Deer feed

The snow fell during the week before this patrol. It was very reminiscent of the beginning of the year. The events of the Gardens and Parkland have taken on Christmas, and deer feeding, especially in deep snow, can only be an added, if short term, attraction. Deer feeding does go on during the winter months and to carry out the activity nearer the house does spark enjoyment for visitors, who, this afternoon, were a primary school group.

We spent a time with Terry and the deer and especially with Lenny. Lenny is very social but prefers people to deer. This makes life difficult as he is not one of the herd as he should be. Ensuring Lenny gets his fair share of food, Terry used us, while distracting the bulk of the herd by scattering feed further away, to ensure Lenny got a better deal. Lenny is small as well which makes integration a little more of a problem for him.

The parkland today is quiet. The snow, now frozen from being on the ground for a week now, was firm enough to walk on and, where deep, icy enough to behave like dry sand, hardly sticking to the boots.

Hare tracks laced the white fields south of the Rotunds, and soon Ian spotted one making a dash from one hole in the snow to another. As Minerva appeared as the Argyll monument rose into view, there was clearly a large bird perched upon her head. A buzzard sat on this vantage point and, after a brief flight away returned to take up the spot again. Clearly disturbed by our approach, it took off again and flew towards Broomroyd plantation. That was the last we saw of that day.
The day was closing down fast and a check of the dates told us that two weeks after this it will be the Solstice, after which the light will fight back on its haul towards midsummer.

November - the Hoodie month

The early 19th century poet, Thomas Hood, wrote what I recall as a bit of word play on the 11th month that is November. It ends as follows:

No warmth, no cheerfulness, no healthful ease,
No comfortable feel in any member.
No shade, no shine, no butterflies, no bees,
No fruits, no flowers, no leaves, no birds,
November!

Spot on for this Wednesday morning. Except for the lack of comfortable feel -modern outdoor clothing prevents the chill in any extremity - it perfectly described the day. The previous day was an entirely different matter with blue skies and clear distant vision. But I was stuck with today. It was a Thomas Hood day. The hood of grey sat upon the parkland and apart from the usual corvid activity over Broomroyd, there was very little happening. The red deer were sensibly crowded towards the Rotunda end of the parkland out of the cold wind. Even they seemed lethargic. No movement, no urgency, no wish to run away from an approaching human as I made my way across from the house towards the rotunda.
The bracken, thick around the Argyll monument, still shows the colours of autumn. The trees have almost given up on hanging on to their dying remnants. I heard the rattle of a mistle thrush. Pheasants were flushed frequently from the woodland edges.

I walked my favourite route which is roughly a figure of eight. It means passing the rotunda twice. On the return to the rotunda I have an option. Today, I chose the longer return to the house walking down the hill and past Ivas Wood plantation. It was then I came across the single red deer. Grazing quite happily inside the parkland fence, it was quite clearly on its own. I had no idea, but I guessed this was the friendly singleton that was recently introduced to the parkland.
On the previous two patrols, this animal had no hesitation in wanting to be close. But, perhaps for its own survival, it might need to develop a wariness of humans, a sense of which it clearly had not, but only one of absolute trust. If this was the case, then it was developing well. It ignored me totally.
It goes without saying that no people were seen.

Halloween and Guy Fawkes

I always think that with the arrrival of November, heralded by Halloween and banged in with Bonfire Night, the trees begin to take on their winter look. Leaves fall with great suddenness and the ground is carpeted. It only takes a few stormy winds and the process is complete and such it is this autumn. The drive, alongside Lady Lucy's walk, going up into the gardens, was now carpeted with fallen leaves when only a week previously the grass was clearly visible.

The sun is also falling. By December 21st, the sun will rise its laziest, reaching the lowest points in the sky and, in the mornings it shines, when it does, with a warm glow. The house, across the parkland, shaded with long but soft shadows, takes on an appearance of a painting, perhaps made in the 19th century. This is certainly a favourite view of mine.
There were quite a few people about today and we managed to speak to each of them. All that we met are delighted with the place, whether on a first visit or another of many. And today, we might have even encouraged a new volunteer.

Once again, I have been unable to patrol for a week or so, but I had been to the house and gardens to support pumpkin carving and broomstick making. On the night of Halloween, there was drama in the dark, as actors brought to life the melodramatic story of murders and tortured spirits as the audeince promenaded around the garden. Excellent fun for all. Even the owls with their screeching and hooting added to the atmosphere. Although the year end is approaching the increased human activity has made up for the lack of action from the visible wildlife.

Not only the flora and fauna

Not only do you need to keep an eye on natural changes over time, but the hand of the conservation volunteers and others make their mark. New finger posts have fixed themselves about the parkland, almost mysteriously as sudden as the fungi. But I know better. Some of the earlier cylindrical posts, with sharpened ends like a giant pencil have worked loose and fallen. These finger posts are well set into the ground with possibly a concrete footing.

Additionally, wide drives have been re-cut in Broomroyd plantation and no doubt will remain clear as the growing halts for the next few months of autumn, winter until spring begins the job of reclaiming the ground. This was how it all looked exactly one year ago when I turned up to begin the training for the role of ranger and thus I am nearly at full circle, though not quite.
The parkland was quite busy today with nine men in separate groups enjoying walks. One singular walker who made his way quite determinedly from Ivas Wood plantation towards the rotunda, only to be seen making his way back from the Argyll monument. The others were in pairs with one trio. Once I had introduced myself, the trio were very curious about the tunnels and hollows which are to be found below the footpath at the bottom of Broomroyd plantation.
The question of mines and mining was raised and the existence if coal measures near to the surface was discussed.

I do not know why this tunnel is there. I know there are many theories. They cover such possibilities as places the servants could run to to shelter should they be caught unawares in the open on the occasion of the arrival of guests at one extreme, and run to straight forward drift mines.

The parkland is now dry and browning. There is the definite tinge to the grass and leaves that says the year is over. Sweet chestnuts carpet the ground in the parkland leading down to the Serpentine. There is here a feast of chestnuts waiting for the open fire. I have had a recent break in the Dordogne region of France. There, in the market square of the medieval town of Sarlat, they were roasting chestnuts in a cylindrical mesh drum fuelled with burning wood and an even cooking time was achieved by rotating this drum, but the smell of wood smoke and roasting chestnuts was sweet, even though the chestnuts themselves were somewhat underdone. Roasting chestnuts - another memory of childhood revived.

The fungi to be with

Having spent much of the time on patrol looking upwards and around, September is the time to start looking down. The damp, cool ground now abounds with fungus in different stages of growth. Some are merely budding while some are drooping and melting away in to blackness. There are the solitary ones and those which are in tight clusters. Clearly, there are the strict ground dwellers while others cling to wood. Broad, meaty discs are found along with pale and flimsy umbrellas. And no doubt, somewhere, the red, spotted fly agaric, looking like a sesame seed burger bun.

I do not know very much about these plants. I understand that many are very poisonous and fatal if eaten. I must admit to eating only those I find in Sainsbury's. I remember, clearly, my father walking in to the house with field mushrooms which he fried with eggs and bacon and which I loved to eat. They were huge things, six or seven inches across, white on top with black gills underneath. I suppose the spread of housing and retail parks will have taken away much of the land where once they grew, but fifty years ago, meadows and open land was literally on our doorstep.

I suppose they all have names and perhaps this could be a task for next year. I could become a bit more familiar with some of the ones associated with the parkland, though I will stop short of trying to eat any.

Having, last time, seen a rather static buzzard, Ian and I were gifted the sight of four in flight. As we approached the Argyll monument, first one, then two and finally a quartet of these birds were seen at tree top height dropping occasionally and frustratingly, for us, behind the trees of Warren wood. Their markings and colouring were very clear. With the sun behind us illuminating the birds, it was the best view I have had of these creatures.

The day was warm, the sky was clear and they began their circling and climbing, using the slope of the land with its thermals. They were lost to the sight of the naked eye, only to be seen again over Keeper's Pond. They were clearly enjoying themselves soaring and wheeling around, because, as Ian often says, they can.

Today had a misty start. around Keeper's Pond, where the atmosphere was, at the least, autumnal with limited visibility and very little activity.The cool and misty September morning gave way to some brightness, as we reached the lower parkland and we saw two jays winging it away from the area around Lucy's Pond, heading towards the trees near the Serpentine. Sudden bird flight and activity are, to Ian and, in an increasing way, to me, indicative of something going on.

We had both heard, only minutes before, a cacophony of mallard on the Serpentine and I saw an avian flash as something flew into the trees there to begin the ducks' racket. A minute or two's patience was soon rewarded as the cause of the disturbance was soon seen leaving. A sparrow hawk had buzzed the ducks - not that he was after a duck. He simply flew into an area where they were and they decided he was not welcome.
But back to the jays. What had spooked them? Ian soon pointed out, for he is eagle eyed for such things, atop of a tall tree close to Lucy's pond the possible cause. A buzzard - the common buzzard. It is a bird of prey. I am sorry that I cannot get used to calling them raptors. From my boyhood at West Dyke Junior school, gazing over the prints in a large colourful edition Birds of Britain, these large, hooked beaked, big birds were birds of prey. Raptors is not the word of choice for me.

Now here was a buzzard. It is the first time I had seen one perched. They are not very graceful when perching. Dumpy and dull, they are just a clump of plumage with a smallish head and a not too threatening beak - but them I am not a small mammal on its receiving end.

For no obvious reason, the buzzard took flight. It just slipped its perch and fell in to the space below and behind the trees. We walked on to find the same buzzard sitting in another tree bit now not alone. But a few crows were not happy about this buzzard being here and were mobbing it until it decided that enough was enough and almost wearily took to flight and away.

This rather frumpy lump of buzzard is not designed for beauty, except when it is in full gliding flight. Once airborne, their lack of grace is no more. The bird is clearly built to soar. Its outline is all for flight, with broad deep wings and large fan tail. The relatively small head is only part of it not deemed necessary for flying.
The wings make a graceful dihedral in flight with the fingertip feathers flexing and stretching to adjust height and attitude. We were not witness to this today, but such sights are becoming quite common in the Parkland. It is certainly something to keep an eye open for.

The last of August

I suppose this may be the last day of summer. September is around the corner and the season of autumn, if not yet on the calendar, is certainly moving into the wings.

Trish asked if it was alright to walk around with me and, of course, it was wholly acceptable. I decided to follow the route that is my own figure of eight. Across from the house, towards the Rotunda, through the woods behind, up towards the Duke, back to the Rotunda, but keeping house side of the Serpentine and from the Serpentine Bridge back up to the house. It's quite my favourite walk. It can be extended by going below the Serpentine and then across the bridge, but not today.
The day was fine. Big blue skies with bold white clouds made the house seem minutely human against this celestial backdrop. It was busy. Dr Michael Klemperer met us as we crossed the parkland towards the Rotunda. A motorbike, rider and two other people stood down the slope in the distance and Michael, accompanied by a someone from Radio Sheffield, assured me they were on deer business and therefore on legitimate parkland business.

Michael told us that the Rotunda doors were open and that we were able to see inside. Inside, the floor was laid out in black and white square tiles, with a circle at its centre patterned with a hexagonal star. The interior height was quite impressive, but without the door being open, it would be quite gloomy.

And onward. The fruits of autumn were beginning to show in abundance. Hips and haws were vividly shouting to Trish, but for me, with some colour blindness, I could not appreciate the display. I had to be guided to where this red and green was at its most vivid.
This was the busiest day in the parkland for me. When filling out the ranger report we have to put down the number of people we see in the parkland. For week after week, we say that we saw no-one in the parkland or perhaps two or three at most - and the occasional dog. But today, Trish and I came at odds in trying to keep stock. We are not counting in hundreds or even tens, but double figures is unknown territory for me. Four dogs and thirteen people! That will be it for the numbers this year.

We caught sight of a hare, the red deer where not in evidence, but the sight of deer personnel would indicate that that they will be back soon.
Within the woodland, fungi are entering their fruiting season as, within their bracts, they show the colours of the encroaching seasons, warm and cold browns, reds, grey and white.

Watching the photographer

A bit of a surprise this day. Ian was away and as I clocked on and was gathering the keys, a man carrying a professional looking camera was looking a little lost on entering the shop. Being the courteous ranger that I am, I asked him if I could help him. He had turned up, I gathered, to take some photographs around the parkland and was merely wanting to report to someone to say he was on site.Once this formality was dealt with, he said that he was wanting to photograph the monuments to support a publication by Barnsley MBC regarding activities in the borough. The parkland itself has recently done work to promote the various walks through the land. I was more than pleased to be his guide I told him, and we set off.

A quick tour really, taking in the Serpentine bridge, the Rotunda and the Argyll column. Of Queen Anne, he had plenty of shots from previous occasions, and so, as often happens, the old Queen was left to herself in her quiet corner below Ivas Wood.

John, his name, was very familiar with the gardens from his wedding work, but of the parkland he knew little. I was pleased to act as guide. After the almost sprint around, we had a coffee in the shop. He said he was grateful, as I had saved him time and, and in addition, taken him quickly to the better viewpoints around the parkland. Even the fallow deer posed about for him too, although to claim any credit for that would be a joke. John even photographed me going through a gate. I tried to look competent and professional as I did this posed operation.

The publication which John was working on is to cease, as part of other local authority service cuts. For John, it means a loss of a source of possible future income, as cuts do have their domino effect. But he was pleased with his morning. He had been up at 6am that day to get the morning light on an assignment in Barnsley and had another job to go to. The early bird and all that. I tend to think that, like bird spotting, there is a need to make the effort to be in the right place at the right time to get a special result. I think therefore that I am a bird snapper.

On an altogether unrelated matter, we have also been issued with new radios, which appear and sound very good. The ariel tends to stick in the mid-riff if it is not carried on the belt above the hip.

All quiet........

Well, we seem to whizz around today. Whether the distant and circling rainfall curtains kept us covering the ground, anxious that we may receive a brief soaking, or whether the stillness of everything in the parkland just let us focus on completing the patrol, I don't know.

The sheep were all in the lower parkland below Archer's gate and, in the main, settled. The deer too, in the parkland below the house, were also in a tightish group. The whole place seemed calm and quiet. Goldfinches punctuated the silence and the dead grey sky. They sprang out of the abundant flowering thistle heads in Broomroyd plantation. White tailed bumble bees, too, were feasting on the heads of thistles, almost one per flower cluster.

A handful of swallows swooped. Sparrows flitted from one near hedgerow to a further one. It seemed that, with each one, it was the last of the sparrows, but for quite a time, another would appear out of the nearer branches to flutter the few yards to the further cover. My feeling was that they were playing a game with us. Each, in turn, would fly back to the nearer hedge to emerge over and over again to make the escape.
Despite this passerine activity, at the Rotunda, as the work wound down to the re-opening, a few men were stood around, seemingly passing time as they seemed to have little to do.

It was, however, soon to be changed. As we walked towards the western edges of the Serpentine, an excited mallard racketing was the sound that drew Ian quickly to the water. Mallard of immature appearance were ganging together. There were no beautifully plumaged mallard drakes or any duller but quite clearly mature ducks.
As we approached the edge of the water, they formed three groups which, accompanied by much honking (my father, on a holiday on the Norfolk Broads, said mallard were like the sound of old London Taxis, their drivers squeezing the bulb horns), eventually formed one super flotilla. There must have been about one hundred marshalled into this paddling patrol. They were aware of us but wary. No beaching with the expectation of bread here.

In the drier part of the Serpentine, we disturbed a hare which, running in the long grass with its legs hidden and with its head, ears, upper body and rump visible, appeared to be floating. There are haws forming in the hawthorn, with their leaves beginning to lose their green, and ash keys hang in abundance.
It does not need saying.

Month seven

Well, I could have not more wrong. Rain, and a bit of it, has made the parkland lushly green. No sun today, but a very high humidity made the walk, however gently we chose to proceed, clammy and damp.

Not much stirred. Young fallow deer with velvety horny growths made a little show. Shorn sheep looked resplendently white. What struck us today were the many limping sheep. At first, they seemed to all have the right foreleg offering no step, but as we wandered on, other legs and sometimes, not just one leg came into play, or rather from the sheep's view, not to play.

Ian offered the view that the sheep had got up suddenly and were naturally a little stiff in one or more limbs, as we might be in the morning. But as the affected beasts were this season's lambs and not old giffers like us, we dismissed this conjecture. When something untoward is noticed, we, as rangers, should report it at the end of the patrol. The number of limping lambs suggested that if it was serious then the farmer would, by now, know about - we hoped.

Anyway we left it. I was more concerned with what was happening at the Queen Anne monument and an elder tree. The tree seemed to be forcing its way between the stones so much so that there was movement of at least two inches. The stone was being inched away from its role as pedestal by the intrusion of an elder tree. Now this was serious. Enough to mention it in our report.
The Queen Anne monument is an obelisk upon a square plinth. To the passer-by it appears squat and plain, having nothing to make it attractive. Some might say that this is the perfect monument to the Queen, the last of the Stuarts. But the Queen's influence on Thomas, the owner of the house, was immense. She raised his political status after his successful military career.

Her monument may might have been more elaborate and better positioned, but it gave Thomas a chance to show the outside world who he was, if not where he was. On the outer face of the obelisk are inscribed for all passers-by to note, are all his titles, achievements and political stance. He was left the titles but not the Wentworth-Woodhouse estate, which was inherited by his cousin. The engraving fails to acknowledge the Georgian succession. I once learned that to put the thumb to the nose and waggle ones fingers at another person was called giving a Queen Anne's fan. I like to believe that this obelisk is Thomas' own masonic Queen Anne's fan.
Already the horse chestnut trees are beginning to show fruit. The summer is doing what it does best. Preparing the world for autumn.

Don't turn your back....

Rather like London buses, I have not one but three holidays, while not arriving together, certainly follow each other fairly quickly. Thus this week was my only patrol in June and my next will fall into July when the current lushness begins its slow, slow fade towards the autumn as the rich greens and hues of the grass begin to dry.

In the woods, the bracken has unfurled its self to dominate the ground and the variety of grasses are in full stretch and flower. Everything appears at its finest - busting out all over, as the lyric goes. The plantations are hard now to walk through and the young trees, now in full leaf, make viewing through them quite difficult. The birds too are now almost silent. No more cries to mate or establish their territories. They are now fully occupied with making themselves ancestors, as Simon Barnes calls it, by raising new broods. All their energies now committed to feeding their hatchings.
There are many new arrivals in the parkland as young deer now trail at the feet of their mothers. A few weeks ago they were there, but lying low in the grass, but now they are up and totally mobile. Some of the deer, under Lucy's guidance, make their way towards us as we watch from the fence near Walker's Pond. Lucy comes close to us to nibble the grass at the fence, while the others stand off, with their in built wariness keeping a distance.

Of course, one of the better things about absence is that some changes, which week by week are slow, when viewed after several weeks can be very dramatic. The rotunda roof is now very clearly metalled and, although the scaffolding is still wrapped around the columns, the top work looks complete with some restored stone carving quite clearly seen. My next patrol will be in three weeks, so I look forward to perhaps seeing the building clear of all work.

One of the tasks we take a little responsibility for is collecting the few pieces of litter we find -the occasional can and sweet wrapper, that sort of thing. My hat goes off to the very thoughtful visitor we must have had recently. Whoever they were, they took the trouble to pack their crisp packets into a white plastic bag, so that they wouldn't blow about separately. Even more conveniently, they took the immense pain to place the bag into a hollow of a tree, which made it just visible enough for me find and remove. Why, with a bit more nouse, they might have even made the effort to take it home with them or carry it to a bin on the way to the car park.

I suppose we should be grateful they managed to do what they did.

Approaching the height of summer

It is two weeks since my last patrol, but by the growth of everything, it might be six months. The undergrowth has taken a spurt. The bluebells are fast being overtaken by grass and bracken fronds which are uncurling, stretching and straightening skywards. There can surely only be a few weeks of growth energy to be expended before July begins its journey towards autumn.

The deer have begun to give birth and a few bambi types are to be seen, to the careful eye, in the hollows of the lower parkland. The heronry clatters with young and parental fuss. Birds, now well hidden by greenery, continue to sing and the sky is streaked with streamlined swifts and the sound of ascending skylarks. I was delighted to observe one skylark parachuting down, its wings holding an anhedral position, almost a Harrier jet like angle, tail spread as it descended in stages to the ground.

The gardens are especially expectant. The end of May brings about the rhododendron festival. We spent half an hour in the garden, with Ian wanting to spot a spotted flycatcher. He was joined by Mick, while I wandered off to enjoy the colour and heady scent of the azaleas. Ian got not one but two spotted flycatchers, which prompted me to say that surely they were now just flycatchers, having been spotted...........

I spent some time last week at Savill Gardens, near Virginia Water, and their rhododendrons are being enjoyed in their full splendour. The gardens here are a little behind, but the buds are ready to blast out their delicate and colourful flowers.


But for me, the azaleas strong, seductive perfume is irresistible.
I remember visiting the gardens at Easter, 2008, and found this space of colour and scent sensation a wonder. It is now back to that form.

Work has begun at the Serpentine Bridge, with scaffolding being erected to the south side. Once this structure is clear of all civil engineering protection, giving pedestrian visitors a clear walk up to the house, the better. Such is the historical nature of the place, that work has to be carried out according to guide lines set out by English Heritage. Certain constructional ways have to be followed. Well, as far as the type of cement mix is concerned. I noticed the scaffolding was definitely 21st century - as was the language of the scaffolders.


My next patrol will not be until the middle of June, and then, not again until the first week of July. Perhaps a good thing from a personal point of view. The changes in the landscape will be, I hope, quite noticeable.

Nearly half a year

The bluebells still dominate the ground around the trees in the woodland, but the weather remains indifferent to the season. I am a realist when it comes to English weather. Not for me the rush to shorts and T shirt at the first blue sky and sun .'Ne'er cast a clout til May be out' is now more my maxim, whether May refers to the blossom or the month is neither here or there.

Today, I patrol in comfort in not much less than I did in March, when a chill day is to be expected.

Terry, the deer man, has introduced a white deer in the herd in the parkland. But I had to telephone Terry with some news regarding this new addition. I had seen the deer sat in a dried up part of the Serpentine. Head up and alert, it seemed fine. Nearby was a fallow deer, apparently keeping company with the white deer. I had seen the white deer amongst the herd, when with Trish, my wife, we were rehearsing a walk for my walking gang, but now it seemed very separate. Hence the telephone call to Terry.

Not knowing much about the vagaries of these beasts, there is always the thought that Terry would think I was fussing over nothing, but my ignorance was no excuse to duck the call. He was grateful and explained that the deer was being bullied and had been outcast by the main herd. The white deer had come from a herd in Scotland where it had been subject to this kind of ostracism, only to find the experience again here in friendly Yorkshire. Terry said there will be a fallow deer too. This poor animal had been gored and had taken itself away from its kind to recover, but Terry was concerned enough to make an extra visit to them.

The other big drama at the moment is the missing keys. They have simply disappeared. The keys to the Wentworth kingdom are collected by rangers from the reception counter in Long Barn and signed out when setting forth and then returned and signed in at the end of the patrol. The evidence shows they were returned and signed in when last seen. No on has signed them out and not returned them. So it is quite the little mystery. I have, on occasion signed them in and left the clip on my belt, but that is all. They will turn up and from where no one will know. The keys will return, but the mystery will still remain.

For the next month of June, I will make, at best, two patrols. And I will miss the place.

There's something about bluebells

If one wild flower is recognisable above all others then it is the bluebell. This is no doubt helped by its habit of flowering in large numbers well before any other wild flower has fully set out its stall. It's not the first wild flower of the year. It shares its arrival with others. Dandelions and daisies - yes, scattered across the open park, but not in such clustered company as bluebells. Speedwell and ground ivy - yes, but not shy and sheltering in new grass growth, but singing like a choir amidst the woodland.

And that is its secret of its impact. It shouts colour in the shadow of trees, forming a blue spray around their trunks, where for the last six months of autumn and winter, there has only been a dull brown carpet of death and decay. The arrival of the bluebell cheers the heart and lifts the spirit, stating quite clearly a signal, to all other woodland plants, that says that its now a time of growth.
And so, it is here, in the parkland. In Ivas Wood and other patches of woodland, that fringe the estate, they are there.

There was a buzz about the place today, especially about Longbarn. The Duke off Devonshire and some of his garden team were making a visit. Little was seen of them by me, apart from a conspicuous group making its way down to the Serpentine Bridge as I was walking back up to the house at the end of my patrol.

Another floral debutante is announcing its arrival. Outside the ranger room were two glorious examples of rhododendron of striking colours. As I looked up at them through the window, the impact was as if I had spotted an weird stranger looking in at me. I caught my breath.
Ian was away today, so the birds once again became a challenge. I heard a call that I made a great attempt to remember. I thought my strategy for future recall was quite marvellous. The bird made a sound that I equated to a movement one might make when washing hands and the subsequent removing excess water after the operation. Two strong shakes of each hand, followed by several smaller shakes, slightly less vigorous. As it turned out, it was a wonderful aide memoire. I had no trouble in identifying the bird I heard but could not see. Not quite the rarity or new summer visitor that was new to me.

It was a blue tit. I am not despondent about failing to recognise a bird I see each day in my garden. The bonus is it becomes a sound I can hear, recognise and dismiss when next I hear it. That helps pave the way to allow recognition of something fresh. Elimination helps identification. Bird identification is, like I have said before, only like police work.

Water is good

A claim is made that patients recover more quickly when placed near a window. An even quicker recovery can be made when the view through the window has some water feature.
I guess it would follow that life must simply be better if you can gaze upon a watery landscape.

It is no surprise then to learn that the parkland has water. A series of artificial of ponds were constructed in the early 18th century, but the ponds that then formed the Serpentine are now thickly overgrown or drained. The magnificent Serpentine bridge, which can be crossed when walking up to the house from the entrance behind the Strafford Arms, spans a patch of water at the northern end. The arch footings of the bridge are now quite dry.


The ponds that create the Serpentine stretch away south as far as the foot of the Rotunda. A serpentine was one of the must have garden features of its day. There was a garden transformation under way in England during Thomas and William Wentworth's time. After the floral formality of the 16th and 17th centuries, which accompanied periods of religious and civil turmoil, large house owners were looking for a new style to perhaps match a new age

The inspiration came from visions of Rome, or rather visions of ancient Rome of the Emperor Augustus. Here were landscapes filled with woods, water, open spaces and small temples. It is perhaps not just coincidence that this period and style was looked to. Ancient Rome itself at Augustus' reign had just entered a period of peace and security after a civil war. The one thing the English do well is to adapt and adopt. And the Wentworths were no different.

The creation of open, sloping, curving parkland with clumps of trees, water and temples is more often than not referred to as in the style of Lancelot 'Capability' Brown. Although the Titchmarsh of his time, there were others and he was not the first. Credit for the latter goes to Bridlington born William Kent. William Wentworth took great interest in creating his own rolling parkland that we have today. Who he had to design it is not clear to me. He may be totally responsible for what we see.
As you walk on the house side of the Serpentine ponds, the views of water are restricted, but it makes for a splendid habitat for water birds, as a mix of deep water and marshy ground. It has plenty of tree cover which makes it quite secluded.

Change is now really going on apace. A few brave and single bluebells are stretching out, before the carpets of blue will erupt in a week or two as early May approaches. Dense spreads of celandine are preparing to emerge as splashes of yellow. Candles are breaking out on the horse chestnut trees after the leaves, almost moth like, emerge from the bud.

Birds just confuse you...

As I walked directly across the parkland in front of the house, I was delighted to spend a good few minutes watching a kestrel fly and hover, a pattern it repeated as I wandered down the gentle slope. With the light behind me, although quite dull, I was able to enjoy the colouring as it did what kestrels do best. There was nothing there for it to drop on to, so it meandered away over the trees of Ivas wood.

It was a good start. A bird I knew and could observe. Ian was away and so I was left alone, in terms of being able to find and identify the wild life. Not that that is our sole purpose, but one that I am able to indulge in more and more. I have ordered the pocket field guide and am at present reading Simon Barnes' How to Be a Bad Birdwatcher with growing reassurance that I do enjoy watching, nay, observing the creatures around me without recourse to knowing all the names, or creating a list.

A specific field guide to the parkland would be a useful document. A general field guide, even limited to the UK with hundreds of types of birds, many of which wouldn't go near this environment, is OK but there will be a lot of redundant pages filled with birds that I am never going to see here. No doubt it will be useful in other parts of Britain.

The day remained dull, but the birds, though not over visible, were noisy enough. I now recognise the sound of the nuthatch amongst the other tweets, whistles and twitters. But I need to look at them. My self discipline in this matter is tarnished with laziness and devoid of the necessary patience and self discipline. Ian has these requisite skills to watch birds; I need to develop them.

The log gatherers from last week have been busy. There are great pyramids, though strictly speaking, they are triangular prisms, of logs at the edge of the Shed Plantation. Next week they may well be all removed.

The rotunda still displays its new wooden skeleton dome. Soon, I hope to see the shine of new metal adorning the structure.
This view, though distant, is across a space that was once filled with water and, at whose banks, cattle could be romantically found. It is one of the many water features that the parkland had installed mainly by William Wentworth.
Not many visitors today, despite being the remainder of the school Easter break. The noise of children loosing energy in the adventure play ground was quite the dominant sound nearer the house as I made my way back to base.

You may not see them but...

When I was taught that nuclear particles are invisible, at least to the human eye and very powerful microscopes, I asked how then do we know they are there. The answer was that they leave evidence of their presences. Thus it is for the band of conservation volunteers.
As you wander around the parkland, you rarely see them. But of their work, there is plenty to see. Newly sawn trees, fresh piles of branches and cut up boughs placed on the edges of the woods, new lengths of dry stone walling and tree trunks suddenly wrapped in plastic protection. This team of volunteers meet regularly on Wednesday mornings which corresponds to one of our scheduled patrols.

This week we encountered them as they set out with saws and gloves. One of them is also a ranger and indicated that refreshments would be available if we happened to be at the rotunda in a couple of hours or so. We acknowledged the invitation and proceeded on our way. We did see them later, not as a bunch, but working in twos and threes, to thin the silver birches in the Shed plantation, next to the rotunda.

One of them introduced himself as Richard and perhaps was pleased to take a break from shifting short, but no doubt quite heavy, sections of boughs. We were too early for coffee, but, as we take our own, we were not disappointed to miss. The difference they made was quite visible. There were still plenty of trees but the wood was thinned, enough, as Ian said, for certain birds to fly through and find food and shelter.We left them to their work and made our way to the seats that surround the Argyll Monument. This is still a good place to stop, but it it is not too rich in the bird life its attracts. We had a most exciting spot as we walked back into the parkland from the village of Hood Green and towards Keepers Pond. A pair of raptors, possibly sparrow hawks, were soaring on thermals until they were invisible. Two swallows perched upon a phone wire and two jays scurried, noisily across the pond frightening the moorhens. After a quiet morning, these events made a good end.

The trees are beginning to green at their branch fringes, but of sunlight today, there was little in the way of brightness. Next time, Ian will be away, so don't expect much on the bird front.