Monthly Archives: January 2023

A Quick Run Around the County Roads

Dear Readers, I am still in the throes of year end but am determined to get out for a quick walk at lunchtime – there’s always something to see, and even old familiar sights, like All Saints here on Durham Road, look all the lovelier against a colour-washed blue sky. I dragged my husband across the road to examine the bulbs, and some of the daffodils are almost in flower already.

And then there’s the fact that all the bollards are upright, as opposed to reclining drunkenly to the horizontal having been backed into by a passing van.

And I rather think that this tree is an alder, though it isn’t marked as such on the London Tree Map. I could of course be wrong though – I’ll have to have a closer look next time I whizz past.

In sad news, the tree that was walloped and damaged when a skip was being loaded a year or so back has finally been cut down. It sustained a huge wound and as it wasn’t treated, the trunk started to rot.

The crab apple originally

Following the encounter with the skip


It’s always a shame when a mature tree is cut down, especially when I suspect that if it had not been damaged, the crab apple would have survived for many more years. But accidents happen, our road is narrow and tricky to manoeuvre around, and everyone is under such pressure these days. And clearly you can’t have branches descending onto the noggins of innocent passersby. Plus, the street has received half a dozen new trees this year – although they’re just saplings at the moment, hopefully they’ll have a chance to mature and grow into fine specimens.

But, to end on a more cheerful note, I cannot pass this row of houses on Lincoln Road without smiling.

Each one has a presiding spirit above the doorway. There’s a very sad Poseidon…

..a chap with a very fine moustache…

and this lady, whose rather serious demeanour is offset by that splendid lipstick. I can just imagine someone standing on a stepladder, determined to give her a suitable starlet makeover.

And then, finally, I loved these rowan berries against the moss. It looks like game of bowls played by some mice.

And now, suitably buoyed up, it’s back to the spreadsheets. And goodness, it’s almost February! Soon year end will be over, and I’ll be able to get back to some sort of normality.

Big Garden Birdwatch 2023

Dear Readers, putting peanuts on the bird table was clearly not the best idea for the Big Garden Birdwatch this year: I have numerous very cute photos of grey squirrels (and one of a feral pigeon, a most unusual visitor) but none of the other birds could get a look in, though a very bold robin did have a go. Still, fortunately other feeders are available and so it wasn’t a complete washout. Clearly I’ll have to limit the seed and peanuts to the hanging feeders, which are a bit more of a challenge for the mammals.

So, we had a blackbird…

2 blue tits…

3 chaffinches (and at this point I feel like saying ‘and a partridge in a pear tree’, but I shall resist)…

1 collared dove (and no woodpigeons during the hour, probably too many squirrels…)

A dunnock, photographed through the back of a garden chair because s/he was very flighty and uncooperative…

Two very busy great tits, who I suspect are nesting nearby…

2 house sparrows, 2 magpies…

The magpies were in an altercation with the squirrels at one point – the birds seemed to be set on dismantling the remains of a drey in the whitebeam, probably for nesting material (it’s too early for baby squirrels), and the largest of the squirrels managed to drive them off.

Oh, and a robin…

and no less than fifteen starlings. At one point I thought that they might divebomb the squirrel, but those little dudes have very sharp teeth, so they thought better of it. There were so many of them that I thought I’d taken a photo, but this is the only one. Still, you get the general idea.

So, apart from the woodpigeon other no-shows were the goldfinches (where have they gone?), the ring-necked parakeets who’d popped in earlier, the blackcaps who are usually around, and the coal tit. But an hour isn’t very long in bird-time, and so I’m not unhappy – at least there’s something for the team at RSPB to punch into their computers. I shall be interested to see what effect, if any, the summer drought and the recent cold snaps have had on numbers. First winter survival is a key factor for the success of many garden birds.

Did you do the Big Garden Birdwatch? How did it turn out for you?

Saturday at Walthamstow Wetlands

A moody view towards Canary Wharf

Dear Readers, it has been a difficult start to the year for several of my friends, including the person that is usually my buddy when we visit Walthamstow Wetlands. My friend is off looking after her mother, who is in her nineties, and is trying to sort out carers, finances, and all the many, many things that go with trying to look after someone you love when you normally live several hundred miles away. And so, this Saturday I went for a walk to see what was going on, but my heart goes out to my friend, and I hope that soon she’ll be back and we’ll be exploring together again.

You might not think that there’s much going on at this time of year, but just look at this board, showing recent sightings!

However, don’t get too excited because we saw none of these on this visit, though I was very pleased to see whatever chose to show itself.

First up were some very fine hazel catkins. I think the ones in the bottom photo look like little people, but maybe it’s just me.

Signs of spring are everywhere in spite of the gloom – I love the new growth on the weeping willow reflected in the reservoir.

And you can tell that it’s spring when the coots are getting antsy, and bobbing around like rather ferocious black shuttlecocks.

The gorse is in flower, as it usually is (isn’t the saying that when the gorse isn’t in flower, kissing’s out of fashion?)

And look at this tiny critter! It’s a little grebe (otherwise known as a dabchick), and it lives up to its name by being only about half as big as a tufted duck. I spoke to one of the London Wildlife Trust volunteers, and she said she thought this species was her favourite – so little and so determined. Here one minute and gone the next, they have been called ‘floating rabbits’ because in better photos than these, they have a fluffy tail.


The better-known great crested grebe was also about – these birds are such a success story, and are much commoner than they were when I was growing up in the 60s. Such elegant birds!

A pair of Egyptian geese were getting very over-excited, and defending their territory against all comers, including the much larger Canada geese. I

There was a female pochard…

and lots of tufted ducks, including this female…

and a tree full of cormorants…

and great tits were much in evidence, along with robins and blue tits and long-tailed tits and all manner of tiny birds.

I thought that this bird (please excuse the blurry photo) was a great egret (and in fact there was one on one of the islands, but it was keeping a low profile). However, the black beak means that it’s a little egret. It didn’t look all that little from where I was standing, but it’s hard to judge sometimes.

So there is a definite sense of life stirring and of the pace picking up. I wasn’t sure if this coot was gathering material for a nest, and neither did s/he – when s/he got to the side of the lake she dropped the leaves, picked them up and dropped them again, before having a half-hearted nibble.

I love the Wetlands at this time of year – there are interesting reflections everywhere, like this one of a willow with its new growth…

..or this one of the Coppermill building.

And here’s a visitor who probably isn’t very welcome. I love cats, but there’s a lot of vulnerable wildlife here. Hopefully this feline is just popping in for a look around.

I’ve been having one of those low weeks – winter feels never ending sometimes, we’re in the throes of year end at work and the news is as sombre as ever. But there is much to be said for getting out into nature in order to get some perspective.


Grey Seals – A Success Story

Grey seal and pup by Walter Baxter from

Dear Readers, I always like to feature a success story and there was a very fine one in The Guardian today. The grey seal (whose Latin name Halichoerus grypus means ‘hook-nosed sea pig) was reduced to a population of about 500 individuals by the beginning of the 20th century – they were often hunted, and were seen as pests by local fishing communities. Today, the UK population has reached no less than 120,000, which represents 95% of the grey seals in Europe, and over 40% of the grey seals worldwide. The main reason for their rise seems to be the ending of persecution (they’ve been protected by law throughout Great Britain and Ireland), but there is also some thought that they might be benefitting from the fish that cluster around the artificial reefs created by wind turbines, in a nice display of the law of unintended consequences.

Grey seals are such big, curious animals, always popping up from below the waves to see what’s going on. They can live for up to 40 years, and often return to the same beaches to breed. The pups are born at various times around the UK coast, from August to January. They are fed with their mother’s rich milk for a few weeks, and then the females leave, to feed and to get ready for their next pup. By now, most of the pups will be thinking about braving the waves and going it alone for the first time. You can see grey seals at any time of year though – just take a boat to the Farne Islands, or Skomer, or walk along the beach at Donna Nook in Lincolnshire or the cliffs at Flamborough Head, and keep your eyes open for that retriever-shaped head. I have a great love for marine mammals of all kinds, but seeing a seal on a grey, blustery day is always a real tonic. The Wildlife Trusts have a list of places to see seals here.

Grey seal pup by Patrick Baldwin from

The pups are very chunky creatures (as well they have to be – it’s cold in the North Sea and the Atlantic, and they need to be well upholstered). The pups are a bit prone to wandering once they’ve been left alone by their parents, and one was recently rescued from outside a kebab shop in Hemsby, Norfolk. As they can weigh up to 45 kg they can require quite a bit of muscle to move – they are usually loaded onto a stretcher and then two strong people carry them back down to the beach, which can be hundreds of metres away. One pup was found behind a closed gate in someone’s garden, which was a bit of a puzzle. Yet another one had swum up the river Ribble and ended up in a farmer’s field. Fortunately there’s something about these animals that people seem to love, and there are many people who act to rescue lost pups, and to act as volunteers when the pups are born, keeping onlookers at a safe distance and helping them to learn about the seals.

Incidentally, seals are quite closely related to dogs, and can catch diseases such as distemper, so please be very careful not to allow your hound to approach a seal, even if s/he is only being friendly.

Londoners don’t have to go quite so far from home to see seals though – grey and the smaller harbour seals are regularly spotted in the Thames, with the former being seen as far inland as Putney Bridge. Let’s hope that the deteriorating water quality of the past year (thanks for the sewage, water companies!) doesn’t affect them too much.

Mike Pennington / Grey Seal (Halichoerus grypus) pup, Easter Lother, Fair Isle

And, since it’s been a while, here’s a poem by Gillian Clarke. I love the image of the milk in the water, and the pup in his ‘cot of stone’. See what you think.

Seal by Gillian Clarke.

When the milk-arrow stabs, she comes, water-fluent, down the long green miles.

Her milk leaks into the sea –

blue blossoming in an opal.

The pup lies patient in his cot of stone.

They meet with cries, caress as people do.

She lies down for his suckling,

lifts him with a flipper from the sea’s reach

when the tide fills his throat with salt.

This is the fourteenth day.

In two days, no bitch-head will break the brilliance listening for baby-cries.

Down in the thunder of that other country, the bulls are calling

and her uterus is empty.

Alone and hungering in his fallen shawl,

He’ll nuzzle the Atlantic and be gone.

If that day’s still, his moult will lie a gleaming ring on the sand,

like the noose she slips on the sea.





Fungi Are Not Much Fun If You’re a Nematode Worm

Oyster Mushroom (Pleurotus ostreatus)

Dear Readers, what could be more delicate and enticing than an oyster mushroom, with its frilly gills? They look to me like a troupe of ballerinas, and also turn my thoughts to frying them up in a bit of butter and garlic. Who would have thought that these fungi are nematode worm murderers? Well, buckle up because this is an astonishing tale, and makes it clear that mushrooms and toadstools are much more complicated than we ever thought.

Apparently, it’s been known since the 1980s that oyster mushrooms are carnivorous – they kill and digest microscopic nematode worms, But how? They can hardly knock them over the head with a stick, and the thought of oyster mushrooms prowling through the undergrowth is too much for even my imagination to comprehend.

What they actually do is far more interesting. Scientist Yen-Ping Hseuh discovered that the fungi produce little lollipop-shaped structures that break open when the nematode worms bash their heads against them.

‘Lollipop’ structures on the hyphae of oyster mushrooms (Photo byYi-Yun Lee, Academia Sinica, from the New Scientist article linked below)

These innocent-looking structures release a toxic nerve gas called 3-octanone – it triggers a cascade of calcium ions in the bodies of the worms, which induces paralysis and death. Fortunately, it’s only the hyphae (the parts of the fungus that live underground) that contain the toxin, rather than the fruiting bodies (which are the bits which end up in stir-fries).

Having dispatched their victims, the hyphae then grow into the bodies of the worms and digest them from the inside out. Lovely.

But why? I hear you asking. After all, most fungi make do with vegetable matter. It appears that the soils that the mushrooms grow in are particularly deficient in nitrogen, which is such an important element, and so difficult to access, that this fungus has turned to nematode-hunting. If we ever needed a hint that fungi are more closely related to animals than to plants, this is it.

You can read the whole article here.

Red List Number Twelve – Bewick’s Swan

Bewick’s Swan (Cygnus columbianus bewickii)

Dear Readers, the Bewick’s swan spends its summers in the Russian tundra, but in winter it heads south, and graces Ireland and England with its presence (the whooper swan is more likely to be seen in Scotland). This is a smallish swan (about 120 cms long, compared with the mute swan’s 152cm) and is usually seen in pairs or, later in the year, in family groups. Swans are monogamous and faithful not only to their partners, but to their breeding sites: in the British Trust for Ornithology’s ‘Into The Red’, Eileen Rees mentions being a Research Assistant at Slimbridge, and how she got to know the birds individually (the pattern of yellow on their beaks is different in each individual, as discovered by Sir Peter Scott). The volunteers and workers at the reserve would wait with anxiety for the return of the particular birds that they had grown to know and love. It’s very hard to watch as an animal you’ve grown fond of heads off into the unknown – no wonder we talk about children ‘leaving the nest’, and fear ’empty nest syndrome”.

An excerpt from Sir Peter Scott’s book of paintings of Bewick’s swans

Incidentally, Bewick’s swans are named for the artist Thomas Bewick, whose book of woodcuts of British birds is full of wonderful observation, strange folklore and the most beautiful illustrations.

Heron from ‘Bewick’s British Birds (1847)

Bewick’s swan is on the red list because of a decline in the non-breeding (winter) population. Is this a case of the bird now ‘short-stopping’ as is the case with many other species? In this phenomenon, birds that used to come all the way to the UK from other parts of Europe now settle down somewhere more close to hand (wing), because climate change has made some winter habitats less severe. Or is the bird in decline across its range? One thing that seems to be clear is that it’s the survival of the birds that is key, rather than their breeding success – they have just as many cygnets when the conditions are right, but fewer of them survive. This points to poorer conditions on their wintering grounds (maybe less food availability or more disturbance), and possibly to the impact of more extreme weather events. Whatever the reason, the population of swans in north-western Europe has fallen from almost 30,000 birds to less than 18,000. Several organisations are researching and ringing the birds, in the hope that more information will provide a way to protect and nurture these beautiful birds.

And here they are in flight. If you’re unsure if you’ve heard a whooper swan or a Bewick’s swan, note that the Bewick’s generally ‘honks’ twice, the whooper swan three times. Doesn’t this just sound like the music of the wild?

Bewick’s Swans in flight (Photo by Bouke ten Cate)

Wednesday Weed – Goat Willow

Goat Willow (Salix caprea)

Dear Readers, I hope that you will forgive my preoccupation with goat willow this winter, but having read about what an excellent plant it is for bees, I thought that it deserved a few moments of our attention. The plant apparently gets its name from Hieronymous Bock’s Herbal, in which the tree is seen being browsed by goats. In some Northern countries, flutes are made from goat willow, and that immediately makes me think of Pan, the god of the forest. In fact, I rather remember seeing a sculpture of Pan having sex with a goat at the Royal Academy a few years ago, and being rather surprised – apparently the Romans would have plonked this in their dining room or courtyard garden as a talking point. I imagine it would certainly have got the conversation going. I shall leave you with a rather more sedate illustration.

‘Pan Reclining’ by Sir Peter Paul Reubens

Goat willow has the reputation as a rather feral plant, but it’s also a favourite with children and flower arrangers because of those gorgeous catkins. Goat willow has male flowers on one tree, and female flowers on another – the male catkins mature with yellow pollen, the female ones mature to a green colour, and apparently both are great for the pollinators.

Like all willows, goat willow likes it damp and disturbed, and is a true pioneer of ‘dodgy’ environments. It’s found right across Europe and Western Asia. As some of you will remember, I recently bought a Kilmarnock Willow, which is a goat willow made a bit more user friendly – it’s a male clone grafted onto another willow, which controls the size. You can get a female version called a Weeping Sally.

Kilmarnock Willow

Buds on the Kilmarnock willow

The timber of goat willow is not widely used, owing to its propensity to crack (rather like the related species Crack Willow (Salix fragilis).However, it’s big claim to fame is as a food plant for  ‘His Imperial Majesty’, the purple emperor.

Purple emperor (Apatura iris) Photo by Charles J.Sharp

The caterpillars of some very interesting moths feed upon goat willow, including some of the clearwing species. I think most people would look at this animal and assume that it was a wasp. What excellent camouflage! It’s only the antennae and the lack of a wasp waist that give it away.

Dusky clearwing (Paranthrene tabaniformis) Photo by Graham Wenman at

And finally, willows of all kinds have been the subject of songs and poems, from Desdemona’s song in Othello to the ‘Tit Willow’ song in the Mikado. But here’s something to cheer us all up on a miserable January afternoon – Steeleye Span’s ‘All Around My Hat’. Enjoy!



Roxy Paine – Tree Artist

‘Maelstrom’ on the roof of the Metropolitan Museum in New York in 2009(Photo by Allison Meier)

Dear Readers, I have a great fondness for artists who are influenced by the natural world, and so I was most impressed by American artist Roxy Paine (b. 1966). He calls his trees ‘dendroids’ – they’re based on the growth patterns of real trees, but are clearly something else. Paine describes them thus:

‘I’ve processed the idea of a tree and created a system for its form. I take this organic majestic being and break it down into components and rules. The branches are translated into pipe and rod.’

‘Graft’ by Roxy Paine – Photo by Ron Cogswell

‘Inversion’ by Roxy Paine. Photo by צילום:ד”ר אבישי טייכר,

‘Neuron’ by Roxy Paine – Photo by Seligmanwaite at

I love the way that these ‘dendroids’ are clearly trees, but are also both alien and somehow mechanical. The more I learn about trees, and indeed about life in general, the more it’s clear that it’s the collection of simple chemical reactions, coupled to make incredibly complex systems, that are responsible for any of us being able to get up in the morning. Paine’s dendroids are meant to resemble not just the natural branching structure of a tree, but also all the natural and unnatural systems that resemble it, from the blood vessels in our bodies to the electric wiring in our homes.

‘Ferment’ by Roxy Paine. Photo by JoLynne Martinez at


I love these sculptures – to me the combination of branches and metal and silver makes something both ethereal and slightly menacing, as if Tolkien’s ents had gone space-age. And I found out about them via another Christmas present, a book called ‘A Tree a Day’ by Amy-Jane Beer. It’s full of all sorts of wonders, and comes highly recommended – it isn’t just a march through tree species, but comes at them from all sorts of angles. Anyhow, let me know what you think!

Old Bugwoman’s Almanac – February Updated

World Wetlands Day (2nd Feb)

Dear Readers, here’s my updated post for February. It can feel like a very bleak month, but actually spring is stirring all over the place. Here are a few suggestions to warm the cockles…

Things to Do

  • The snowdrops should be in full swing by the early part of February, and there are several places in London where you can really enjoy them. They really raise my spirits, and I hope they will do the same for you.
    • Chelsea Physic Garden normally has a snowdrop trail from when they re-open at the end of January, and you can buy many, many varieties in their shop. In my experience, the only way to get the little darlings established is to plant them in the green, after many, many attempts to grow them from bulbs, so this might be a good way to enlarge your stock. The bees much prefer the simpler single-flowered varieties, by the way….
    • Myddleton House Gardens in Enfield usually have a fine show of snowdrops in their Alpine Meadow, if you live in North London, or Eltham Palace is another excellent choice if you live South of the River.
    • If you’d rather not pay out to see these plants in all their glory, I’d head off for your nearest not-too-well-manicured cemetery. My local, St Pancras and Islington Cemetery, has a glorious selection of naturalised snowdrops in some of the wilder areas, and Tower Hamlets Cemetery is said to be a great spot too.
  • If it’s too blooming cold to be out and about (and goodness knows this is often the case), February is usually a relatively quiet month at the Natural History Museum (though if you aren’t taking the children I’d avoid half term, when the queues outside can be most alarming). The museum itself is free, but I love the Wildlife Photographer of the Year exhibition, which has apparently been re-staged this year (I shall report back when I’ve been). I always find it inspirational.
  • Thursday 2nd February is World Wetland  Day: there aren’t a lot of things going on, surprisingly, but there is this walk at Wicken Fen in Ely, Cambridgeshire, and this walk at my favourite bit of wetland in Walthamstow (looks like it might be fully booked, but maybe worth ringing for cancellations).
  • The Orchid Festival at Kew opens on 4th February – I’m booked for a date in March, and I couldn’t be more excited. This year the festival is featuring orchids from Cameroon, where I spent a month at the Ape Action Africa chimpanzee and gorilla sanctuary, so I’m hoping to meet a few old botanical friends. You can read about my adventures, and about my good friend Robin Huffman, an extraordinary painter of animal portraits, here.

Plants for Pollinators

For February, the RHS is suggesting goat willow (Salix caprea) and I can see why –  a tree at Crossbones Graveyard in South London that I visited a few years ago was absolutely abuzz with feeding queen bumblebees and honeybees. One of my big regrets is that I had a self-sown goat willow next to my pond, but took it out because I have so many trees in my small garden. Maybe I should have left it. (And now I have one that my friend J bought me for my birthday, so I am delighted!)

A few of the earlier solitary bees will also be out and about now, including several of the mining bee species.

Honeybee and goat willow

However, there is hope, as my front garden containers are full of early-flowering crocuses, another favourite. In my experience these bulbs are happiest in full sun – they are always a bit sad in my north-facing back garden, where the woodland bulbs such as fritillaries and wood anemones seem fine. Other plants suggested by the RHS are snowdrops (hooray!), the cherry plum, and Erica x darleyensis (also known as Darley Dale heather), another plant for full sun.

Bird Behaviour

Spring comes to the birds much earlier than it does to us mere humans, and although birds are unlikely to be actually breeding yet, they will certainly be pairing up and trying to stake out a territory. Woodpigeons will be singing their breathy songs, and collared doves will be chasing one another around, tooting like miniature trumpeters. One of my lasting memories of being a child in bed is waking up to the sound of the pigeons cooing on the chimney pot, their songs echoing down the chimney.

Collared doves and a furry visitor in the background

It’s worth watching out for breeding displays, too.  A male chaffinch performs a fluttering, moth-like flight beside a female that he’s hoping to impress, and then perches beside her and leans over to show her his belly. At this point the female can either stay for some more shenanigans, or leave to find someone with a more attractive abdomen.

Blue tits also perform a little display flight, usually from one perch to another – a male might flap his wings a little more quickly than seems strictly necessary, or even glide, quite a feat for such a small bird. These displays are so easily missed, but once seen they’re an obvious show of prowess.

And it’s worth keeping an eye open for the male dunnock’s ‘armpit’ display as well, plus all the general goings on with the females mating with multiple males and the males beating one another up.

And finally, crows might already be flying about with twigs in their mouths. They might not actually get down to egg-laying yet, but that nest isn’t going to build itself. You might also be witness to confrontations between crows and magpies over nest sites and building materials. There is a lot of drama going on in February, and it’s worth tuning into.

Plants in Flower

In addition to the plants mentioned above, keep a nose attuned for the sweet smell of Daphne, one of the most gorgeous of winter-scented flowers in my opinion. Some camellias will be coming into flower, but the rain damages the blossom, so if you see a pristine one it’s something to celebrate. Hyacinths will be bursting forth too, and sweet violets, and primroses. And the first shy white flowers of blackthorn will be putting in an appearance.

Other Things to Watch/Listen Out For

  • By now, most female foxes are pregnant, and there might be a brief break from the shrieks and carrying-on of January. Vixens will be looking to find a safe place to have their cubs, and will also be very hungry. If you have foxes visiting your garden, keep an eye open for them looking a little thicker around the middle than usual. Males will also be beginning to look for food for the vixen, and later for the cubs, who are mostly born in mid March.
  • Towards the end of February the first frogs will emerge if the weather isn’t too cold – the males arrive first (they’ve usually been hibernating at the bottom of the pond) followed by the females, who tend to overwinter in other places in the garden (probably to avoid being drowned by all the amorous males). You might even hear the first faint sound of frog-music in the evening.
  • This is the best time of year to see the great grey shrike – they are a very rare winter visitor, but if they are going to turn up (and they will sometimes revisit sites year after year) it’s likely to be in February.
  • Alexanders is a very early bloomer, earlier even than cow parsley – it has yellowish flowers, and may already be in bud.
  • Great spotted woodpeckers are already drumming and setting up their territories.
  • Nuthatches will also be more active, running up and down the branches and trunks of trees.
  • You might see the odd peacock or small tortoiseshell butterfly stirring – many of these insects hibernate over winter, and a mild spell might tempt them out. Fingers crossed that they don’t emerge, however, as there’s precious little for them to feed on at this time of year.
  • Mallards are getting ready for the breeding season – the males often display in groups, bobbing and quacking and beating one another up, before descending on any female who isn’t fast enough to get away. With luck, most females will pair up with a male who will protect her from such nonsense.
  • Full moon is on the 5th February, and is known as the snow moon, the ice moon or the storm moon.


    • Ist February is Imbolc, the Gaelic/Pagan spring festival. It’s also the Christian festival  St Brigid’s Day (St Brigid is the patron saint of Ireland). It’s said to be the day when ewes were first milked – sheep were more likely to survive the winter in good condition than cows, and also they would produce their lambs in the very early spring. Fresh milk would have been a necessity at this point, midway between the winter solstice and the spring equinox, and traditionally one of the hungriest times of the year.
    • 14th February is St Valentine’s Day, traditionally the day when restauranteurs rub their hands, fill their establishments with twice the usual number of tables and double their prices for menus that invariably include a chocolate dessert, some kind of seafood and the smallest piece of steak that you have ever seen. Not that I’m a tired old cynic or anything :-).
    • 15th February is Parinirvana Day for Buddhists. It celebrates the day upon which the Buddha was said to have achieved Nirvana, or enlightenment. It is said to be a day to meditate upon impermanence and death.
    • 20th February is known as Collop Monday, Peasen Monday or Nickanan Night in various parts of the UK – it’s the Monday before Lent. In Cornwall, it was a night for mischief, with local boys knocking on doors and running away (though this was also a common practice all year round in the East End when I was growing up). On one occasion, Dad and his mates tied a piece of string to all the door knockers on the road so that they could all be knocked simultaneously, and very amused Dad was too. This was known as ‘Knock Down Ginger’ for some reason lost in the midst of time. Anyhow, in many parts of the country, pea soup was eaten on ‘peasen Monday’, along with foods such as eggs and bacon which would not be allowed during Lent.
    • 21st February is Shrove Tuesday – get out those frying pans and knock up a few pancakes! My Mum always loved them with lemon juice and sugar (granulated not caster for a bit of crunch).
    • Lent falls on February 22nd this year. Traditionally, this is a period of fasting and self-denial, and I find it interesting that it often coincides with the time of the year when there would be little food available – the autumn stores would be used up, and the spring crops wouldn’t yet be ready. Anything that reminds us that being hungry is not a choice for everybody is likely to be a good thing, I think.

A Winter Walk in St Pancras and Islington Cemetery

Dear Readers, it was a bright, clear day today, and after all the chocolates that I ate for my birthday yesterday it felt as if a walk was a good idea. We were rewarded very quickly by views of the kestrel on the part of the cemetery closest to the North Circular Road – we’ve seen these birds there before, and I suspect that they might keep an eye open for road kill. There are lots of small rodents in the cemetery itself, though, and this bird spent a lot of time sitting in the ash tree and looking intently at the ground for signs of movement. At one point, a crow took exception to the kestrel and tried to chase him off, but he is astonishingly agile, outmanoeuvring the crow at every turn and even turning to chase him. I think that the crows are not quite as determined as they are in summer, when they have youngsters, though kestrels don’t generally hunt other birds. I imagine that the crow’s tactic is to mob first and ask questions later.

There are still flocks of redwings about, and the sound of great spotted woodpeckers drumming – at one point there was quite a duet, with two males clearly trying to out drum one another in different parts of the cemetery. We saw two woodpeckers chasing one another like miniature white and red rockets. It really is all kicking off, even though January is a bit early for any serious breeding attempts yet. In one tree, two woodpeckers were chasing one another round and round a horse chestnut while a pair of parakeets sat serenely, one in a hole in the tree, another on a branch close by, as if to say ‘aha, you should have been a bit earlier’.

The sunlight coming through the trees is so lovely at this point in the winter – the sun is so low that I’m careful when stepping out on to our local  zebra crossing, as I’m sure the drivers are having trouble seeing what’s going on.

And look at the snowdrops! They’re so nearly open. In some places, it’s clear that they were planted on a grave that has since disappeared, and now just the flowers remain. In other spots the snowdrops have naturalised across untrodden paths and neighbouring graves. They always feel so hopeful, the first real sign that spring is actually on the way.

And look, someone has given The Scotsman some carnations (although, looking at the photos I’m wondering if they might be artificial poppies).

And finally, as if to remind me that there’s always something new to see however many times I come here, there are some tree roots draped over these graves, rather like strangler figs in the tropics. How come I’ve never noticed them before? Maybe there was foliage in the way, or maybe I just wasn’t looking. I suppose that the ‘roots’ might be ivy, but if so it’s extremely robust. No wonder the Victorian graves often disappear underneath the sheer weight of nature, and are never seen again, and maybe that’s not such a terrible thing. After all, it’s what we all go back to, in the end.