinder. The wells were also very low so water was scarce and soon most of the village was ablaze. Most of the men were away in the fields but those that were left, the tradesmen the parson, the doctor, the women and even the children did their best to fight the flames and save their household effects. However little could be done, with both appliances and water lacking. Besides, the fire, aided by the wind seemed to be possessed with demoniac cunning sparing one part to descend upon another and then returning to devour what it had missed, even pouncing down upon the piles of household stuff to destroy them too. There are but few living now, who have a very clear memory of the disaster, but in my earlier days recollection was still vivid and there were many stories current.
How the village Emporium went up in flames with its stores of oil and tallow which enveloped everything in a suffocating pall of oily smoke. Of how an old man came rushing from his shed with his arms full of burning hens. Of how a little boy told to help rescue some of the household goods carefully brought out his dinner of bread and cheese and buried it in the garden. Of how the landlord of the Roebuck Inn saved his hostelry by offering free beer to all who would stand by and help him.
An old friend of mine, who had formerly been Curate of the Parish was sent by the Bishop to enquire into the matter. As he passed up the ruined street he met an old parishioner and asked for particulars. At the end of her graphic story, he asked what the Vicar was doing about it. The old lady sniffed contemptuously.
"The Passon!" she said, "He's no sense! What d' ye think his text was on Sunday?" We went through fire and water, but Thou hast brought us unto a wealthy place". It's true there was fire enough, but there wer'nt no watter to put it out. And I ask you Sar!", with a dramatic gesture towards the smouldering ruins around her, "Would you call this A Wealthy place"!!.
This sad catastrophe aroused much general interest and sympathy, gifts of all sorts came pouring in. In fact there was so much clothing sent that I am told that you could, for a long time, tell a man was from our Parish because he usually wore two if not three waistcoats. A great deal of money, too, was collected, so much, indeed, that when all claims had been met at least a thousand pounds were left over. Unfortunately, so much squabbling arose about the further spending of this big balance that it was put into chancery where it has remained ever since.
So, on that fatal day, our Village, with its picturesque thatched cottages was swept out of existence, to be replaced by a huddle of badly designed and badly built dwellings which, I fear, deserve the title of "The Ugliest Village in Dorset" which Sir Frederick Treves has given it, and with the Village, too, went a store of relics and old associations which might have kept alive the memories of the old days which I have found it so hard to recapture.
Sitting on a log at the end of the vegetable garden, under an elm tree; which despite its age, probably between 30 and 40 years, has a wonderful leaf cover and appears in no way affected by the Dutch Elm Disease. To my left is an ash of approximately the same age, also very healthy and now in full leaf. To the extreme left running along the southern boundary, is a dense Leylandii hedge, some 55-60 feet high, this I'm sure of because I've just cut three down and measured them. This was not of course the reason for felling them, but any excuse is good enough to remove these monstrosities, they shade the garden from the sun with their foliage and remove all the goodness from the soil with their roots. This is one product of Wales, that country can't be proud of, thank goodness that legislation is now in place to control these hedges. This hedge and the trees already mentioned, together with the willow, limes, horse chestnut and sycamore that are visible from here, all have one thing in common, namely extremely healthy and almost luxurious foliage. The various shades of green, all appear so intense and virulent. This extreme health and vigour is apparent in most wild plants this year. The colours of flowers are at their best, with brilliant blue forget-me-nots, dark, almost golden, yellow cowslips, while their close relative the primrose, although paler shows brilliantly in the sunlight.
They aren't the only ones, bluebells appear so vivid, while white florets of the umbels of cow parsley, the larger brilliant white heads of the stitchwort, Jack-by-the-hedge and violets are almost dazzling, As for size, every inflorescence appears greater than usual. One white violet found, had flowers more than an inch across.
What is the reason for all this fecundity? It can only be the result of what was assumed at the time to be "bad weather". The excessive rain and cold enabled plants to have more time to take on board more nutrients in a very soluble, and what to them was a much beneficial form. It's an ill-wind that blows nobody any good!
Sitting here surrounded by leaves of every shape and tint of green; my thoughts are turned to another subject, birds. Their vociferous calling, singing and chirping is only beaten as a distraction, by the biting of the gnats. They, that is the birds can be said to be making "one hell of a noise". They appear extremely busy at this time of night, flying backwards and forwards to only they know where. In the gathering gloom their colours are not clearly seen, but their shapes, sizes and flight make them easily recognisable. There are wrens, goldcrests, robins, tits, finches, wagtails, swallows, yellow-hammers, blackbirds, thrushes, rooks, pigeons and about 10 feet away, the other side of the hedge, in his courting suit, is a cock pheasant talking away to me, obviously scolding me for something. He is probably telling me off for being here, this is his territory; he certainly is not scared of my presence. It won’t be the same in September when the shooting starts. The birds, like the wild flowers seem more resplendent and numerous this year, which to some extent makes up for the lack of butterflies and moths, which are at present deficient nationwide.
The other sub-species to loose out this year is the farmer, not only has he had to contend with foot and mouth but also loss of winter crops and late sown spring ones. Lets hope that those who have suffered can be lifted somewhat, by some of the good God has to offer in nature. At times, all we can do is hope and pray, there is always an answer to our problems, not necessarily the one we want, but in the long run it usually works out for the best. Anybody who loves nature is in tune with God.