Prompted by the questionnaire, here I am making an effort to post. I rarely watch television but Springwatch and Countryfile are unmissable I think. I saw a competition (not much of a one as there are no prizes - just the glory of having your 800 words published in the magazine or online).
The title was My Special Place so I thought I’d have a go. Woolwich Common is only a twenty minute walk away but I’d never explored it before lockdown and like so many others, I really got to know my local green spaces well and it was a revelation.
On Christmas morning, although it was all but invisible, I was determined to leave the house for the peace of the Common. A watery sun shone though the dense mist, very slowly the deep grey clouds resolved themselves into the bare shapes of the bushes and trees at the margins of the track, and, like an omen for the future, I saw a single white blossom on a cherry plum blooming bravely, fully open with its sepals curved back and stamens pointing upwards to the slowly lightening sky. Then, amongst the tussocks and dried stalks of hogweed, a perfect purple knapweed nestled, blooming out of season.
As the months succeeded each other, more of the Common revealed itself. I set myself the task of identifying all the flowers I found on the Common, quite a mission for someone who could reliably name ten or so at best. The northern part is rare acid grassland, and week by week, the flowers typical of this habitat emerged. I learned to distinguish wavy bittercresses from hairy bittercresses, find the tiny shepherds purses and the blue of field speedwell. The unassuming pink flowers which I’d ignored for decades I now discovered were either cut leaved or dove’s foot cranesbills.
By the time it was May the wildflower count had reached sixty four. I’d now learned the term ‘vascular plants’ to include trees and grasses which adorn the Common in abundance.
This is Woolwich Common, a tiny part of South East London’s Green Chain Walk. The thousands who roar along the A2 every day will have little idea that if they took a few steps beyond the pavement, they would find themselves in a Common which could well be in the depth of the countryside, instead of in deeply urban Inner London.
The GCW curves around the near perimeter in an arc, so this was my next exploration in the chilly winter and early spring months. One bright February afternoon I stopped, intrigued by two magpies repeatedly hopping and diving and returning to a spot a foot or so away from the path. I remained still and saw the prize they were after was half a crust of bread; neither of them succeeded in capturing it as a bold brown rat was equally determined and although it took a good ten minutes with repeated attacks and retreats, the rat emerged successful from the tussle and the disgruntled pies returned to the top of the hazel tree.
Venturing off the path as the year turned, following the narrow desire lines, I was astonished to discover a network of winding paths through copses, open tussocky grassland, head high cow-parsley and woodland so dense that retracing a route was all but impossible. One day I stumbled on a shack constructed from old pallets, branches, tarpaulins a makeshift table and ancient cushions. There was no one there and so hidden, dark and silent was the spot, that I failed to find it again.
Another discovery was a reed bed which I later learned was the remains of a former reservoir. Yellow flags ringed the reeds and the rare smooth tare hid itself amongst the tangle of brambles, docks and plantain while white lipped snails feasted on the abundance.
It’s a common sight to see kestrels hovering high above seeking a small vole or slug and swooping down with a flash of wings. Meanwhile the crows gather on the flat grassland and are so secure in their territory that they simply hop a foot or two and stare intently as someone passes by.
The Common reaches its full glory as spring turns into summer. The hedges are white with blossom as cherry is succeeded by blackthorn and then hawthorn. Bluebells and Stars of Bethlehem vie with vetches and clovers in vibrant patches of colour and by July it’s tansy, hawkbit, and cinnabar caterpillars entwining ragwort which clothe great swathes of land in glowing gold while Goat’s rue and the delightfully named Jack-go-to-bed-at-noon flourish happily for those who pause to look. In the centre of the Common the Green hairstreak butterfly settles on Bird’s Foot trefoil holding its wings closed and remains still to enchant the watcher.
By late autumn the flowers disappear, leaves turn russet and bronze, in a few places the spindle trees glow a fiery crimson and the scarlet berries of the native Iris are glowing brightly. As I take my first steps onto the Common, the noise of the city fades away, the cares of the day diminish and, surrounded by the tall trees on the skyline, the grasses waving in the wind, the caw of the crows in the distance, a deep calm enfolds me; I know that this lovely, almost wild space is there to give solace and hope.
The title was My Special Place so I thought I’d have a go. Woolwich Common is only a twenty minute walk away but I’d never explored it before lockdown and like so many others, I really got to know my local green spaces well and it was a revelation.
On Christmas morning, although it was all but invisible, I was determined to leave the house for the peace of the Common. A watery sun shone though the dense mist, very slowly the deep grey clouds resolved themselves into the bare shapes of the bushes and trees at the margins of the track, and, like an omen for the future, I saw a single white blossom on a cherry plum blooming bravely, fully open with its sepals curved back and stamens pointing upwards to the slowly lightening sky. Then, amongst the tussocks and dried stalks of hogweed, a perfect purple knapweed nestled, blooming out of season.
As the months succeeded each other, more of the Common revealed itself. I set myself the task of identifying all the flowers I found on the Common, quite a mission for someone who could reliably name ten or so at best. The northern part is rare acid grassland, and week by week, the flowers typical of this habitat emerged. I learned to distinguish wavy bittercresses from hairy bittercresses, find the tiny shepherds purses and the blue of field speedwell. The unassuming pink flowers which I’d ignored for decades I now discovered were either cut leaved or dove’s foot cranesbills.
By the time it was May the wildflower count had reached sixty four. I’d now learned the term ‘vascular plants’ to include trees and grasses which adorn the Common in abundance.
This is Woolwich Common, a tiny part of South East London’s Green Chain Walk. The thousands who roar along the A2 every day will have little idea that if they took a few steps beyond the pavement, they would find themselves in a Common which could well be in the depth of the countryside, instead of in deeply urban Inner London.
The GCW curves around the near perimeter in an arc, so this was my next exploration in the chilly winter and early spring months. One bright February afternoon I stopped, intrigued by two magpies repeatedly hopping and diving and returning to a spot a foot or so away from the path. I remained still and saw the prize they were after was half a crust of bread; neither of them succeeded in capturing it as a bold brown rat was equally determined and although it took a good ten minutes with repeated attacks and retreats, the rat emerged successful from the tussle and the disgruntled pies returned to the top of the hazel tree.
Venturing off the path as the year turned, following the narrow desire lines, I was astonished to discover a network of winding paths through copses, open tussocky grassland, head high cow-parsley and woodland so dense that retracing a route was all but impossible. One day I stumbled on a shack constructed from old pallets, branches, tarpaulins a makeshift table and ancient cushions. There was no one there and so hidden, dark and silent was the spot, that I failed to find it again.
Another discovery was a reed bed which I later learned was the remains of a former reservoir. Yellow flags ringed the reeds and the rare smooth tare hid itself amongst the tangle of brambles, docks and plantain while white lipped snails feasted on the abundance.
It’s a common sight to see kestrels hovering high above seeking a small vole or slug and swooping down with a flash of wings. Meanwhile the crows gather on the flat grassland and are so secure in their territory that they simply hop a foot or two and stare intently as someone passes by.
The Common reaches its full glory as spring turns into summer. The hedges are white with blossom as cherry is succeeded by blackthorn and then hawthorn. Bluebells and Stars of Bethlehem vie with vetches and clovers in vibrant patches of colour and by July it’s tansy, hawkbit, and cinnabar caterpillars entwining ragwort which clothe great swathes of land in glowing gold while Goat’s rue and the delightfully named Jack-go-to-bed-at-noon flourish happily for those who pause to look. In the centre of the Common the Green hairstreak butterfly settles on Bird’s Foot trefoil holding its wings closed and remains still to enchant the watcher.
By late autumn the flowers disappear, leaves turn russet and bronze, in a few places the spindle trees glow a fiery crimson and the scarlet berries of the native Iris are glowing brightly. As I take my first steps onto the Common, the noise of the city fades away, the cares of the day diminish and, surrounded by the tall trees on the skyline, the grasses waving in the wind, the caw of the crows in the distance, a deep calm enfolds me; I know that this lovely, almost wild space is there to give solace and hope.
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