February 2018 -- Dippers and the Harts-Tongue Fern

Dipper

The bareness of winter trees can give a different perspective to familiar sights. When the leaves are off, a walk along Waterworks Road offers a striking view of the Golden Steps. Seen from the road they appear steep, like part of an ancient temple hewn from solid rock, while walking beside the steps suggest that they have only a moderate slope. While this marvel of Victorian construction may be enjoyed for the quality of the stonework — which never seems to deteriorate — it also provides a perfect habitat for a pair of those wonderful aquatic bids, Dippers. The birds depend on very clean water which supports the tiny creatures on which they feed. The tunnel beneath the car park offers a secure nest site and one wonders how many generations of
      Dippers have nested here. They are unique and delightful, dark with a white breast and eyelids, their busy and bobbing movements always interesting. I worry that one spring they will be absent but last week, after freezing temperatures followed by a heavy torrent flowing down the slope, a pair were about their usual activities.

      It goes without saying that evergreen plants can be of great value during winter and I find ferns to be admirable at this sunless time of year. Fine specimens of one of the best, the Harts-Tongue Fern, grow here and there around Strinesdale and a spreading colony adorns the remaining wall of the demolished waterman’s cottage. The undivided glossy blades make the wild fern a suitable garden plant and in ancient herbal medicine it was recommended ‘for removing gravelly deposits in the bladder’. Such ferns are useful for shady areas and I recently passed a small and dark front yard where two high-quality glazed pots accommodated large and distinctive ferns which looked superb.

Harts-Tongue Fern

      There had been an odd mild day when it is always possible always possible to believe that spring will eventually arrive. With higher temperatures comes a volley of birdsong from any area with trees. The greatest carrying-power emanates from the Mistle Thrush — repetitive but having a golden quality. Song Thrushes chatter hard and improvise, marking out territory, and further back in the trees a Wren is trilling Morse Code.

      As I was contemplating the aforementioned wall-grown ferns the other afternoon at dusk, a grey shadow fluttered across the path, side-slipping upwards to alight on the wall. A small bird sped away to safety. I had disturbed the process by which a female Sparrowhawk secures her evening meal.

November 2017 — Beech trees and swallows

Up to now we have experienced a remarkably mild but wet autumn. Many deciduous trees are still holding on to some of their leaves despite storm-force winds, while evergreens like holly appear dust-free and polished.

Beech trees

     A favourite tree of mine grows at the far end of Strinesdale Upper reservoir – a Scots pine which has developed in its own space into a fine round-headed specimen. This native conifer looks blue-tinged in the autumn light. I noticed recently that a wild rose, presumably having grown from a bird-dropped seed, has climbed into the pine, adding a further layer of beauty and interest.

     Looking towards Counthill, one can see a row of beech trees. They may be admired in all seasons, but at the moment, they are sensational with the leaves exhibiting warm golden and russet tones. This magnificent species has been the subject of scholarly debate as to whether it is native to the UK or has been introduced from abroad. Julius Caesar invaded Britain in 55 and 54 BC and asserted that no beech trees existed here, but soil samples from some depth contain pollen and show that beech has grown in England since the dawn of time. The eigtheenth-century Hampshire curate, the Revd Gilbert White, writing in the Natural History of Selbourne, declared beech ‘the most lovely of all forest trees, whether we consider its smooth rind or bark, its glossy foliage, or graceful pendulous boughs.’

 

BarnSwallow

    The swallows, models of streamlined elegance which skimmed over Holroyd’s land in September, have been replaced by large flocks of jackdaws. These members of the crow family, recognisable by their battleship-grey necks, have a cheeky, strutting gait and make a lot of noise. Their coarse calls resemble an out-of-tune string instrument being twanged. At regular intervals the flock lifts off the ground, all calling at once until they settle down again. Although common, they are worth watching for their great agility in the air.

October 2017 — Enchanter's nightshade

Hanging baskets have improved in recent years. Many exciting new plants have been introduced yet there is an old faithful which remains popular – Trailing Lobelia. This South African plant, perhaps most effective in blue or white shades, was named in honour of Mathias de l’Obel (1538–1616) the Belgian physician to King James I, and a noted botanist. A portrait of him shows a bluff, sturdy fellow with an impressive beard.

 

Enchanter’s Nightshad

    De l’Obel was responsible for the curious name attached to a fairly common wild plant. Enchanter’s Nightshade occurs as a persistent garden weed and a spreading colony grows in some local woodland. Despite the quaint name, there is nothing exotic about Enchanter’s Nightshade. It is modest and low-growing with minute white flowers and is not a nightshade. D l’Obel and fellow botanists were pioneers in the field and employed considerable scholarship and imagination in the naming of plants as they catalogued them in a systematic way. Ancient writings mentioned magical plants seemingly connected with the enchantress Circe and the scientific name Circaea was attached to this lowly weed. Nightshades were held to possess sinister powers and our plant became known as Enchanter’s Nightshade.

     The enchantress Circe appears in the Greek epic Homer’s Odyssey. Ulysses and his crew, during their adventurous return from the Trojan War, land on an island controlled by the beautiful Circe who changes some of the men into pigs. Ulysses, assisted by Hermes, undoes the spell, thereby saving their bacon. The Odyssey is thought to have originate during the eighth-century BC.

The nightshades, poisonous relatives of the potato and tomato, are famously represented by Deadly Nightshade. A plant of this species once grew by our church vestry steps. It has strange brown and maroon flowers which develop into toxic black berries and the plant yields the drug atropine, invaluable in eye surgery.

First published in October 2017