A ramble through memory
16th May 2019
A ramble through memory 1st March 19
The first day of March, like February, continued with more unseasonably warm and dry weather. Looking around the landscape everything seemed as expected. Every field, hedge or valley was filled with pale, leafless branches, with just buds offering a promise of warmer days. Everything looked like early Spring, however the temperature and brightness of the sun felt like Summer.
Also, during the period of writing I had a trip ‘down south’ to the picturesque town of Guildford. A busy university town, full of the noise and turmoil, but also wonderfully surrounded by a collection of fields, woodland and low lying heathland that give it a contrasting, easily accessible and peaceful quality.
The first thing I noticed was that Spring was strangely no further ahead than it was in the Lake District. There were few plants in flower, just the usual Celandine and someaging Snow Drops, no leaves emerging on the trees and just the song of Great Tits, Robins and annoyed Wrens.
Normally by March the seasons in the south of the country start to accelerate as compared to the north, but not this year (yet). This was probably down to colder and wetter conditions the South had been experiencing. However, despite this hesitation, the season's slow advance had mobilised some very interesting and beautiful wildlife.
I was blessed to see a Barn Owl out during the early evening, touring its territory on the edge of a farmers field. I have only ever seen one other Barn Owl near Guildford, and that was almost 50 years ago and I was a child playing on, what us local kids referred to, as the ‘Common’.
This was (and still is to some degree) a wild and unkempt area of land adjacent to the housing estate I once lived. A large, rough area, filled with pockets of shrubs and fruit trees, divided by a maze of wide grassy paths and then again surrounded by thick broadleaf woodland. The Common is further surrounded by miles of open arable fields that cover the northern slopes of the North Downs.
It was this ‘Common’ where my first experiences of wildlife and investigating and enjoying the landscape began. There was a small pond, where we would fish for Perch and Crucian Carp, but occasionally catch small, vicious pike, or out of place, abandoned Goldfish which had been released surreptitiously into the pond.
The Common was and is an important area of wild country, providing an area for locals to escape from the hubbub of daily life, walk their dog, or just relax and enjoy the relative peace and quiet. It acts as a ‘lung’ for the residents of the adjacent estate.
It is also an area that is filled with many secrets. Roe deer nervously appear from the trees to graze the grassy areas, constantly keeping a look out for any humans. There are small paths that dive into the thick woodland, bending and twisting in a confusing way and eventually leading to an unexpected destination. In late summer there are Glowworms hidden in the long grass, shining like little green jewels. However, the Common has one other (almost) secret, which is hidden in a wild and chaotic jungle of trees and shrubs. This secret always had an eerie feel and an even scarier reputation - it was known as the ‘Old House’.
When I was 10 years old all that remained of the house was a the floor to an entrance hall, a couple of walls and doorway perched precariously on disintegrating foundations. Despite its dilapidated condition my imagination rebuilt the walls, windows and doorways, making it a complete and very secret place.
The remaining walls were bleached white and appeared in silhouette as two fingers pointing to the surrounding fortifications composed of trees and shrubs. Around the collapsing facade of the house was a scattering of stones and colourful pieces of broken floor tiles. A hint of the houses orginal grandeur.
There was limited access to the house as you had to push through the surrounding wall of trees. However, once you penetrated the arboreal defences you were rewarded by an open space with the remains of the house sat in the middle.
The Old House would have been a grand building in its day and I have always assumed the Common, the fruit trees, its pond were the remnanants of a once, grand estate. I have never trawled through local history records, or tried to investigate the Old House and The Commons origins as I never wanted to break the mystery and the magic the landscape generated in this young boy. It is and will always be what us kids imagined and this imagining gave me my love for the outdoors, wildlife, nature and ‘being’ in a landscape.
The Old House is also where I saw my first ever Barn Owl! Having broken through the arboreal wall, with legs and arms scratched I felt an unease. The trees seemed to loom over me making the way back out seem more unpenetrable. However, I became aware of the relative openness of the place I was now standing, as the few successful rays of sunlight found their way through gaps in the woodland defence. The rays illuminated a chalk and flint building, giving it a ghostly glow.
Then, from some distant hole, a hole in time even, the Barn Owl glided out from the last, remaining window and effortlessly drifted inches above my head. The moment, the feelings, the endless desire to relive that experience have never left me.
Over the proceeding years I have been very lucky to have seen many more Barn Owls (but not as many as I would wish) but never again anywhere in my old SE corner of England. Therefore seeing the one I saw on this recent evening was both reassuring and special as it recharged the potency of my older memories.
On returning back to Cumbria, Spring stalled again. Another storm (Ireland named it Hannah) crashed into the western shore of the country, bringing lots of wind and rain. The few Swallows I had seen were now definitely lone searchers in the sky as their companions wouldn't be coming this further north until conditions (and therefore food) improved.
However, as drove home, along a quiet lane, there, caught in my headlights I saw a ghostly glow sweep along the line of the hedgerow. I slowed, knowing what this was and the excitement was bubbling up through my senses. The white blur dropped, turned and returned, following the hedge line. It was a Barn Owl hunting along the boundary of his territory and with another flick of its wings it was gone, back through that hole in time and memory to maybe sit in that old window of the Old House.
The first day of March, like February, continued with more unseasonably warm and dry weather. Looking around the landscape everything seemed as expected. Every field, hedge or valley was filled with pale, leafless branches, with just buds offering a promise of warmer days. Everything looked like early Spring, however the temperature and brightness of the sun felt like Summer.
Also, during the period of writing I had a trip ‘down south’ to the picturesque town of Guildford. A busy university town, full of the noise and turmoil, but also wonderfully surrounded by a collection of fields, woodland and low lying heathland that give it a contrasting, easily accessible and peaceful quality.
The first thing I noticed was that Spring was strangely no further ahead than it was in the Lake District. There were few plants in flower, just the usual Celandine and someaging Snow Drops, no leaves emerging on the trees and just the song of Great Tits, Robins and annoyed Wrens.
Normally by March the seasons in the south of the country start to accelerate as compared to the north, but not this year (yet). This was probably down to colder and wetter conditions the South had been experiencing. However, despite this hesitation, the season's slow advance had mobilised some very interesting and beautiful wildlife.
I was blessed to see a Barn Owl out during the early evening, touring its territory on the edge of a farmers field. I have only ever seen one other Barn Owl near Guildford, and that was almost 50 years ago and I was a child playing on, what us local kids referred to, as the ‘Common’.
This was (and still is to some degree) a wild and unkempt area of land adjacent to the housing estate I once lived. A large, rough area, filled with pockets of shrubs and fruit trees, divided by a maze of wide grassy paths and then again surrounded by thick broadleaf woodland. The Common is further surrounded by miles of open arable fields that cover the northern slopes of the North Downs.
It was this ‘Common’ where my first experiences of wildlife and investigating and enjoying the landscape began. There was a small pond, where we would fish for Perch and Crucian Carp, but occasionally catch small, vicious pike, or out of place, abandoned Goldfish which had been released surreptitiously into the pond.
The Common was and is an important area of wild country, providing an area for locals to escape from the hubbub of daily life, walk their dog, or just relax and enjoy the relative peace and quiet. It acts as a ‘lung’ for the residents of the adjacent estate.
It is also an area that is filled with many secrets. Roe deer nervously appear from the trees to graze the grassy areas, constantly keeping a look out for any humans. There are small paths that dive into the thick woodland, bending and twisting in a confusing way and eventually leading to an unexpected destination. In late summer there are Glowworms hidden in the long grass, shining like little green jewels. However, the Common has one other (almost) secret, which is hidden in a wild and chaotic jungle of trees and shrubs. This secret always had an eerie feel and an even scarier reputation - it was known as the ‘Old House’.
When I was 10 years old all that remained of the house was a the floor to an entrance hall, a couple of walls and doorway perched precariously on disintegrating foundations. Despite its dilapidated condition my imagination rebuilt the walls, windows and doorways, making it a complete and very secret place.
The remaining walls were bleached white and appeared in silhouette as two fingers pointing to the surrounding fortifications composed of trees and shrubs. Around the collapsing facade of the house was a scattering of stones and colourful pieces of broken floor tiles. A hint of the houses orginal grandeur.
There was limited access to the house as you had to push through the surrounding wall of trees. However, once you penetrated the arboreal defences you were rewarded by an open space with the remains of the house sat in the middle.
The Old House would have been a grand building in its day and I have always assumed the Common, the fruit trees, its pond were the remnanants of a once, grand estate. I have never trawled through local history records, or tried to investigate the Old House and The Commons origins as I never wanted to break the mystery and the magic the landscape generated in this young boy. It is and will always be what us kids imagined and this imagining gave me my love for the outdoors, wildlife, nature and ‘being’ in a landscape.
The Old House is also where I saw my first ever Barn Owl! Having broken through the arboreal wall, with legs and arms scratched I felt an unease. The trees seemed to loom over me making the way back out seem more unpenetrable. However, I became aware of the relative openness of the place I was now standing, as the few successful rays of sunlight found their way through gaps in the woodland defence. The rays illuminated a chalk and flint building, giving it a ghostly glow.
Then, from some distant hole, a hole in time even, the Barn Owl glided out from the last, remaining window and effortlessly drifted inches above my head. The moment, the feelings, the endless desire to relive that experience have never left me.
Over the proceeding years I have been very lucky to have seen many more Barn Owls (but not as many as I would wish) but never again anywhere in my old SE corner of England. Therefore seeing the one I saw on this recent evening was both reassuring and special as it recharged the potency of my older memories.
On returning back to Cumbria, Spring stalled again. Another storm (Ireland named it Hannah) crashed into the western shore of the country, bringing lots of wind and rain. The few Swallows I had seen were now definitely lone searchers in the sky as their companions wouldn't be coming this further north until conditions (and therefore food) improved.
However, as drove home, along a quiet lane, there, caught in my headlights I saw a ghostly glow sweep along the line of the hedgerow. I slowed, knowing what this was and the excitement was bubbling up through my senses. The white blur dropped, turned and returned, following the hedge line. It was a Barn Owl hunting along the boundary of his territory and with another flick of its wings it was gone, back through that hole in time and memory to maybe sit in that old window of the Old House.