Dear Readers, I rather liked the way that the contrails from the aeroplanes above the cemetery on Saturday echoed the Scottish flag flying above one of the graves. It is especially poignant as St Andrew is the patron saint not only of Scotland, but also of Ukraine. May they prevail.
The walk this week was such a contrast to the wet and windy weather of my last jaunt, but there is still tree damage. One of the Cedars of Lebanon in the woodland graveyard area has lost its head completely.
The little Hinoki cypress, which in truth has been looking very sad for a couple of years, has been blown over completely.
But elsewhere the cherry-plums and cherry-crabs are reaching peak flowering, and very pretty they look too.
Now, something that’s always fascinated me is that some creature seems to dismantle the floral tributes that are left after the cremation ceremonies. I have been blaming the magpies, who often hang around looking shifty.
But it appears that on this occasion I have been very unfair, because look at this little devil, caught in the act.
This one obviously has a taste for chrysanthemums, and was having great fun with this flower. He or she was sitting so still that if my husband hadn’t pointed him out, I’d never have noticed.
And of course a walk around the cemetery wouldn’t be complete without my noting the progress of the spring ephemerals. I’m noticing a few more primroses…
And although I don’t think it’s been a bumper year for lesser celandine, there was a fine show on Saturday.
It won’t be long until the cow parsley sends up its white flowers, but for now I’m enjoying those fine, feathery leaves.
And it’s the last shout for the crocuses, but none the less pretty for all that.
And I am seeing the bluebell leaves become more and more prominent as the weeks go past. I love the changing of the guard at this time of year. And, I heard and saw a treecreeper, though I didn’t manage to get a photo for you this time. So here’s one that I managed to photograph in Coldfall Wood a few years ago. These are not uncommon birds, but they are very shy and secretive, so spotting one is always a delight.
Dear Readers, you might recognise these photos from my quiz a few weeks ago, but this week I want to intrigue you with some trivia about each plant. Can you match the trivia to the photo?
As usual, you’ll have until 5 p.m. UK time on Friday 4th March to get your answers in the comments – I’ll ‘disappear’ them as soon as I see them. Answers will be published on Saturday 5th March and, unlike for the past two weeks, I’ll actually attempt to get the scores in the post as well.
All you have to do is match the fact to the photo, and it’s job done! So if you think the Spring Crocus was Wordsworth’s favourite flower, your answer is A) 1.
Onwards!
Facts
A. Which of these spring ephemerals was Wordsworth’s favourite plant?
B. The species name of which plant means ‘unlettered’, to distinguish it from the hyacinth which is said to have the letters ‘AI’ inscribed on its petals?
C. Which plant is said to spring from cowpats and to smell slightly of apricots?
D. Which plant has leaves that fold up when it rains?
E. The name of which plant denotes an inferior species?
F. Which plant is called ‘The Flower of Death’ by the Chinese because of its pale, ghostly appearance?
G. Avid collectors of which plant are known as galanthophiles?
H. Which plant is also known as the Loddon Lily?
I. Which plant is supposed to have arisen from the body of a young man accidentally slain by a discus?
J. The genus name for which plant means ‘to injure or to harm’, referring to the poisonous nature of some members of the genus?
K. Which plant was long thought to be a hybrid of the primrose and the cowslip, until this was disproved by Henry Doubleday, one of the pioneers of the organic movement?
L. Which plant, also known as ‘choirboys’, is said to only grow where the blood of the ancient Romans has been spilled?
Downed cherry-crab tree in St Pancras and Islington Cemetery
Dear Readers, for the second week running I didn’t include the scores – I’d give me a written warning if I was you. But Mike from Alittlebitoutoffocus got 6 out of 10, Mike and Rosalind got 6 1/2, and Fran and Bobby Freelove got a spectacular 10/10. Well done everyone, and thank you for playing!
When he went away
The blues walked in and met me
Oh, yeah if he stays away
Old rocking chair’s gonna get me
All I do is pray
The Lord will let me
Walk in the sun once more
This is ‘Stormy Weather’, written in 1933 by Harold Arlen and Ted Koehler, and first sung by Ethel Waters at the Cotton Club in Harlem. Lots of people have recorded it – I really like this version by Etta James, but an earlier version by Billie Holliday is here, and there’s a surprisingly splendid version by Joni Mitchell here. It was also covered by Frank Sinatra, and this version gave me goosebumps for some reason. Let me know which one you like best!
2. Hey window pane
Tell me, do you remember?
How sweet it used to be
When we were together
Everything was so grand
Now that we parted
There’s just one sound
That I just can’t stand.
3. There’s a killer on the road
His brain is squirmin’ like a toad.
‘Riders on the Storm’ by The Doors, though subsequently covered by Annabel Lamb and a number of other bands. I’ve seen nothing to beat this video’s completely whacky psychedelic interpretation though.
4. But there’s one thing I know
The blues they send to meet me
Won’t defeat me, it won’t be long
Till happiness steps up to greet me
‘Raindrops Keep Falling On My Head’, written by Burt Bacharach and Hal David for the film ‘Butch Cassidy and the Sunshine Kid’. It was originally sung by B.J Davies, but has been covered by artists as varied as Sacha Distel (known as Sacha Distillery in our house when we were growing up) who sang it in French. The Manic Street Preachers also brought something extra to it, I think – it doesn’t sound quite so cheerful, but there is a kind of gritty defiance to their version.
5. Oh, where have you been, my blue-eyed son?
Oh, where have you been, my darling young one?
I’ve stumbled on the side of twelve misty mountains
I’ve walked and I’ve crawled on six crooked highways
I’ve stepped in the middle of seven sad forests
I’ve been out in front of a dozen dead oceans
I’ve been ten thousand miles in the mouth of a graveyard.
‘A Hard Rain’s A-Gonna Fall’. This really is Bob Dylan’s song to my mind – he sings it with the icy clarity of someone who actually knows what it’s about. On the other hand, Bryan Ferry did a kind of lounge lizard version. Feel free to disagree :-).
6. So, baby, talk to me
Like lovers do
Walk with me
Like lovers do
Talk to me
Like lovers do.
7. God bless Mother Nature (she’s a single woman, too!)
She took off to heaven (and she did what she had to do)
She fought every angel, and rearranged the sky
So that each and every woman could find the perfect guy
8. Yes, and how many years must a mountain exist
Before it is washed to the sea?
And how many years can some people exist
Before they’re allowed to be free?
Yes, and how many times can a man turn his head
And pretend that he just doesn’t see?
And it’s a second Bob Dylan with ‘Blowing In the Wind‘. He sure did like a weather-themed song. I only just avoided including ‘The Story of a Hurricane’ as well. How young he looks in the video! Also covered by Joan Baez and Stevie Wonder.
9. Well, there’s a small boat made of china
It’s going nowhere on the mantlepiece
Well, do I lie like a loungeroom lizard
Or do I sing like a bird released?
10. And I know, I know, I know, I know
I know, I know, I know, I know, I know
I know, I know, I know, I know, I know
I know, I know, I know, I know, I know
I know, I know, I know, I know, I know
I know, I know.
Downed cherry-crab tree in St Pancras and Islington Cemetery
Dear Readers, let’s see how we got on….
When he went away
The blues walked in and met me
Oh, yeah if he stays away
Old rocking chair’s gonna get me
All I do is pray
The Lord will let me
Walk in the sun once more
This is ‘Stormy Weather’, written in 1933 by Harold Arlen and Ted Koehler, and first sung by Ethel Waters at the Cotton Club in Harlem. Lots of people have recorded it – I really like this version by Etta James, but an earlier version by Billie Holliday is here, and there’s a surprisingly splendid version by Joni Mitchell here. It was also covered by Frank Sinatra, and this version gave me goosebumps for some reason. Let me know which one you like best!
2. Hey window pane
Tell me, do you remember?
How sweet it used to be
When we were together
Everything was so grand
Now that we parted
There’s just one sound
That I just can’t stand.
3. There’s a killer on the road
His brain is squirmin’ like a toad.
‘Riders on the Storm’ by The Doors, though subsequently covered by Annabel Lamb and a number of other bands. I’ve seen nothing to beat this video’s completely whacky psychedelic interpretation though.
4. But there’s one thing I know
The blues they send to meet me
Won’t defeat me, it won’t be long
Till happiness steps up to greet me
‘Raindrops Keep Falling On My Head’, written by Burt Bacharach and Hal David for the film ‘Butch Cassidy and the Sunshine Kid’. It was originally sung by B.J Davies, but has been covered by artists as varied as Sacha Distel (known as Sacha Distillery in our house when we were growing up) who sang it in French. The Manic Street Preachers also brought something extra to it, I think – it doesn’t sound quite so cheerful, but there is a kind of gritty defiance to their version.
5. Oh, where have you been, my blue-eyed son?
Oh, where have you been, my darling young one?
I’ve stumbled on the side of twelve misty mountains
I’ve walked and I’ve crawled on six crooked highways
I’ve stepped in the middle of seven sad forests
I’ve been out in front of a dozen dead oceans
I’ve been ten thousand miles in the mouth of a graveyard.
‘A Hard Rain’s A-Gonna Fall’. This really is Bob Dylan’s song to my mind – he sings it with the icy clarity of someone who actually knows what it’s about. On the other hand, Bryan Ferry did a kind of lounge lizard version. Feel free to disagree :-).
6. So, baby, talk to me
Like lovers do
Walk with me
Like lovers do
Talk to me
Like lovers do.
7. God bless Mother Nature (she’s a single woman, too!)
She took off to heaven (and she did what she had to do)
She fought every angel, and rearranged the sky
So that each and every woman could find the perfect guy
8. Yes, and how many years must a mountain exist
Before it is washed to the sea?
And how many years can some people exist
Before they’re allowed to be free?
Yes, and how many times can a man turn his head
And pretend that he just doesn’t see?
And it’s a second Bob Dylan with ‘Blowing In the Wind‘. He sure did like a weather-themed song. I only just avoided including ‘The Story of a Hurricane’ as well. How young he looks in the video! Also covered by Joan Baez and Stevie Wonder.
9. Well, there’s a small boat made of china
It’s going nowhere on the mantlepiece
Well, do I lie like a loungeroom lizard
Or do I sing like a bird released?
10. And I know, I know, I know, I know
I know, I know, I know, I know, I know
I know, I know, I know, I know, I know
I know, I know, I know, I know, I know
I know, I know, I know, I know, I know
I know, I know.
Dear Readers, I’ve been eagerly awaiting the return of the frogs to the pond, although to be honest, I never know if they’ve been there hibernating in the mud all winter, or if they’ve made the trek from somewhere else. So, I found two frogs on Tuesday, but I didn’t share the news because both of them had been attacked by some predator or another. Poor little things. I picked up the first one and it moved in my hand – clearly it was on its last legs, but it was still alive. I put it in a damp spot under a bush so that it could at least pass away in peace. The other one was a bit livelier but still injured, so I popped it gently into the shallow end of the pond to take its chances.
I am not sure who it is who injures the frogs, but there are certainly several possible culprits.
I hate to blame the foxes, but they do pass through the garden every night, and I’m fairly sure that they would at least give a frog a nibble. A few years ago there was a positive pile of dead frogs by the pond one night, and as foxes cache their food I was very suspicious.
Next potential culprit:
To be clear, I’m not saying it was this cat particularly (though I did once see him walking across the patio with a dead mouse in his mouth. When he saw me looking at him he sped up ever so slightly, as if to say ‘nothing to see here’). Cats in general seem to love to play with frogs, though I’ve never seen one eat one. One cat used to sit by the side of the pond patting them on the head whenever they broke the surface, a bit like Whack-a-mole. Sadly, a cat’s idea of fun is not so much fun for the frog, with its thin skin and breakable bones. But there is a third possible perpetrator as well.
A pair of magpies have been visiting the garden since 2021, and they are such curious, intelligent birds that it would surprise me not a jot if they had a good old peck at some poor frog. Plus I heard them cackling away not an hour before I noticed the dead frogs. I wouldn’t put it past them to pick a frog out of the pond for some amusement either.
All in all, the poor frogs have a bit of a time of it, but though it’s really hard for the individual creatures, as a species they seem to be extremely resilient. I remember when this predator visited a few years ago, and even as I watched he ate three frogs before I shooed him/her away (not before the bird had punched a hole in my pond liner unfortunately).
When we cleared out the pond subsequently we found 56 frogs still in situ, so even the most voracious frog-eater doesn’t seem to make much of a dent in the population as a whole.
But still, I was so happy when I peered into the pond this morning to see two healthy-looking male frogs in the water, waiting expectantly for the females to turn up. Fingers crossed for another bumper tadpole year. The frogs disappeared before I could get a photo, but here’s one from last year, just to give you an idea. Interestingly (for me at least) I note that the frogs appeared in the garden on 21st February last year, so they’re more or less on time!
Photo from The Wildlife Trust’s websitehttps://www.wildlifetrusts.org/habitats/grassland/calaminarian-grassland
Dear Readers, I was reading through my British Wildlife magazine this month when I came across a type of habitat that I’d never heard of before – calaminarian grasslands. They are named after the violet Viola calaminaria, which grows on rocks which are rich in zinc, or calamine (yes, the same stuff that we slap onto our sunburn). The violet grows only in mainland Europe, but the habitat has retained the name. Calaminarian grassland thrives where there are metal-rich rocks and contamination – in the Snowdonia region (and particularly in the Gwydyr Forest Mines which the article, by Caroline Bateson, refers to) this dates back to small-scale mining of lead, zinc and silver which started in Roman times and continued, more or less intensively, right up to 1960. Until the First World War, the area would also have been intensively grazed by sheep, which would have helped to preserve the habitat, described by Bateson as a ‘fabulous wild land of moor and bog, with pockets of deciduous woodland’. After World War I, the area was planted with conifers to ensure that the UK would be self-sufficient in timber. The small amounts of calaminarian grassland that survive are considered to be endangered in the European Red List of habitats.
Zinc Violet (Viola calaminaria) (Photo Four)
Calaminarian grassland is so special because the plants that survive there are largely metallophytes – plants that thrive on high levels of metal in the soil. They are often not large or showy, but they are often very rare. One particular plant is known as Lead Moss (Ditrichum plumbicola), and the Gwydyr Forest Mines are described as ‘the single greatest area globally’ for this plant, which is found only in the UK and Germany. In the photo below, it’s growing on the spoil from a lead mine. Bateson notes that it is ‘perhaps the least visibly engaging’ of the Gwydyr species, as it disappears in the drier months of the year, and can only be identified to species level with a hand lens. This makes it a difficult conservation ‘sell’ to the general public, unlike, say, an orchid or a particularly resplendent butterfly.
Lead Moss (Ditrichum plumbicola) (Photo One)
Lead Moss positively thrives on the toxic soil of these sites, and therein hangs a conundrum. As the toxicity gets less (through rainfall and natural succession), the moss is outcompeted, and the pine needles dropping from the conifer forest don’t help.
Another plant that is an ‘obligate metallophyte’ is Alpine Pennycress (Noccaea caerulescens). It actually needs the toxic substrate of lead, zinc and silver mines to survive, and will not grow anywhere else. Bateson says that it is very abundant at the Gwydyr site, although it is nationally scarce. It is what’s known as a hyperaccumulator, which means that it can pick up extremely high levels of heavy metals and store them in its leaves and cell walls without being poisoned. It could possibly be used to detoxify contaminated sites.
Other plants found at Gwydyr include the rare Forked Spleenwort (Asplenium septentrionale) and a genetically adapted race of Sea Campion which, as the name suggests, is usually a coastal plant. It has evolved to tolerate soils with high levels of toxicity. There are also some very rare lichens which are also heavy-metal lovers, and a recent survey found two species of lichen that were new to Britain, and two that were new to science.
The question is, however, how to preserve this unique grassland, and indeed should we even be trying? The habitat arose out of environmental abuse and exploitation, and yet nature has made the best of it. The question is further complicated by the variety of tiny niche habitats within Gwydyr. Work that has been done so far has involved removing the conifers and scrub, a delicate process because the mosses and small plants that are the subject of the conservation effort won’t benefit from being trampled – cut trees have to be carried, rather than dragged, off site for example. In Cornwall, an attempt to conserve another metallophyte involved scraping off the top soil to reveal more toxic material. Unfortunately, the areas were quickly colonised by other vegetation, and it seems to be important to reveal pockets of toxic soil rather than large areas that allow the ‘big guns’ to move in.
Grazing used to be a key feature of these grasslands, but even this is problematic. Too many sheep will change the habitat by trampling and dunging, and of course the toxicity levels have to be considered with regard to the welfare of the animals. Other management possibilities include hand-strimming (which is particularly good in preserving the right conditions for Alpine Pennycress) and hand-weeding, and Bateson makes an excellent point here. I quote her below:
“Ideally, I should like the grasslands managed so that their unique biodiversity has the best chance of surviving into the future. Yet there are legitimate reasons to question the justification for these management methods, particularly in terms of the use of heavy machinery and power tools which have a high carbon footprint. Instead of looking backwards and trying to implement management techniques that are costly and unsustainable, perhaps a novel approach is needed. Would it be possible to bring back labour-intensive land management to enable green jobs, address health and wellbeing, encourage a greener economy and aid nature conservation simultaneously?” (Bateson, British Wildlife February 2022 pg 252)
What an excellent question, and one that it’s well worth pondering. Coincidentally, I am reading a book by Cal Flynn called ‘Islands of Abandonment’ which discusses a range of human-created landscapes (including, incidentally, the calaminarian grasslands) and how they can so often act as refuges for biodiversity. We need as a species to move away from only conserving what is beautiful in our eyes, and towards a more pragmatic assessment of where species are surviving. Brownfield sites are often richer in insect species than artificial meadows, although the latter might be prettier. We need to retrain our eyes to see what’s really there.
Dear Readers, for some reason (probably author incompetence 🙁 ) the acknowledgement of everyone’s brilliance last week wasn’t published, so here it is now, and congratulations to all of you! And apologies!
Dear Readers, what a splendid selection of answers! Claire got a very creditable 8/10 (just a teeny tiny mix-up on the small raptors), and Mike from Alittlebitoutoffocus, Rosalind and Mark and Fran and Bobby Freelove all got a perfect 10 out of 10. Well done to all of you, and thanks to everyone for playing. I feel something weather-related coming on for Sunday 🙂 seeings as the wind from Storm Eunice which is racketing around outside as I write this is enough to blow anyone’s tiara off 🙂
Dear Readers, while many of us are sitting in our armchairs nursing a headache after the shenanigans of New Year’s Eve, some intrepid souls were venturing out on New Year’s Day to see how many plants they could find that were in flower. The New Year Plant Hunt runs from 1st to 4th January every year, and nearly 2,000 people took part in the 2022 event.
In total, 669 different species of plant were found to be in flower, with a pretty even split between native and non-native plants. The four most commonly-found plants were daisy, dandelion, groundsel and annual meadow grass, which were each recorded in over 50% of the lists submitted. Because it has been a mild winter, over half the plant species are thought to be flowering late – there were some stray hogweed flowers, for example, and some yarrow. Because of the date at which the flower count takes place, it isn’t picking up the early-flowering that’s been seen in some other reports (such as the talk given by Alex Fitter on Plants and Climate Change here or in this report on spring coming earlier). In addition, because of the pandemic over the past two years, the authors of the BSBI (Botanical Society of Britain and Ireland) report suspect that people are tending to stick closer to home, which probably means a lot of urban and suburban plants are being picked up. As we know, urban areas have the ‘heat island’ effect, which helps plants to survive and even thrive which would otherwise be too cold.
Annual Meadow-Grass (Poa annua) (Photo Two)
Standard UK floral guides would expect only about 2% of plants to be in flower in early January (which would only be about 30 species). 669 species in flower is the second highest recorded (it was just beaten by 710 species in 2021), but every year since the survey began in 2012 has shown many more species flowering than 2%. BSBI make the point that we need more information in order to conduct a ‘radical reassessment’ of flowering patterns in the UK. More citizen science is clearly called for. It’s surprising what a lot of people doing something for a short period of time on a regular basis can find out. You can read the full BSBI report here.
Dandelion (Photo Three)
And can I just share with you this wonderful poem by Gerard Manley Hopkins, in praise of all those small, scrawny, unnoticed plants that are so often written off as weeds?
Inversnaid
This darksome burn, horseback brown,
His rollrock highroad roaring down,
In coop and in comb the fleece of his foam
Flutes and low to the lake falls home.
A windpuff-bonnet of fáwn-fróth
Turns and twindles over the broth
Of a pool so pitchblack, féll-frówning,
It rounds and rounds Despair to drowning.
Degged with dew, dappled with dew
Are the groins of the braes that the brook treads through,
Wiry heathpacks, flitches of fern,
And the beadbonny ash that sits over the burn.
What would the world be, once bereft
Of wet and of wildness? Let them be left,
O let them be left, wildness and wet;
Long live the weeds and the wilderness yet.
Dear Readers, when I was growing up in the East End of London, a special treat was a trip to Gamages Department Store. Going there wasn’t such a trek as a visit to the ‘real’ West End of Oxford Street, and somehow it always felt more homely and welcoming. There was lots to please small children too.
Firstly, there was the extensive model railway, with the trains going in and out of tunnels and the signals going on and off. From memory, every so often the lights would go off, and the whole railway was illuminated. I have always liked miniature things, and I loved the tiny trees and little people waiting on the platforms, some of them with their dogs and luggage and prams.
Then, there was the extensive toy department – I always loved all the soft toys, and the selection of red pandas and orang utans and furry bison here was unrivalled. Plus, there was a whole section devoted to magic tricks, which kept my little brother amused.
But best of all was the pet department. You could buy a twelve-inch crocodile, or an exotic-looking hamster, or an African grey parrot. But the main attraction was not for sale. This was Jackie, the Indian mynah bird, who had an extensive repertoire of whistles and phrases. I had a friend called Jackie who loved to visit because when the bird said ‘Hello, Jackie!’ she always thought he was talking to her. Jackie was a real East Ender – he said ‘Hello, Darlin’ with just the right degree of lubricity, and you could hear his laugh in Petticoat Lane market any day of the week. He would sometimes get into a row with the African Grey Parrot and the noise was excruciating – normally it would only calm down when grapes were offered by the Pet Department assistant to all the irritated parties.
I did wonder if Jackie, and other animals, were happy: my Dad once made the mistake of taking me to the Club Row pet market to see the animals and I was inconsolable because I couldn’t rescue all the puppies and kittens and caged birds. But Jackie seemed so upbeat, so willing to engage with all the visitors, that at least he never seemed bored, or depressed. I loved to go and see him, and the other animals, and in my childish innocence I figured that they would never sell one of their creatures to anyone who wasn’t perfectly equipped to give them the best possible life.
A wild Common Hill Mynah (Gracula religiosa) (Photo Two)
Mynah birds are members of the starling family, that group of extraordinary avian mimics, and Jackie’s species has the Latin name ‘religiosa’ because in Asia they are often taught to repeat prayers. Jackie was not a particularly reverent bird, as we’ve seen, but if there is a heaven for animals he surely deserves to be in it, when we consider how many people he charmed over the years, and how much happiness he brought to a wide selection of small children.
Gamages closed for good in 1972, when I was twelve years old. There is absolutely no sign of its existence, the whole site having been razed to the ground and this very uninspiring office building replacing it. London is constantly reinventing itself, not always for the better, but I still have my memories, and now they’re shared with you too. The last few years have taught me how memory can be ephemeral even in the living, and how things unshared can disappear like sea-mist. There is no better time to share your stories than now.
Dear Readers, it was with some trepidation that I headed off for my usual walk in St. Pancras and Islington cemetery. Storm Eunice was said to have been the worst storm for over 30 years, with four people killed in the UK, including one poor young woman less than a mile from where I live. A few trees had been damaged in the streets of East Finchley, some fence panels had been blown out and there was a general call for glaziers and tree surgeons, but I was most concerned about trees on open ground, such as those in the cemetery or places like Hampstead Heath.
It was still fairly breezy when we arrived at the cemetery but it was open, and the magnificent cedars of Lebanon at the entrance looked intact. Some of their huge, barrel-shaped cones had been blown off before their time, however – normally they literally fall to pieces on the tree, scattering their seeds everywhere.
Cone from the cedar of Lebanon
I had never really looked at one properly before – the cone has a kind of architectural quality that I rather like, with its bands of silver and chocolate.
The blossom continues to increase, from just a few flowers on the crab apples and cherry-crabs to hundreds, with more and more buds bursting open. If the storm had been a few weeks later I have no doubt that it would have stripped the trees bare of their flowers. As it is, they’ve hung on.
Cherry-crab blossom
Crab apple blossom
What the wind seems to have done is found all the weak points, ripping damaged and old twigs and branches from the older and more exposed trees.
The woodland grave site is guarded by some of the cemetery workers – there are some huge trees here (including ‘my’ swamp cypress, which seems mercifully unharmed). The cedar of Lebanon here is surrounded by police tape, and one poor man is told off for venturing in to one of the graves. Elsewhere in the cemetery, another gigantic cedar of Lebanon has lost an entire branch, which would certainly have severely injured anyone passing underneath, so you can understand the need for caution.
As we approach the edge of the cemetery, closest to the North Circular Road, I can see how the wind has whipped through this stand of willow. It’s a visible manifestation of the direction and strength of the wind.
Further along, two trees from an avenue of young cherry-crabs have been blown over completely.
The birds have largely gone to ground, though the robins are still singing. But I see a big flock of nervous redwings tearing through the ash trees, and a flock of about forty chaffinches, buffeted by the wind and seeming to dare one another when the time comes to move on to the next tree.
Nervous redwing considering its next move.
There are more big branches down, and I think in this case the ivy was probably to blame – it weighs the trees down and catches the wind in the way that a bare branch wouldn’t. No doubt the wood pigeons will make short work of the berries.
And just in case you can’t tell from the blurry photos, it now starts to absolutely pour with rain. I try to keep cleaning my camera lens but I can’t keep up with the deluge.
And so, like any sensible people, we head for home, which proves not to be as straightforward as you’d think – along Kew and Withington Road, our usual route, there are several trees down, and so we have to zig zag through the undergrowth. But here, for your delectation, are a few damp, rain-smeared photos. Hopefully things will be a bit drier next week.
Damp crocuses
Damp primroses
A damp pine cone
A blooming great fallen tree, necessitating a clamber through the undergrowth in the pouring rain.
