Tag: Natural England

The Greens, Zionism, the Tories – and Brazil

I wake this morning to hear that the Tories in their blissful ignorance plan to abolish the Environment Agency and Natural England. We assume it’s because they’re deemed to have green credentials. According to a writer in the Spectator it’s down to his local river not getting cleared of weeds as it used to be. Wading birds and frogs take priority. The main problem, as the rest of us see it, is underfunding. Thinking of my own backyard, Natural England administer, on a day-to-day basis, our local common, which we own: what would happen without them, we wonder?

It is always so much wiser to help find solutions rather than create or exacerbate problems.  This would apply to another news story, the Green Party conference passing a motion asserting that Zionism is racism. For sheer stupidity that takes some beating. There is a vast 120 and more year issue here: where might there be a homeland for a Jewish population, and how could that be squared with settling a territory where people were already living?

Tenant farmers back in the 1930s were displaced by Arab landowners selling territory to incoming Jews. The ultimate outcome was the displacement of vast populations, the nakba, in 1948. Also, over time, the development of a prosperous and proud and high-achieving Jewish state. The 1990s saw a chance for coming together, but moderates were pushed aside. The politics of Hamas and Likud left little room for compromise. But – none of this makes Zionism of itself racist. The attacks on Palestinian settlements and villagers by Jewish settlers with the connivance (and indeed active support by some members of) the Israeli government are another matter.

I have long supported the Palestinians. But if I was Jewish I would, I’m sure, be a supporter, right or wrong, of Israel. And, speaking as an Anglo-Saxon, originally out of Manchester, the courage and the sheer genius of the Jewish people have had a huge impact on my life.

The Economist describe the Greens’ decision to support the motion as ‘shameful’. ‘The party thereby deserves to fade back into irrelevance.’ I have to agree. I’d also add that having heard the Green mayor of Hackney outline her policies, all of them well-meaning, with no mention at all of promoting local business, I was left wondering how the community could generate the jobs and income that a prosperous local economy requires.

We need the Greens to pick up and run with their old agenda. We need them. The likely election of another Bolsonaro in Brazil could have terrible consequences for the Amazon, with loggers and farmers spreading deeper into the forest. Reading that wonderful travel writer Norman Lewis recently I was made aware of how, over many decades, bible-toting American evangelists brought notions of sin and salvation to Amazonian tribes, displacing and resettling, allowing the forest to be felled and given over to agriculture feeding American and European markets. Protestant evangelists have also brought American-style mega-churches and an effective funding model to Brazilian cities. The bonds of the old Catholic communities have been fractured. The evangelical right is little focused on environment and heavily focused on money and the immediacy of salvation.

If you detect cynicism on my part, you would be right. In my book, care and compassion, in their widest sense, come before sin and salvation. Without the former the latter are worthless. In the words of a 17th century Quaker, ‘sin … means losing he way of the heart’. 

We have of course the same evangelical and funding model in this country, and they surface in such people as Paul Marshall, proprietor of GB News and the Spectator, and the recently disgraced (attempting to bypass electoral law by enlisting American funding) head of policy at Reform, James Orr. This brings us, almost but not quite, full circle back to the Tories and their conference, trying to make a mark by trashing old institutions. There are many older, more centrist Tories who are horrified by what’s happening. Maybe the current crew will implode over the next few years and wiser folk regain their party. But as things stand I don’t hold out much hope.

Dawn chorus

The dawn chorus – we all listen in from time to time, often unwillingly if we’re lying wake, sometimes thinking – one day I’ll get up and get out there and …. just listen. You can’t worry about stuff when the trees enclose you, or the garden’s dew-covered in the dawn, or there’s a big sky and the last stars are losing out. You can’t worry about stuff when all you’re doing is listening. And maybe you’ll identify one or two birds amid all that joyful cacophony.

So one Sunday morning, early in May….

4.45 in the Buckholt beechwoods, the rain not long stopped, just enough light through the trees to see our way along a slippery path and avoid the roots. A tawny owl with a too-woo answers his mate’s too-wit. No too-wit: we only hear the answer. The thrushes give voice to the morning ahead of the crowd: their repeating phrases are mesmerising.

Robert Browning: ‘That’s the wise thrush; he sings each song twice over,/Lest you should think he never could recapture/The first fine careless rapture!

Browning was thinking of April, and we’re one week into May. But it’s been such a chill spring, April is still the abiding spirit.

A blackbird starts up its more random and fluting song in competition – as we hear it – with the thrush. For him it just might be competition for a mate, or setting out his territory.

It’s many years since I’ve walked through woods at this hour. Back in 1975 it was the tropical forests of Guatemala, and I remember a firefly that startled me, and listening for a jaguar, just in case. The dawn silence broken as I remember more by monkeys which took to swinging through the trees. My destination then was the vast temples of Tikal, in a clearing cut back from the jungle. My destination today – no more than a bacon sandwich, or maybe a return to bed.

But who needs destinations. Enough to be in the wood, and listening to the chorus. A great tit starts up, easy to recognise, then much too easy, and intrusive when we want space for other birds. Maybe take out the robin as well – which I love but its tuneful meanderings sound out from every direction. Without the great tit and robin, we novices would be able to focus more readily on other species. The coal tit, also a repeating call, but more mellifluous. The wren high-pitched, rapid and loud for a bird so small, so difficult to see. The chiffchaff chiff-chaffing. A goldcrest? – but maybe it’s pitched too high for me to hear – so another bird? But which?

We hear no more owls, but there are wood-pigeons, and collared doves. And by the side of the path Roman snails, tough-shelled and edible and enjoyed by the Romans who introduced them, and found more abundantly near Roman sites to this day. Too early for the adders and grass snakes, but who knows, later in the day, beneath the mats which are put out on the common, where adders find shelter.

‘It is the bright day that brings forth the adder. And that craves wary walking…’ (Julius Caesar)

But this is a dawn chorus walk…

The enemy – the pheasant. (We hear them but they belong on the woodland fringes.) 25 million introduced into the countryside each year, and they’re protected. There’s evidence they eat snakes. Which do we prefer? As someone said, you can see who drafted the legislation. Money of course comes into the countryside from the shooters, so the arguments aren’t all one way.

And habitats – we love our woodlands, but a hundred years ago great swathes would be taken out – clear-cut or coppiced or pollarded. The woods were resources not a place for recreation. And a place of mystery and seclusion, a place apart. There were the working woods, and the deep woods. And the deep woods still stir our imagination. One reason I love Buckholt and Cranham woods is that you can get lost there. There is always that frisson.

We try now, as Natural England does, to re-create the wildlife habitats of a one-time working woodland, without the working population. So we take out the saplings, we cut clear and we coppice – but it’s not easy to re-create habitats when we want them for recreation, not for work.

The chorus is better on bright mornings, than on wet, or cloudy. Better where the mix of habitat is greater – meadows next to woods, or gardens. Maybe. But there’s a magic in the woods at 5am, and at 6am – no sunlight reaches path or canopy (the clouds have yet to break), but the pale green, the bright new green, is illumination enough as I lift my eyes from the path. And to either side, a stretch of woods where bluebells thrive. This is mixed-habitat wood, and meant to be that way – there aren’t the great expanses of bluebells we can see elsewhere. Or wood sorrel. And only in a few places is wild garlic abundant.

Near the end of our walk, one crow. Only one. Distant. Too raucous. Round a corner, a field, scouts stirring from their tents – maybe collecting wood for a fire. Takes me back a few years. Then back to the road, and the village.

Fifteen hours later, sitting out on a patio, looking north to the woods where we’d walked. A song thrush strikes up, always inventive, compulsive listening. First bird of the dawn, the last (almost) of the twilight. 9.25 he flies down from the tree to roost. There’s a distant blackbird, and an early owl in the woods, a few seconds, then he’s quiet. And an evening crow. Like the morning just a single caw-caw, and that’s it. Then all is still. 9.30 a single bat flies past. There’s a breath of wind. 9.35, another bat and, a minute of two later, more than a breath of wind. Not only the leaves but the branches move.

All the while I’ve been contemplating a sunset sky which held its colour, its luminous reds, for at least half an hour, and above, alto-cumulus, a gentle bank of grey cloud against the light blue. The sky is as quiet as the land, and I feel I could step off into the woods and around the globe without disturbing a soul. Nearer at hand the oaks and ashes still gaunt in outline against the sky: the day (the 8th of May) has been one of summer warmth, out of the blue, out of the ether, a surprise and a wonder, summer in spring in winter.

It had rained before we began our morning walk, and after we finished. And it will rain tomorrow, then turn cold…

with thanks to Kate Gamez, of Natural England, our walk’s organiser, inspiration and guide