Dear Readers, today I was at the Wildfowl and Wetlands Trust site in Barnes, south-west London, with my friend P and her three-month old baby boy. It’s such a joy to have a baby in my life again – the last time was when P herself was a baby, and that’s (ahem) over thirty years ago. The baby settles when his mum is carrying him in a sling and walking, so today we did 14,000 steps – not bad for someone with peripheral neuropathy and a cane. And we saw some splendid wildfowl, like the collection in the photo above – there are fulvous whistling duck (bottom left) and ruddy-headed geese in the middle.
This little guy is a white-headed duck, and he was displaying by whistling and raising that little spiky tail.
And look! Some white storks. These are being re-introduced in several locations in the UK, including the Knepp estate and, apparently, Enfield, which is becoming something of a London rewilding hotspot, what with beavers arriving too.
This wild heron was being intermittently bombarded by a pair of very irate black-headed gulls, and very entertaining it was too, for us onlookers at least, though the heron was less than impressed.
P spotted these knobbly roots, and I do believe that they’re the ‘breathing roots’ of the Swamp Cypress (one of my favourite trees) – the trees were planted along the edge of one of the ponds, and the roots protrude above the surface of the earth. They are known as ‘knees’, and it used to be thought that they helped with oxygen exchange in wet conditions. Actually, scientists discovered that even if the knees are cut off, there is no decrease in oxygen, so the current theory is that these roots help to stabilise the tree in soggy conditions. Whatever the reason, they are remarkable structures.
Bark of swamp cypress
And then it was time to head home and put my feet up. But as I left East Finchley Station, I noticed that the gnarly old tree next to the coffee stand was absolutely covered in catkins.
I think this is a hornbeam (not surprising as there’s a hornbeam and oak forest on the other side of the road), but I had never noticed it before, caged in as it is. It is really glorious this year, and well worth a look if you’re hurrying past en route to the station. Just proves you don’t have to do 14,000 steps to see something impressive!
A series following the 72 British mini-seasons of Nature’s Calendar by Kiera Chapman, Lulah Ellender, Rowan Jaines and Rebecca Warren.
Dear Readers, my response to the title of this piece is ‘not around here they ain’t’ – today is cold, windy and grey, with a speckling of raindrops, and I imagine that any self-respecting butterfly is hiding away in a crevice somewhere. But on milder, calmer days you may well spot a Brimstone butterfly scurrying along – Rebecca Warren describes the males as having a ‘wind-tossed sweet-wrapper’ appearance, and I couldn’t put it better myself! The females are not as brightly coloured, and both sexes disappear when they land and close their wings, so closely do they resemble a leaf.
Brimstones have very long tongues, which means that they can take advantage of the long corollas of primroses (which most other insects cannot). This is one reason why Brimstones emerge from hibernation so early, and why timing is everything – if there is nothing to feed on, the butterfly will die. Later, the insects will seek out buckthorn or alder buckthorn to lay their eggs on.
Orange tip butterfly at rest (Photo by Sarah Perkins/RES)
Brimstones aren’t the only ‘early flyers’ – Orange Tip butterflies can also be around on mild days in early spring. They don’t hibernate overwinter as an adult butterfly, but appear from their chrysalises, timing their emergence to the flowering of Garlic Mustard and Lady’s Smock. When the females land on a plant they can tell, via sensors on their feet, whether another female has already been there and laid a single tiny egg: if so, the new female will flitter off to find another plant, because sadly the caterpillars of this species are cannibalistic, and will eat the eggs or caterpillars of any subsequent females.
The caterpillars are easy to miss, but are superbly camouflaged to look just like the stems of Garlic Mustard.
On a warm day, all sorts of other butterflies might crop up as well: Peacocks and Red Admirals may emerge from hibernation, and be found sunning themselves on a wall or path. Butterflies have to reach an internal temperature of about 28 degrees Celsius before they can fly – as Rebecca Warren points out, this is why it’s so dangerous for a hibernating butterfly to emerge too early, because they may not be fast enough to escape predators, and there might not be enough nectar to top up their energy stores. More reason to plant some early-flowering nectar sources, lovely gardener friends!
Dear Readers, there have been sightings all along the south coast during the past few weeks, which has gotten lepidopterists very excited. This butterfly has sometimes been seen in the summer, but those insects were thought to be migrants. The early appearance of these latest creatures is likely to be because they have emerged here, and this indicates that the butterflies must have bred and laid their eggs last year. It’s a tremendous boost, at a time when so many butterflies and moths are struggling.
The original extinction of the Large Tortoiseshell was thought to be tied to the Dutch Elm disease outbreak in the latter half of the 20th century, along with all the usual other factors, such as intensification of agriculture and deforestation. Elm is a major foodplant for Large Tortoiseshell caterpillars, but fortunately they also eat willow and poplar.
An alternative hypothesis for the loss of the species from the UK is linked to the fall in the number of predatory birds due to DDT. The caterpillars feed on the fine branches at the top of trees, which is where small birds such as tits do most of their foraging. The caterpillars have little defence against these birds, so it could be that the loss of the sparrowhawks, for example, upset the balance, and allowed the small birds to proliferate.
There was some concern that the Large Tortoiseshells were actually captive-bred and released, but if so, this has happened across a great swathe of southern England, from Cornwall right through to Kent. It’s quite possible that some have ‘arrived’ in this way, but also that migratory adults have stayed and bred, especially with our milder winters.
But how do you know if you’re looking at a Large Tortoiseshell, as opposed to a small one? Here’s the Large Tortoiseshell again…
The Large Tortoiseshell is (surprise!) larger than the Small Tortoiseshell, but that can be difficult to discern unless you have the two species sitting next to one another. More important is that the Large Tortoiseshell is more predominantly orange than the Small Tortoiseshell, and generally the colours are not as ‘sharp’ in the larger insect. Also, note that the Large Tortoiseshell doesn’t have the bright white spots on the edge of each forewing, or the blue spots on the forewing, that the Small Tortoiseshell does.
If the Large Tortoiseshell is recognised as a resident, it will be the 60th species of butterfly for the UK, and the first new species added to the list since Butterfly Conservation started as an organisation in 1968. So, let’s keep our eyes peeled, and see what we can spot!
Dear Readers, any of you who are local to East Finchley might have noticed that the large London Plane trees on the High Road are currently surrounded by yellow plastic fences. Some have had the paving stones around them lifted, while others are now stranded in the middle of what looks, on the face of it, like tarmac. However, if you walk on the surface, you’ll notice that it’s slightly bouncy, a bit like the ‘stuff’ that is used in childrens’ playgrounds to stop the urchins from damaging themselves. So, what’s going on? I did some digging on Barnet Council’s website, and found some very interesting information.
The pavement areas around trees, especially large ones like the London Plane trees on the High Road, are often uneven and highly damaged, both by tree roots and by lorries and vans parking on the pavement – if you look, you’ll see that it’s often the paving stones closest to the road that are cracked. But there’s also the problem of rain water run-off – in heavy rain, a lot of the water flows into the road, and then into the overloaded water mains, which increasingly can’t cope with sudden downpours. So, the works around the trees are part of the SUDS initiative, meaning Sustainable Urban Drainage System. In some parts of the Borough, you might have noticed the development of rain gardens, or of areas of planting along the side of the road, where the plants soak up any excess water.
The material used around the trees is permeable, which means that water will pass through it and be taken up by the tree roots. It’s known as ‘Bound Rubber Crumb’, and is made from recycled car tyres. Because it’s flexible, it allows tree roots to grow and change without causing any cracking or trip hazards, Overall, it’s a good thing, especially for those of us with limited mobility/dodgy feet, or anyone pushing a pram or a wheelchair, and it’s good for the trees too – more water should be available to them instead of just running off the pavement.
The one thing I will say is that the Council haven’t communicated any of this, so I suspect there will be a fair measure of confusion and even suspicion about what’s going on. This is a bit of a shame, considering what a positive development this actually is.
Dear Readers, on Wednesday Jolene, my foster cat, went to the RSPCA Animal Hospital in Finsbury Park to get her hip re-X-rayed. As she was going to be sedated, she went without her breakfast, and gave every impression of being a poor, starving cat that nobody ever feeds. Fortunately she was picked up nice and early, and has just come back with a clean bill of health. She’s wandering around like a small furry drunken person, but the sedation will wear off soon, and she’ll be back to the chatty cat that she usually is.
She really is a lovely little cat, but I think she finds us a bit boring – she’d fit in well with a household where there are people who’ll play with her for hours and give her cuddles as required. Also, once she can go outside she’ll probably find plenty to entertain herself, rather than the walnut shells and clothes moths that she’s currently obsessed with. She’ll be on the RSPCA website soon, and I’ll send you a link as soon as she’s online.
When I step naked into my shower, I find, staring down at me, its eight dark eyes peering over the silver lip of the sprayer, a tarantula the size of a bar of soap.
There’s a reason we tap out our shoes, check behind pillows every night before bed. Spiders and scorpions make a daily pilgrimage of this house, through windows and doors, to and from the jungle that presses in on us from all sides.
How many have I displaced, or killed, I wonder, looking up, surprised by this creature, each of us weighing options: four pairs of legs leaping into the falls and down the bluff of my body. Or two, scrambling out into the cold to fetch a broom.
And I think, not my shower today, but ours.
“You stay up there and look,” I hear myself say, and with this a small peace forms between us. My hands lather and scrub. The brown voyeur drums one hairy finger just at the edge of the cascade—that thin wet line between curious and afraid, where each of us must make a home.
Dear Readers, there was an outage on the Victoria Line this morning which scuppered a visit to my pal S in Walthamstow, so I decided to make the most of it and see what was happening in Kings Cross. This area has transformed out of all recognition over the past few years, from an area that was one of the dodgiest spots in London to somewhere full of chi-chi caffs and high-end dress shops. Still, one thing that has been made over and which supports a whole range of wildlife is Camley Street Natural Park – today there was a small group of primary school children getting very excited over the coot, who was taking reeds to his partner. She was already sitting on the nest, and spent inordinate amounts of time re-arranging everything.
Distant coot!
I’ve written about this place here and here and indeed here, but there’s always something new to admire. This is the first time that I’ve noticed how abundant the Alexanders is – last time I found it, back in 2020, it was growing on a rubbish tip close to Muswell Hill Playing Fields. Well, it’s very at home here, and I was also pleased to see some Fritillaries popping up in the damper spots – not quite a water meadow yet, but lovely nonetheless.
There’s a lot of white blossom about too: I was very surprised to see this hawthorn hedge already in flower. Did no one tell it that it’s also known as Mayflower? Maybe it’s a cultivar…
And there was this pretty little tree – cherry plum maybe?
Anyhow, I decided to have a wander back to the station, to see how the planting was going there. And I was stunned by this flowering cherry. When the sun came out, it positively scintillated.
And the growth on these trees also sparkled in the sunlight…
So, although I missed meeting up with my friend, it was nice to go for an aimless wander. I couldn’t help noticing how many security guards there were amongst the trees and new buildings. There’s no doubt that this isn’t a place where homeless people congregate any more, most of them having moved to Euston, from whence they will no doubt be moved on again. And this will keep happening, unless someone does something to actually help solve the multiple problems of access to housing, social and mental health care and addiction that many people have, rather than relocating it to another part of the capital.
Chiffchaff ((Phylloscopus collybita) Photo by Andreas Trepte. Licensed under CC BY-SA 2.5 via Wikimedia Commons
A series following the 72 British mini-seasons of Nature’s Calendar by Kiera Chapman, Lulah Ellender, Rowan Jaines and Rebecca Warren.
Dear Readers, I haven’t actually heard a chiffchaff yet this year, but no doubt Cherry Tree and Coldfall Wood here in East Finchley will soon be full of the sound of little brown birds advertising their presence. In fact, the song of the chiffchaff sometimes irritates me a bit, which is a little unkind to the poor bird, who is only trying to find a mate after all. But having had this thought, I decided to look into other bird calls which are thought to be stressful to the human ear, and up came the ‘Brain Fever Bird’, otherwise known as the Common Hawk-Cuckoo (Hierococcyx varius) – the call sounds as if the bird is saying ‘Brain Fever’, but as the song is repeated it gets louder, higher pitched and somewhat more hysterical. Have a listen to its call, and see if you can imagine laying awake in a tropical climate, maybe with a touch of malaria, and listening to this being repeated over and over again…
Common Hawk-Cuckoo
Mind you, it could be worse – further east, the Common Hawk-Cuckoo is replaced by the Large Hawk-Cuckoo, who sounds even more insistent, to my ear at least.
But let’s get back to the chiffchaff, who sounds positively melodic after that lot. Here we are, back in 2024, when it appears that I was already feeling a bit ambivalent about that constant ‘chiff-chaff, chiff-chaff, chiff-chiff-chaff’….
Dear Readers, have you heard one yet? The song of the chiffchaff is one of those brainfever calls, the very sound of spring (along with the frogs in the pond). Here’s one that I recorded a few years ago in Cherry Tree Wood here in East Finchley – these ‘little brown jobs’ seem very fond of the scrubby area alongside the tube track. I love the way that the bird cherry blossom is blowing down in the wind.
I haven’t heard a chiffchaff just yet, and that’s perhaps a little surprising, though the rain has been relentless and I have been mostly cowering indoors. In ‘Nature’s Calendar’, Rebecca Warren suggests that some chiffchaffs are now spending the winter in the UK, as the winters become milder and a few insects survive through the year. There would certainly be precedent – the number of blackcaps, a small, usually migratory warbler, who stay throughout the year seems to be rising. Plus, Warren points out that some chiffchaffs, who normally migrate all the way to Africa from Scandinavia and other parts of Northern Europe, are now ‘short-stopping’ in the UK.
It can be tricky to identify a chiffchaff if it isn’t calling, however: have a look at the willow warbler (Psylloscopus trochilus) below. Migratory birds arrive in the UK in ‘late March’ (as opposed to ‘early March’ according to my Crossley guide), but as we’ve seen, that isn’t exactly diagnostic. Apparently, the willow warbler is a) yellower, b) larger and slimmer, c) more ‘open-faced’ and d) has a longer bill with an ‘almost orange’ base. Well, good luck with that, birdwatching peeps. Both chiffchaff and willow warbler are usually shy and retiring, and frequent similar scrubby habitat, so the best you’ll get is a glimpse.
Willow warbler (Phylloscopus trochilus). Photo by Andreas Trepte.
But then, maybe all we have to do is listen? Here’s the song of the willow warbler, to compare to the chiffchaff’s song in the video above. This was recorded by David Pennington in South Yorkshire.
And because I can’t resist it, here’s a chiffchaff from Belgium, recorded by Bernar Collet
If you pay attention, you can see the changeover going on – the migrants who appeared in autumn, such as the redwings, are restless and will be heading north to their breeding grounds, while many birds will be heading north from their wintering grounds in southern Europe or even further afield. They seem to be adaptable, these birds, with some of them staying put, some of them ‘short-stopping’ and some of them coming to the UK in ever decreasing numbers, as is the case with many of the birds that I’ve been looking at in my ‘Into the Red’ season. But the chiffchaffs come in huge numbers, up to 2 million every year, and let’s hope that it continues. They build their nests close to the ground, in brambles or nettles, and this reminds me of what an important, protective habitat a bramble patch can be.
Like the wren, the chiffchaff seems such a bundle of energy. This small bird has (probably) travelled to the UK all the way from Africa, crossing the Mediterranean, avoiding being shot in various places, to set up home in a piece of scrubby woodland. And how he sings! Like the wren, he expends so much energy in song, punching into the soundscape like a tiny sewing machine. They make me think that, however creakily, the wheel of life is still turning.
Dear Readers, I am a bit of a one for perfume, although I am much more careful not to blast everybody with aroma these days – I well remember my Dad saying how, when he was a bus conductor, he dreaded going upstairs because of the fug of different scents from all the ladies on their way to work. I think we appreciate how much more chemically-sensitive a lot of people are now, and don’t want to cause coughing, spluttering, eye-watering or nausea. So, I am very careful about how much I apply, and try to make sure that it’s died down a bit before I venture out. Was it Coco Chanel who suggested that you spray some perfume into the air, and then walk through the mist for the optimal amount? Anyhow, one thing I have never, ever wondered was what a Tyrannosaurus Rex smelled like, but clearly I am behind the times, because there is a developing science called archaeochemistry, which seeks to recreate the scents of yesterday.I suspect this all kicked off when museums became a bit more ‘immersive’. I remember visiting the Jorvik Museum in York, not long after it had opened. You jumped into a little train and were taken around a ‘Viking village’, complete with the smells of rotting fish on the harbour, or chamber pots in the streets. Lovely! But there is now a whole industry in creating the scents that scare people – one firm, Aromaprime, produces scents of everything from burning plastic to vomit. But to return to our T Rex theme, they also produce one called ‘Dinosaur Swamp‘, which apparently ‘mimics that of the boggy, humid swamps and forests the T-rex may have lived in; within the vicinity of prey that fed off the plants and used the nearby water sources.’
And, in fact, this is the smell that’s used in dinosaur displays, rather than the actual smell of a T-Rex, which would probably be a mixture of rotting meat stuck between the animal’s teeth (presumably it couldn’t floss because of its teeny tiny arms), mud, blood and dung. Lovely.
One scent-maker described how he was asked to recreate the smell of a woolly mammoth, which the client wanted to smell ‘sweaty’. However, with a notable devotion to accuracy, the scent-maker discovered that mammoths didn’t sweat (and neither do elephants), so he went to visit a llama farm, and came up with the scent of ‘dirty wool and grassy poo’. Much better, I’m sure!
However, it’s not all trivial stuff. Aromaprime also develop ‘scent cubes’ to be used with dementia patients or the partially-sighted, containing the scents of everything from coal fires to toffee apples to a flower shop to a library. When I think about how evocative scent can be, I can well imagine how these might bring back memories and add a whole new dimension to teaching sessions too. We might not know how a T-Rex smells, but most of us can remember an apple pie, or the scent of candyfloss.
Dear Readers, I’ve always loved the sunny faces of Lesser Celandine flowers, but had never noticed them in the beds alongside the MacDonalds building in East Finchley. Have they always been there, I wonder, or are they just a bit more obvious now that there’s been some cutting back? I imagine that they’ll now spread cheerfully through the bed, and good luck to them too. These members of the buttercup family are some of the first flowers of the spring, making the most of the lack of leaf cover to flower, multiply and then disappear in a matter of months.
And you might remember that we have a new street tree not far from my house in the County Roads. It’s a Prunus serrulata var Pandora otherwise known as a flowering cherry, and even though it was pouring with rain I stopped to take a quick photo of the emerging flowers. And what a lot of them there are, considering that the tree has only been here for ten minutes. Hopefully it will continue to do well.
This is one of those ‘in tearing haste’ posts, because by the time you read this I will have been to Sadler’s Wells to see ‘Mary, Queen of Scots’ by the Scottish National Ballet. I will be going with a blog-friend, J, and will report back – it sounds very interesting, and I am currently getting into dance and theatre in a big way. Have a look at the trailer in the post above to get the general idea!
