The Thurlows

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Nature Notes 2018

March 2018: All at sea

Well, the whole nation was entranced by Blue Planet 2, wasn’t it?  It was the most popular TV programme in 2017, peaking with 17 million viewers.  It beat all the familiar favourites like Strictly Come Dancing, The X Factor, The Great British Bake-off and I’m a Celebrity: Get Me out of Here.  Of course, Blue Planet had a celebrity of its own presenting it, the wonderful David Attenborough, who is the nearest thing we have to a secular saint in Britain and a gold-plated national treasure.  But the great thing about Attenborough as a presenter is that he doesn’t seek centre stage himslef, as most other presenters do.  In fact, he only appears before the camera once or twice in the whole series.  What he does is draw us in with his boyish enthusiasm and curiosity and then show us things.  Extraordinary things in the case of Blue Planet 2:  like the bottle-nose dolphins surfing the waves, the Humboldt squid eating each other when they had run out of lantern fish to snack on, the giant trevally leaping out of the water to catch terns flying over, orca whales hunting in packs, the tusk fish smashing clams on a rock, the female giant wrasse nimbly changing gender to thwart male advances, and a high IQ octopus collaborating with a coral grouper to flush out prey from rock crevices.  All the sex and violence you could possibly want in an evening’s entertainment, and OK to watch without guilt, since it was just about fish, cetaceans and cephalopods doing what comes naturally.  

Or was it? Was it actually about us? It certainly packed a moral punch at the end, when Attenborough showed us the extent of the damage we are inflicting on marine life, whether through our careless dumping of tons of plastic waste in the oceans, through overfishing, or through our contributions to climate change and the acidification of the seas, which are destroying our precious coral reefs.  The images couldn’t have been more vivid, or harrowing: a turtle choking on a plastic bag, dead fish in their thousands floating in polluted waters, an albatross hooked on a long line, and the Great Barrier Reef bleaching and dying before our very eyes.   It illustrated a larger paradox in our national life.  We love watching wildlife on TV. We join conservation bodies like the RSPB (over a million members) and the National Trust (over five million members).  We tend our gardens and feed our birds like no other country, and we sing of England’s ‘green and pleasant land’. But there are 40 million fewer birds in Britain than there were in 1970, we’ve lost over 50% of our ancient woodlands and a staggering 99% of our flowering meadows.  Yet when did you last hear a politician talking seriously about wildlife conservation?  Did the 17 million viewers of Blue Planet ever look beyond their TV screens?

Jeremy Mynott
1 March 2018

 

February 2018: To-wit To-what?

There is a madrigal by the seventeenth-century composer, Thomas Vautor, called ‘Sweet Suffolk Owl’, which begins:

Sweet Suffolk owl, so trimly dight
With feathers, like a lady bright;
Thou sing'st alone, sitting by night,
'To whit! To whoo!'

The one I heard the other night along the Temple End Road, sounded more like a quavering ooooooo, but never mind.  In truth, we all see and hear what we want to with owls.  With the possible exception of penguins, they are the most easily humanised of all birds.  The combination of the upright stance on two legs, the soft tubby body-shape, large heads, flat faces, big round eyes and the steady gaze make them perfect material for the soft toys department.  Add their magical ability to see in the dark, the extraordinarily acute hearing, their other-worldly cries and silent flight, and you can see how perfectly adapted they are as a receptacle into which we project a whole range of human affections and fears. They have accordingly featured in fables from the time of Aesop onwards and provide such favourite characters in children’s stories as Old Brown in Beatrix Potter, the (dyslexic) Wol in A.A. Milne, Wise Owl in Alison Uttley, and most recently the snowy owl, Hedwig, in J.K. Rowling.  But they also play darker symbolic roles in many of the world’s myths and legends: ‘an abomination’ according to the Bible, Shakespeare’s ‘fatal bellman’, and ‘birds of omen dark and foul’ for Sir Walter Scott.  But how can they be the stuff both of innocent fancies and of nightmares?   How can the proverbial ‘wise owl’ also serve as the dread portent of death and disaster?

It’s all down to some very special biological adaptations that have accidentally given rise to these cultural perceptions. Owls are neither wise nor ominous by constitution, but are superbly equipped predators.  Those ‘flat faces’ are really large facial discs shaped to funnel to their super-sensitive ears the faintest sounds made by invisible scurrying rodents.  A tawny owl also has an exceptional spatial memory to enable it to navigate through familiar woodlands in almost pitch darkness; and in order to help with night vision their eyes are so large that they occupy all the space in the eye-sockets – they can’t therefore swivel their eyes but can compensate by rotating their heads by up to 270 degrees.   Their flight feathers have special baffles at the forward edge to muffle the sound of their wings and give them the advantage of surprise.  And so on, every detail serving a purpose.  The precision and efficacy of these adaptations is astonishing – and quite reason enough to prompt a sense of wonder… or even inspire a madrigal.

Jeremy Mynott
Lavender Cottage
9 February 2018

 

January 2018

hawfinch
Staverton Thicks is a relict fragment of ancient forest near Butley on the Suffolk coast.  It’s like a child’s idea of a haunted wood, straight out of one of Grimm’s fairy stories as illustrated by Arthur Rackham, full of mysteries and surprises – with a hint of menace too.  There are huge gnarled oaks there and some of the tallest hollies in Britain, all tangled together in a wonderful profusion of trunks and branches. It’s quite dark in places, but there are also sunny glades where some forest giant has crashed to the ground and torn a rent in the dense canopy.  Trees lie where they fall, decaying undisturbed, and you have to pick your way over and round them. It’s easy to lose one’s sense of direction, but there is also a sense of glorious seclusion and tranquillity, even though you are never more than half a mile from the surrounding tracks.   You can imagine yourself deep in one the great oak-wood forests that once graced this country and are so much a part of our folklore and history –  Sherwood, Arden, Epping.  It’s all totally unmanaged, untidied and unspoiled – so of course a haven for wildlife of all kinds.

Insects abound in the rotting timber, and these in turn attract woodpeckers, tits and tree creepers.  Redstarts and flycatchers breed here, so do tawny owls, and on one memorable spring day I even heard the fugitive, bell-like song of a golden oriole from somewhere in the upper branches.  I never saw or heard it again, alas, so it must have been a passing migrant, but it seemed very much in place in this secret wilderness. I also found some hawfinch in the Thicks recently and it’s worth looking for those in the woods round Thurlow too, since there has been an invasion of these large finches from central Europe into southern England this year.   Hawfinches are built rather like little parrots, bull-headed and with massive bills capable of cracking open the hardest kernels of stone-fruits.  They’ve been described as ‘flying nutcrackers’.  They are quite colourful too – with buffy breasts and blackis-blue wings broken by a bold white wing bar; but they are very shy and wary birds and are most likely to be seen suddenly flying up from the forest floor, emitting a volley of explosive and metallic tick calls.

The history of the Staverton Thicks is something of a mystery, but I like to believe the story that the land was once farmed by the monks of Boyton Priory, who at the time of the dissolution of the monasteries in 1538 were told that they could take just one last crop from the land.  So … they planted acorns. Now, that’s real forward thinking for you.  Don’t believe governments who say they will replace the old woods they are clearing to build motorways and high-speed rail links with new trees.  You can’t create old trees any more than you can make old friends.

Jeremy Mynott
Lavender Cottage

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