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.