Seeing (some of) the trees of Blenheim

Son the Elder had another event he needed me to drive him to in Oxfordshire, and after some deliberation, I decided to bite the bullet and shell out a large sum of money to visit Blenheim Palace while he was there, even though every fibre of me was advising against paying a lot of money to expose myself - voluntarily - to a display of extreme wealth and privilege.

Not that I had any interest in seeing the Palace itself: Rococco architecture brings me out in hives. Instead, I wanted to meet the 900-year-old oaks, which have survived in substantial numbers by growing in a deer park first created by Henry I in the 12th century, on land that has never come under the plough or been developed. Such is the advantage of the aforementioned wealth. But all the same, nearly thirty quid! It would have to be a Christmas present to myself.

Then, when I went on the website to book a ticket ten minutes before my departure, the clickable box wouldn't click and it said it was taking bookings for 2025. I set off to pick up my son dismayed at the prospect of whiling away nine hours in a foreign county with my plan for the day in ruins, and cursing people whose lives run so smoothly, they can plan that many months in advance.

But while parked up in Botley, leafing through a couple of books of Cotswold walks I'd grabbed as I left, I saw there was one that went right through the park, using several footpaths. Which meant I could get in without a ticket after all, and hopefully still get to see the oaks. So off I set for Woodstock.

ghost sign 

Once there, a couple of locals kindly pointed me in the direction of the 'green or maybe beige' gate, which I'd find just past the crossing at the foot of the hill. They also mentioned it was free to get into the park at the moment anyway, on account of a Christmas fair that was being held there, which probably explains the non-availability of tickets on the website. My peasant blood was up now, though, and instead of going in through the main entrance, I made for the 'secret' gate and, since I wouldn't have to stick to the footpaths after all, decided to walk around the lake in the direction of High Park, where the ancient oaks grow. 

Many of the trees had lost their leaves, but the beeches were blazing ... 

... apart from this one. (Look at its trunk, though!) 

By the Grand Bridge, a vaguely familiar Cedar of Lebanon, which turned out to have had a cameo role in 'Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix' and now has to be protected from its fans by a wicker fence and Keep Out sign. (It's a fantastic tree, though.) 

And on through more and more smouldering beeches ... 

... the roots of which reminded me a little of the famous beeches at Avebury.

Sycamore

Meanwhile, over the trees and lake, I could hear the hooting of invisible red kites. I even thought at one point that I might have found one of their feathers, but the discovery of more shortly afterwards, amid a pile of what were clearly pheasant feathers, soon put me in my place. The latter are much despised by feather collectors on account of their ubiquity, but I think they're beautiful. Look at that iridescence! 

In fact, there's a lot of death at Blenheim. Here, a mallard.

There was also a fair bit of fungi about. Lots of large ... well, I'm not sure what they are - Giant Funnels, perhaps? And a Shaggy Inkcap, White Saddle fungus (I think) and Bracket fungus growing on beech.

Hard to read, but the sign says 'Please close the gate'

As the road climbed towards High Park, the beeches gave way to oaks - venerable, magnificent trees that were wonderful to see, even though the sound of red kites had now been replaced by a backdrop of constant gunfire. 

This one has exposed heartwood and looks much like our local hollowing oak did until vandals stripped it out (apart from this tree being older and thicker-trunked). 

But all these wondrous oaks were behind a low fence. I could see them - and even glimpse beyond them to others in the distance - but getting close wasn't going to happen. And as for the really really old oaks you see in books and articles about remarkable trees - well, they weren't even splinters in the distance. And whilst I'm sure they need protection from the potential visitor depredation, it was disappointing to realise they were decidedly private property. 

Ozymandias

Spot the pheasant!

oak bench carved out of a fallen oak

But there were still beautiful, gnarly trees to see ... 

... and then - even better - the sun came out, and trees and sky and light took on another thousand dimensions of depth and colour.

And then it was back to the lake and the beeches. I was hobbling by now, with a blood blister on my foot, and I could feel my muscles and joints seizing up.

I'd also started to feel slightly bilious with the opulence of it all, and especially the thought that the obscenely rich even get the best trees. Yes, that was definitely enough Blenheim, probably for the rest of my life, thanks ... 

... or at least until the next day, when I found myself ordering an OS map of the area on eBay. (Purely for reference, you know - just to see where those footpaths go, and if any of those most ancient of oaks might have been visible from one ... )

Flying the Albatross

With the launch of my new collection approaching at pace, it was good to have a mini dress-rehearsal at Riff Corner Poetry Open Mic Night in Clevedon at the beginning of September, despite it taking me nearly an hour to drive the short distance home from my place of work through extensive roadworks, and then a return journey via Tickenham Hill and Failand in mist that was verging on fog. All hail autumn. 

Nevertheless, it was an interesting evening in good company. Open mic-ers currently get a little longer to read than at your average open mic session, and it was good to hear two or three poems, rather than the usual swift single, although this might have to change at some point as the evening was well attended and is clearly gaining in popularity. Thanks to Tim Burroughs for inviting me to read there, and for the above photo. 

Thanks are due also to Ben Banyard for asking me to read at Portishead's wildly successful ArtPort festival at the end of September. We'd been due to read alongside Bob Walton, but as he was still convalescing, Sue Hill, the other half of The Write Box, stepped into the breach. It was a lovely event, again well-attended and one I hope will be repeated next year.

 

 

My journey to Trowbridge Stanza on the first weekend in October was eventful, as someone drove into the back of my car by the Downs in Bristol. I was a bit shaken, but managed to complete the journey without further incident, and thoroughly enjoyed reading on the same  bill as Saili Katebe. We'd been due to read alongside each other back in 2020, as part of the Bristol Lyra Poetry Festival, which had been cancelled at the start of the pandemic, so it felt right and good to finally do that.

My penultimate autumn gig was in Bristol, as part of the Ten Bristol Poets event running at the Bristol Literary Film Festival in aid of St Peter's Hospice. It was a privilege to read alongside the following poets: 

TOP  1. Tim Burroughs  2. Jan Swann  3. Charles Thompson  4. Kaz Michael  5. Martin Rieser

BOTTOM:  6.  Helen Sheppard  7. David Punter  8. Me  9. Bob Walton  10. Melanie Branton

I enjoyed the opportunity of reading a few of my Bristol poems, from my collection 'Learning Finity', for a change, including one about my grandmother, who died in the care of the staff of St Peter's Hospice. Here's an earlier recording of it: 

 

My last autumn gig is Sunday 24th November and it's not necessary to leave the comfort of your own home to hear it, because I'm guest poet on West Wilts Radio's The Poetry Place at 3pm or any time you please, as it's streamable worldwide here.
 

Finally, it was great to have a poem from Love the Albatross in the latest issue of IDP's The Dawntreader ...

and also here, in the issue 4 of The Fig Tree.

Reviews of Love the Albatross can be found in Ink Sweat & Tears, London Grip and Tim Fellows' Substack.

The Whole of Summer and Two-Thirds of Autumn

I didn't get to the Field of the Hollowing Oak and the Small Dark Wood of the Mind as much this summer as previous years. This was in part due to the weather, which was either hot and humid, or wet, both of which sent me scurrying to the shelter of the much more extensive woodland on Purdown. 

In addition, the paths along two of the edges and diagonally across the field are so overgrown as to be impassable, which means walking around it is a bit too trying to be relaxing, and sometimes there are days when I need my walks to be relaxing.

Bramble-blocked paths

Finally, the development beyond the wood, out at Charlton Common, is very much happening and a bit depressing. The part of the Common that was mowed, having previously been wild and brambly and home to a herd of muntjac, has had soil spread on top of it and been seeded with grass, presumably in order to make it look tidy for the prospective home-buyers ...  

... and whilst it's a pleasure to get acquainted with some of the trees that were previously inaccessible, it's such a shame for the wildlife.

Even worse, on the other side of the Common, the Skylarks Field is now Challenger Road (after the aviator and aero-engineer, George Challenger), with houses springing up on it.

I try not to walk by the development site too often during the week, when it's impossible to escape the noise of construction work. 

the re-routed footpath

And the ash tree at the bottom of Far Field was felled. Admittedly, it was way past its prime, and suffering from die-back, but I miss it. 

That said, this scrap of edgelands still my favourite place to walk. My favourite moments over the summer were a couple of memorable encounters, the first with a roe doe, which crashed away from me and the dog along the overgrown path that leads to the ditch. In the process she left behind her fawn, which was almost perfectly camouflaged in the long July grass. 

If you can't spot it, here's the video:

The other unforgettable moment came a month earlier, at midsummer, while we were walking back to the car through the Small Dark Wood of the Mind, having watched the sun set. Cwtch ran off into an inaccessible part of the wood, and refused to come back, even though we called and called. Then a black-and-white striped face burst through the trees, but it was too close to the ground and there was another black-and-white striped face behind it, higher and grinning: yes, it was a young badger, with Cwtch in pursuit. They shot past us and back into the wood, Cwtch still refusing to come and the both of us concerned, not that she might harm the badger - there's not a bad bone in her body - but that it might not realise this, turn and swipe her too-close nose with its claws. But then she did come back, happy and unscathed, and we've kept her on a lead through the wood at twilight ever since.

No pictures of that escapade - it happened so fast; just some badger poo instead.

Marking the yellow rubber mat covering part of the re-routed footpath; a series of latrines along one of the paths in the Field of the Hollowing Oak, filled to the brim

We've also seen a few foxes, evidence of rabbits and owls, ubiquitous dead shrews, and a bat box with a picture of a bat on it so that the bats know it's for them.

Plus a kestrel - or maybe more than one - on numerous occasions; ditto, ravens. 

Out on the development site, they're monitoring something in all the hedgerows that haven't yet been ripped out ... 

... though probably not the swallows, magpies and robins.

Talking of birds, there were some feathers to be found, though admittedly not as many as on Purdown.

magpie feathers

jay feather

Buzzard feathers 

tawny owl feathers, some of them rather scruffier than others

predated juvenile thrush

On the whole, it was a good summer for flowers. 

CLOCKWISE FROM TOP LEFT:  Hedge Woundwort; Dog Rose; Cuckoo Pint; Cut-Leaved Crane's-Bill Leaf; Dogwood blossom; White clover; Mallow; Sicilian Honey Garlic; Melilot; Hedgerow Crane's-Bill; Hawk's-Beard

CLOCKWISE FROM TOP LEFT: Hemlock; Common Vetch; Nettle; Narrowleaf Bird's-Foot Trefoil; Foxglove; Honeysuckle; Lesser Spearwort; Chamomile; Perforate St John's-Wort; Creeping Thistle 

CLOCKWISE FROM TOP LEFT: Ribwort Plantain; Woodland Figwort; Goatsbeard; Scarlet Pimpernel; Grass Vetchling; Bramble blossom; Fumitory; Love-in-a-Mist; Small-Flower Sweetbriar; Cock's-Foot; Wood Avens seedhead and fern 

This is Purple Salsify before it becomes Goatsbeard. (I could stare into its golden eye for hours.)

CLOCKWISE FROM TOP LEFT: Spear Thistle; Agrimony; Common Knapweed; Northern Evening Primrose; Nipplewort; Pink Yarrow; White Yarrow; Rough Chervil; Spindle blossom; Bristoly Oxtongue; Hedge Parsley

Cinquefoil had me stumped. Why 'cinque' when there are often four or six petals? Then someone pointed out to me that 'foil' is derived from 'feuille', which is French for leaf - of course it is! - and that made sense ... until I found some specimens with six, seven and eight leaves.

CLOCKWISE FROM TOP LEFT: Poppies; Purple Toadflax; Ladies Bedstraw and Yarrow; Tufted Vetch; Meadow Vetchling; Flax; Ragwort; Buddleia; Mugwort

Bindweed

My favourite wild carrot in all its variety

CLOCKWISE FROM TOP LEFT: Common Mint; Burdock; Prickly Lettuce; Brambles and wild Clematis; Tall Goldenrod; Rosebay Willowherb; Hemp-Agrimony; Red Shank; Wall Lettuce; Teasel

Another favourite: Michaelmas Daisies

The flowers having turned up in abundance is why, as the June gap became a whole-summer gap, the dearth of insects was so concerning. After a late spring full of Orange-Tips, I was luxuriating in the prospect of more and more butterflies, but there were so few. Plus, the second consecutive terrible year for Red Soldier beetles. It was surely in part down to the disappointing weather, but other, more methodical observers of nature will doubtless have other, more worrying theories.

TOP TO BOTTOM, LEFT TO RIGHT:  Speckled Wood; Small Heath; Yellow Shell moth; Small Copper; Dark Arches moth; White Plume moth; fragment of a Large Skipper wing; Small Skipper; dead Comma; Gatekeeper; Ringlet; Meadow Brown; Small tortoiseshell caterpillars; the Drinker moth caterpillar; Cinnabar moth caterpillar; Ruby Tiger moth caterpillar 

CLOCKWISE FROM TOP LEFT: Buff-Tailed Bumble bee; Common Carder; honey bee; Bombus Cryptarum 

CLOCKWISE: Thick-thighed Flower beetles; Rose Chafer; Kern's Flower Scarab; Red Soldier beetles, Harlequin Ladybird; Rose Bedeguar Gall; Green Bottle Fly; Nursery Web spider web; Emperor Dragonfly; Rose Sawfly; Seven-Spot Ladybird

Snail nesting in a wild carrot

Summer is the time for sunsets up the field, and we went up there as often as there was the prospect of one. Here are a few. 

1st June 2024

2nd June 2024

8th June 2024

10th June 2024

17th June 2024

20th June 2024

7th July 2024

21st July 2024

29th August 2024

28th September 2024

'Not in your way, am I, Mam?'

And of course we've been watching the inexorable slide from sumer into autumn. Here's blooming June out on the development site ...

... at least until midsummer, when the mower went in.

The Field of the Hollowing Oak, as always, is left to its own devices, and grasses and flowers that were as tall as me at one point are only now dying back.

Autumn has had a slow burn this year ... and it has been wet at times ...

... but all the colours have come to the party during October ... out beyond Charlton Common, where the spindle berries are glorious ... 

... in the Small Dark Wood of the Mind ... 

... and in the Field of the Hollowing Oak. On a day with sun in it, it's glorious.

 CLOCKWISE FROM TOP LEFT:  Crabapples, Silverweed turning autumnal, Damsons - sadly very few and out of reach, Black Bryony, Hedge Parsley and Creeping Cinquefoil

 

Lastly, I found a few bits of hoggin out on the fields and the common; always pleasing to come across traces of the past, especially as much of it is about to be lost under tarmac.