However, even this hedge is better than what follows where a long length has been cut down to 3ft stumps. Hopefully, the aim is to regenerate the hedgerow but as the gaps have not been planted up it is difficult to see the practical purpose of what has been done. Needless to say, here there are no birds at all. The one thing it does afford is an uninterrupted view away towards the South across the flat Sussex Weald, far below, towards the South Downs in the far distance, just a smudge on the horizon. Even in the hazy sunshine the view is stunning. Green fields are marked out and separated by lines of trees and hedgerows, the nakedness of the trees revealing far more of the landscape than will be seen in summer. Greenhouses, roofs and windows glint in the sunshine, which also highlights the lush paddocks immediately below. Occasional patches of brown indicate where fields have been ploughed and harrowed and possibly planted as the farming cycle continues.
With Spring in the air and warmer weather in the offing, today is a wonderful day to get the boots on, grab the camera and get out for a walk along the ridge of the North Downs. Sometime it would be lovely, not to mention challenging to do the whole walk from the far west of Surrey, from the wonderfully named Hog’s Back, down to the Kent coast at Dover, taking in the rural beauty that can still be found in this crowded part of the country, crisscrossed with major roads and railway lines and dotted with suburban centres. However, I think I'll concentrate on just one small section for today. Despite there being a bit of a chill in the air, especially in the stiff breeze, the blue sky, against which the hedgerow trees that line the ridge are silhouetted, is cheery after yesterday’s persistent rain and greyness and the sun feels wonderful against my face. For much of the walk the muddy path, scattered with water-filled potholes, passes between thick hedgerows that are alive with birds - dunnocks, robins, blue tits, great tits and chaffinches - chattering as the hop along the hedge and sweep across the path from one side to the other. Occasionally, one will perch on top of a flailed branch to check my progress before diving into the thorny interior. In many ways the surroundings don’t look very different to how it looked when I last explored these tracks at the start of the year, except that the buds on the mixed hawthorn and hazel that make up the hedgerows are more numerous and appear plumper. The hazel catkins have served their purpose and are in dull decline, with a scattering of delicate red flowers hopefully having been pollinated. Despite having been flailed, the hedges have been left at head height and are thick and in good condition, and it is noticeable how well they act as a shelter from the breeze, one of the reasons that hedges were originally planted, to prevent soil erosion and to provide shelter for livestock, important considerations on a windswept ridge. Here it is possible to just enjoy the warming sun. The path soon narrows and here the hedgerows are less well maintained; they are taller but gappy and, whereas the previous hedge acted as a stock-proof fence, here additional wire fencing runs behind the row of hawthorn that can no longer serve that purpose. I can’t help but look at it from a hedge-layer’s viewpoint, considering how best to restore it to its former glory. The trees are tall enough, without being too tall, and the gaps are easily bridgeable. It is noticeable that there are far fewer birds here and these are mostly wood pigeons. However, even this hedge is better than what follows where a long length has been cut down to 3ft stumps. Hopefully, the aim is to regenerate the hedgerow but as the gaps have not been planted up it is difficult to see the practical purpose of what has been done. Needless to say, here there are no birds at all. The one thing it does afford is an uninterrupted view away towards the South across the flat Sussex Weald, far below, towards the South Downs in the far distance, just a smudge on the horizon. Even in the hazy sunshine the view is stunning. Green fields are marked out and separated by lines of trees and hedgerows, the nakedness of the trees revealing far more of the landscape than will be seen in summer. Greenhouses, roofs and windows glint in the sunshine, which also highlights the lush paddocks immediately below. Occasional patches of brown indicate where fields have been ploughed and harrowed and possibly planted as the farming cycle continues. It’s not long before the path passes the end of the hedgerow we planted in the chilly frost of December a few years ago - it's good to see that it is making progress - and the field, the site of our infamous archaeological dig, where we were searching for the illusive dewpond that turned out to be a rubbish pit - much to the delight of the volunteers who had worked it out long before the trained archaeologists, who were not so delighted. Just thinking about it brings a smile to my face. I peer over the fence but I can’t make out the site. Looking West along the Downs, the sky is brighter and the miles and miles of rolling fields stretch away towards the next peak, making me even more determined to take on a far longer walk. From the top of the peak a tower juts up from the trees. The view from where I stand is spectacular, what must it be like from there? Passing through a kissing gate, crossing a field that in the summer will be rich with tall grasses and chalk-loving wildflowers, then through another gate with a sign warning about the presence of grazing sheep, I descend through a narrow belt of scrub to the edge of the great bowl at Park Ham. It is like a huge natural amphitheatre, with steep sweeping sides that drop away sharply to the wildflower meadow below that in the summer will be covered in yellows and reds and purples that will all pale in comparison to the sea of ox-eye daisies, thousands upon thousands of them all rippling gently in the breeze. The steep sides of the bowl, which were carved out when the ground defrosted at the end of the last ice age, are well-known to me as, for the past few summers, a small army of us have trudged up and down, removing dozens and dozens of sacks of ragwort – but more of that particular pleasure another time. It is a hugely impressive site and worth the journey alone. Covered in snow it would make for a fairly hair-raising toboggan run – fortunately there is a long run-out along the flat before encountering a rather solid fence. An old, rusty piece of farm machinery, once used for turning hay, sits abandoned on the hillside, a wonderful agricultural sculpture, a reminder of the days of farming before massive industrialisation took hold. From the linkage, this was probably pulled by a tractor but you could easily imagine it working along behind a horse. As impressive as the big modern machinery is, there is something about their older, more basic ancestors that demands one to get out the rose-tinted glasses and imagine a wonderful life of simple pleasure spent working the land, where the sun always shone, rural children were always rosy-cheeked and farmers wives had little more strenuous to do than discover where the family chickens had hidden their eggs. However, you don’t have to walk very far along the Downs to realise that a day of manoeuvring machinery up and down these slopes, exposed to the wind and the rain and the cold was not always a joyous, life-enriching experience. I remember the freezing blast of those December winds, fingers and ears numb as we planted hawthorn and dog rose and crab apple along the slope, the frosty grass crunching beneath our boots and the lunch breaks made short before the cold crept past the protection of numerous layers. However, looking back up towards the ridge, with pointed roofs just showing and the clouds floating lazily into view it is hard to imagine a more wonderful place than the English countryside on a warm, sunny day. Once it was sheep that covered the North Downs, now it is horse country and you won't go far without coming across them, always inquisitive and always on the lookout for treats. Stop beside a fence and it won’t be long before at least one makes its way across to see what you have to offer. A group of three in their thick, shaggy winter coats stop grazing the poor grass to watch me pass. More horses are grazing along the ridge of the Downs, silhouetted against the sky as though they stand as guards at the very edge of the world. In those same fields skylarks hover overhead, pouring out their wonderful liquid song. Is there a more beautiful sound in the whole of the countryside? I could stay and listen to it for hours, especially on a day like today. What was once a field boundary, the best days of the hedgerow alongside the field are long in the past, replaced by a rusty iron fencing that takes far less time and effort to maintain, but which offers no shelter or refuge for wildlife, no nesting places for birds and no food to see them through the harsh winters. At least here the hawthorn has been kept and not grubbed out as so many were in the past as farmers chased subsidies for doing just that. Apart from horses another common sight are the grey squirrels that rummage amongst the leaf litter, possibly trying to remember where they buried their treasure the previous autumn, and scamper of the nearest tree at my approach. To some they are cute and entertaining while to others they are destructive vermin and often referred to as ‘tree rats’. Love them or loathe them you can't deny their adaptability, their intelligence or their acrobatic skills. If only they hadn't decimated our native population of reds and if only they would stop stripping the bark from trees... For some people living in our towns and cities squirrels, frequenting parks and gardens in increasing numbers, are often the nearest they come on a regular basis to wild animals, not that something that will take a peanut from your hand can ever be really thought of as wild. One of the great attractions of the North Downs is its variety of habitats. One moment you are walking between thick hedgerows, exploding with birds, then you are walking beside paddocks of ponies and horses or through wildflower meadows before passing through farms with grazing sheep. Then a path leads into woodland, much of it ancient. And it is in a small wood that I now find myself, with a bank covered in wild garlic leaves. Soon their pungent, heady aroma will fill the air and their small star-shaped flowers will shine in the sun like thousands of stars. On the other side of the path the floor is carpeted with the shoots of bluebells, a promise of the fantastic display to come. Opposite the wood, the rolling open fields of the Downs stretch away into the distance, the perfect view with which to end my walk.
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AuthorDespite being raised in London I have been a lover of the countryside all my life. Over the past few years I have been priviledged to be able to work as a countryside management volunteer, picking up new skills and knowledge along the way and seeing the countryside in a way I never had before. The Urban Countryman is my personal view of that countryside, the seasons and the work that goes on to protect and manage this wonderful environment. Archives
January 2019
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