Journey to Ric’s Home

It is beautiful outside, quite bright, not sunshine-bright, but better than we have had for days. The skies are no longer black, brown or grey, but covered in a dense layer of white with here and there a glimpse of blue, which gives the promise of sunlight later, and which I so look forward to. We have had far too many gloomy, grey, rainy days; it is wonderful to look out of the windows today.

We are visiting Ric, taking our computer, which has had another “Fatal Error”, for our dear grandson to mend, guilt rides high when we have to ask for his help. I know he does not mind, but I would much rather be giving than taking. Taking makes me feel awkward.

As I look through the windscreen at the beautiful autumnal landscape I wonder if this will be my last. Is it cancer? Will I die? If so how soon? A week on Monday I will have some badly needed answers, living with the uncertainty has not been easy.

The roads are water-laden and cars create waves on either side as high as, or even higher, than the cars themselves, as they suddenly enter flooded areas. The sky which earlier had flashes of blue is once again darkly grey and forbidding. So many men nowadays have shaven or near-shaven heads and they don’t wear hats. Are they not cold? How can they bear it?

Rivers have risen and are surging swollenly along often brushing the tops of their banks. Low-lying fields are flooded and we passed a river where the moored boat now rested high on the path – a sudden surge must have lifted it and left it there, preferable to submerging it, I guess.

Sad horses stand, heads down, in sodden, muddy fields.

Last night was very windy and today the trees have noticeably less leaves.

Large armsful of mistletoe hang heavily from bare branches, taunting us, knowing they are safe on their lofty perches, making food for birds, who will in turn set the seed for more plants to grow, some of which will be attainable for man to indulge his tribal fantasies.

Golden trees still light the road edges and are a joy to see.

The pelting rain splashing on the windscreen almost drowns out Coldplay on the stereo.

On the M25, where road-widening is in process, the chalk escarpment of the Chilterns lays bare and startling bright in the rain; the air here is good despite being on a motorway.

The last 24 hours my asthma has been very troublesome and my lungs have over-produced mucus; thank goodness I can empty my lungs with breathing techniques and postural drainage.

The chalk escarpment is overlaid in places by matting heavily bolted down, this is I suppose because the chalk is unstable comma, it is porous and lets rain drain through, but much of our rain may be acid now and this would gradually eat away the chalk.

The motorway is full up and the sky dark and heavy, I am reminded of Christmas by the myriad lights on cars, red rear and white front, yellow flashing on highway vehicles and traffic cones with winking amber lights on the top.

On the M40 now, much standing water on the surface and thick mist rising from the vehicles in front and to the side, the windscreen wipers sway to their quickest own monotonous rhythm, while Coldplay still entertains and cheers us, leaving me dancing in my seat, which always both amuses and embarrasses my dear granddaughter Meggy.

This is a beautiful stretch of the M40, less bare branches, but still bright golden leaved trees interspersed with green ones. The golden ones are, of course, the beautiful beeches, which the Chilterns are famous for.

Debris in road. SLOW. We slowed, massed blue lights, smashed cars, a van, a tiny black sports car crushed downward and facing the wrong way, debris cleared from our side, but horrors on the other side where the accident happened – just let the people be safe, and let not their relatives spend the next period of their lives in despair. A traffic jam, miles long, on the other side. The sports car reminded me of my two boys and their little sports cars and I wept for the occupants.

We are still on the M40 and the trees still thickly growing alongside are so beautiful, there are so tall, so dense and so varied.

As we turned off the M40 my senses were stunned by the obscene concrete tower of a mobile phone mast rising from behind a concrete bridge spanning the M40.

A narrow road to Ibstone wound its way through breathtaking beech woods. England in some parts is still fully natural. Beech woods gave way to fields and far-reaching views often glimpsed between the beech trunks, the leaf litter and the leaves still holding are stunningly picturesque. Evidence of last night’s high winds lay across the road surface in the form of fallen branches. Brown and black cattle and flocks of sheep graze in the green, green, sloping fields.

Male pheasants mark their territory by standing firm and refusing to leave the road, forcing us to stop and wait until they leisurely saunter out of our path, while overhead a trio of red kites wheel, silhouetted against the grey sky.

The most magnificent fairy ring I have ever seen made up of toadstools each one concave and filled with leaves and rainwater.

Another horrid mobile phone mast rising above a belt of beautiful beech trees and a field of sheep. Progress, but at what price?

A covey of female pheasants sheltering amidst pale brown ferns.

We are nearly at Ric’s home, I am thankful for the day and overjoyed with most of the journey, and the pleasure my eyes have afforded me.

So many beautiful views and so many flooded roads.

Meeting of the trees overhanging the road, the striking new growth of pine trees intermingling with beech trees and almost the same colour.

While at Ric’s home I had a rare happening – I escaped and had a good half an hour’s freedom. Unbelievable, this never happens, hard for anyone else to understand, but true, anywhere I am Mike is always with me. Whatever I do, he knows. My only space in life is when he is out shopping, then I feel a luxurious rush of freedom and hurry around doing jobs I have no incentive to do normally!

Ric was going to fetch a takeaway, Mike was on the computer, so I said, if they did not mind I would like to go for a walk alone – and I did.

I slipped out of the door, turned right at the gate, down the lane passed three or four houses, and followed a footpath left into the woods. It was strange being out alone and sad to say even a little frightening, but of course, this is because I never have this freedom; it is entirely unknown to me. The sense of space filled me with awe, the sight and smell of the wet beauty of the beech woods was wonderful.

I had my camera and took photographs of fungi, leaves, trees, pools, ferns and views.

Half an hour passed so quickly, and I found myself hurrying back so as not to hold them up from eating their food. I arrived back in time to find a search party in the guise of my grandson about to come and find me. The Indian takeaway was superb.

We had a lovely afternoon and evening with Ric. We left at 10:30pm and headed home along narrow roads through the Chiltern beech woods towards the M40.

We stopped at one point as the car headlamps picked out a female fallow deer in the road just ahead, we watched as she moved to the verge then stood right by our car watching us watching her. It was magical. A little further on we saw a muntjac, munching the verge and in a further mile or two the car headlights picked out a stoat hurrying across the road.

An excellent day!

The Scan

It is finally the day of my scan. We are driving there now. Mike is driving a little faster than normal because he fears being late due to the pressure of finding a parking space.

The road we are travelling is beautiful. It is the A10. It is a newish road; two lanes each way with a central barrier, and wide lay-bys, but we are in a hurry so we cannot stop. The road is made beautiful because of the wonderful, often far-reaching views of the surrounding countryside, fields green and bounded by autumnal hedges interlaced with still dark green bowed brambles and interjected with stately old trees, many of them oaks with their golden brown covering.

Other trees with upward thrusting bare branches: sycamores brightly yellow with the first tinges of orange; magnificent beeches resplendent in their burnt orange cloaks. Rose hips still hang heavy. Giant cow parsley skeletons stand proudly on verges. Graceful silver birches with their delicate branches prettily peppered with golden leaves. A brown female pheasant stands sentinel on a fence. Nine white doves cluster near the edge of a newly sown field, bearing a mid-green sheen of fresh shoots. High trees of dark red haw berries stand proudly above the hedgerows, food for hungry birds on cold days to come.

Here and there apple trees, bearing fruit, have sprung up planted by the careless tossing of apple cores from car windows or walkers passing by. I have often, on finding these self set trees, tried their fruit. Most of it is unpalatable, although sometimes, with the addition of sugar, it does cook well and is often very flavoursome. An aunt of mine, who during her lifetime won many prizes for her jam-making, used to walk the highways, byways and common land collecting wild fruit to use. Her wild apple jelly was wonderful: a pale pink in colour, and delicious on toast or with bread and butter for tea.

Ivy climbs trees and thrusts forward its autumnal flowers for late flying bees and butterflies to re-energise on. Here and there a garden escapee cotoneaster stands tall with graceful downward branches and cheers us with its red berries brightly standing out against its dark green leaves.


Now in late autumn, winds have bared branches and lessened leaves on so many trees I am surprised by the number of conifers I have seen, but also pleased because they are home and shelter for birds, insects, bats and squirrels in the cold months ahead.

Last time I came for a scan, it was easy and carefree, this time it is different. Last time altered so much. A node – two small words, but such a large, fearful question mark left in my mind.

Passing through Harston, on our way home we chanced on a Thai restaurant, where we ate lunch. The service was great and the food even better. Perhaps a week on Monday, if the news is good, we will again stop here, this time to celebrate our good fortune.

Driving home we went from Cambridgeshire into Essex back to Cambridgeshire and into Hertfordshire. We drove through the highest point in the county of Cambridgeshire. Driving home on the B1368 we were still surrounded by wonderful countryside, but often the road was bounded by bare brown hedges and sad-looking verges. The road edges were muddied and puddle.

Across the fleeting views of fields the mist hung heavy and the horizon was lost from us; the sky being a miserable murky grey. Trees which sunlight would have lit up and glowed had lost their enchantment and looked dull.

We hit the A10 at Puckeridge, and turned left to follow it toward home. It was beautiful journey there, and an interesting one back with its several small, but pretty English villages.

Walk Along the Canal Towpath

November, late in the year, but the warm sun has brought out the bees. They are busily buzzing around the nectar-rich ivy blooms held proudly out from the rich green foliage draping riverside trees and bushes.

My favourite river side tree is the alder. They are so delicate and their reflections steal my heart each time we walk along by the river. At this time of year they are leafless, but their branches are prettily displaying bunches of tiny cones and catkins, still tightly closed waiting out the winter for the promise of spring.

As we neared Parndon Mill we saw a lovely goat in his paddock. Had the sheep gone off to market we wondered as we walked past the lock and headed into the sun. The water sparkled and the geese at the mill shone brightly white in the sunshine. The donkey brayed loudly and made us laugh at his whimsical sound.

We saw very few birds: one mallard, one blackbird, a lone redwing. We used to have huge flocks here at this time of year, but not anymore. We heard the silver song of the robin and the call of a little owl, but no kingfishers, which was disappointing.

As we neared the lock, we saw the boar at his gate. He had heard us coming and with his teeth he caught the metal bar and pushed the gate back and forth. I usually give him my apple core, but I today I didn’t have one for him. So I collected some leafy branches of hawthorn and was lucky enough to find some covered with sloe berries, which I fed to him.


Leaving the Mill and lock behind we continued our walk along the canal towpath. We spotted some tiny saddleback piglets and their mother working their way down the field toward the gate, probably knowing feeding time was approaching. They were delightful to watch.

Walking along we noticed, on the far bank, that each fence post was marked with a hazel bush of bright golden leaves. The hawthorns were very old with twisted, crisscross branches and entwined spikes and covered in berries that glistened in the sun like baubles on a lighted Christmas tree. Some trees still held leaves of green while others were festooned in orange, red and browns, even others were totally bare. We saw a partially pollarded willow, almost bereft of leaves, but strong new 12 foot rising from the trunk covered in blue-green leaves – what a contrast!

Large bramble leaves in beautiful autumn colours crept over the bank. There were streamers of bright red rose hips shining in the sun hung suspended from branches where months before they had delighted us with their badges of dog field roses.

The fungi alongside the towpath grew in clumps and were the classic domed toadstool shape though I was unsure of its genus. We made a note of eight clumps of mistletoe that we would return to harvest in December for our Christmas decorations.

Misty Mornings and Birds

From my kitchen window I can see a cotoneaster its boughs heavily laden with berries, shiningly colorful, and brightly glistening in the rain, good autumn food for birds. Across the lawn a robin and a blue tit vie for the last apple hanging from the tree, and a malus is filled with a flock of pigeons, whereas other years it has been the territory of blackbirds, thrushes, redwing and fieldfare, sadly this year we haven't seen even one redwing or fieldfare.

Hanging from a lower bough is an overwintering insect box, I hung it with a happy smile in the summer, thinking of how it would provide protection for hibernating insects. Interestingly it has proved very successful as a feeding station, especially for the great tits who are delighted with the easy pickings it provides.

Misty mornings now, and drifts of mist hang low over the fields that border the river, the tiny misty droplets highlighting and jewel bedecking the myriad cobwebs, draped over or hanging from bushes and plants. Watch out for an influx of spiders indoors, sheltering from the coming cold winter. Now is a good time to go fungi foraging, there are many and varied types to be found, all shapes and sizes, I once found a navy blue one growing under a yew tree.

Today through the lounge window I watched a heron take off, flying low over the lawn and upward through the branches of our trees. I have very mixed feelings about herons because they empty the pond, but I do love to watch them and I am always awestruck when I see them in flight. Today he didn't fly very far, just across the paddock and into the field where he spent the afternoon silently stalking by the river's edge.

Later on I saw a tiny restless goldcrest who spent several minutes flying repeatedly between a bird bath and a conifer. At just 3.5 inches long the goldcrest is Britain's smallest bird and is a joy to see with its vivid bright yellow streak along the top of its head.

Now is a good time to clear out and clean nesting boxes and before replacing them put in a handful of dried leaves to help out overwintering creatures.

Walk Along Brimming Canal

We have had a very wet several days and the fields at the back of the garden are flooded again. So we knew the river would be high, making the sights and sounds of our usual walk a little different.

Weirs usually dry are now overflowing with rushing, crashing, foamy water. One weir ran through a concrete tunnel connecting it to the river. We stood above the tunnel in awe of the roar of the water underneath the bridge, and the spray that shot high into the air.

During the course of our walk we saw only one fresh mole hill. I imagined the little creature with his warm furry coat poking his head out and quickly drawing back as the wind hit his little snout.

We met a red-faced fisherman sitting huddled on the bank. He told us he had caught but one small roach. On our return, later, he had caught another half a dozen including a 15” bream. He didn’t like killing them, so he’d thrown all of them back in.

The wind was strong and cold; it made one’s eyes water. The sun shone out highlighting the foliage with its golds, oranges, reds and browns – a truly beautiful autumn day. We were well wrapped up and determined to enjoy our walk, but no matter how quickly we moved to stay warm, our ears became cold as did our arms and gloved hands.

We were amused by the sight of swans swimming along with ducks and Canada geese on flooded fields that a day earlier had been lush green meadows.

We came to a weir that was usually dry and were enchanted by a magic carpet of leaves of all shapes, sizes and colors drawn toward the weir. We watched spellbound, then placed bets on which clump of leaves would first escape the current of the weir and float off downstream.

A Noise in the Night

The beech woods I wrote about last month are the setting for this piece, also the tale I am about to recount is absolutely true.

In the middle of a dark and moonless night my grandson was roused from sleep by the frightened and frightening cries of a creature, he was tired after a long day and had work to go to in a few hours so he tucked down and tried to ignore the sound. After several unsuccessful attempts he decided to investigate, leaving his bed he pulled on jeans and tee shirt picked up his mobile and set off. The calls were already becoming more urgent, and the woods were very dark and not the friendly place he usually frequented. He followed the direction of the sound and could hear the fear in it, he found this very unsettling and at one point was fearful as to what he was going to find. The unfamiliarity of going through the woods at night coupled with the distressed and distressing calls had quite unnerved him especially as he had no self protection should he need it, briefly he faltered but the calls were so near now he went on. He even wondered if it was a young child and knew then he couldn't stop. It was not only dark he was cold and the tree roots tripped him often, eventually he climbed up from a steep drop and as he reached the brow he heard a different sound, switching on his mobile phone he had enough light to see facing him and close enough to touch at his eye level a fully grown badger instinctively he stood tall, held his arms out and shouted. The badger stepped back a few paces and then stood its ground off to one side he could still hear the desperate cries of a creature in trouble, carefully he sidestepped away from the adult badger and made his way to the sound, it was coming from a lidless culvert. Using the light on his phone he looked down and found a young badger cub up to its neck in mud and at a good arms stretch, he was very slimy and smelly and almost impossible to grasp. After several attempts Ric managed to hold him by the neck and draw him upward, where he could use the other hand to support the youngster. When finally out, the cub rubbed himself on the ground, then made his way to his mother who had been waiting close by, obviously pleased to see her cub she nuzzled him before setting off through the woods with him.

Ric said he felt very privileged to have rescued the little chap he also said he was astonished at how heavy the cub was, how solid he felt and how coarse was his fur, he was also surprised at how the adult had waited so patiently while her cub was rescued displaying no fear or aggression. Did the adult realise she needed help which Ric could give her? Is this why she waited and watched so patiently?
Ric went back the next day and covered the hole to avoid any future mishaps.

A Beechwood Walk

Recently we visited our grandson who lives in the Chilterns, after lunch we crossed the lane he lives in, and entered the woodlands opposite. Following a narrow path through the perimeter bushes we found the dense undergrowth gave way to the typical spaces of an ancient beechwood. The floor was thickly carpeted with a top layer of freshly fallen orangey brown autumn leaves, joyfully crisp to walk on. Smooth grey green beech trunks stretched far above us, holding lightly leaved branches aloft and outward, extending themselves into a fine tracery of twigs, silhouetted against the blue sky. Here and there sunlight filtered prettily down through the branches and where it lit and warmed the woodland floor would be a patch of nettles, freshly green and tall, leaning and reaching toward the sunlight. Toadstools often nibbled at the edges were many and varied, as was lichen. Branches and even trees lay where they had fallen; sprouting both funghi and lichen, in other places dead trees remained standing, with bracket funghi growing up the entire length of the trunk. I was entranced by both the colours and patterns of the funghi and lichen. Traditionally ancient beech woodlands are often home to truffles and I wondered if any were growing there.

Under the crisp topping of leaves was a thick humous rich layer inhabited by many different insects, I would like to have gone beetle hunting but time didn't allow. This wood must be home to so many small mammals as well as larger ones we were shown the biggest badger sett I have ever seen and my grandson and his fiancee feel priviledged to have watched badgers, who just seem oblivious to their presence. These woodlands are also home to a large herd of Muntjac deer, which also wander through my grandson's garden.

Beech mast littered the floor, and occasionally we came across hazel trees, with a scattering of nuts and empty shells underneath. Here we saw evidence of the resident rodent population --- it was interesting to see the different ways the shells had been opened, some split in half, perhaps by squirrels, others with large holes in the bottom half of one side and yet more with tiny round neat holes --- mice and voles maybe.

Our woodland wander was wonderful and enhanced by the accompaniment of my grandson’s four cats, who daily go for a walk with him. They were delightful never venturing far from us, either walking in single file behind or three of them chasing each other round and about, back and forth or up and down trees. The fourth cat is an old gentleman of 15 years, pure white and still quite spritely, although he no longer rough and tumbles or climbs trees.

Old woodlands such as these are magical places and we are so fortunate to be able to enjoy them. The woodland I described here reminded me of High Beech woodlands, not too far from where we all live.

Disappearing Squirrels

We have had quite a few noteworthy events during the past two months, the first was when we were checking the drains and on lifting an inspection cover found a tablespoon-sized toad quite happily sitting there. He was relocated to the pond area. Another which stands out but this time for its comparative value was while clearing the undergrowth from an apple tree we found an enormous toad, darkly brown and lumpy we stopped clearing and went to sit by the pond there we were delighted to see an eft he was so tiny but perfect he had such delicate little hands and arms and was such a contrast to the old toad, but we were quite charmed by them both.

Thrushes have managed to rear a brood successfully there are so many predators in the garden to steal their eggs or young -- jays, magpies, crows and squirrels spring to mind, this morning I looked out of the end kitchen window and saw blue and great tits, 3 wrens, a chaffinch, pigeons, blackbirds, thrushes, a white throat and a flock of long-tailed tits. Pheasants continue to visit, but the creatures who have consistently afforded us the most pleasure and amusement are the grey squirrels, sadly I now have to report we have none. A few weeks ago we were enjoying both the adults and their young, we fed them as usual in the morning and although it seemed a little odd when we didn't see them the rest of the day we weren't unduly worried, but the next day none appeared which set alarm bells ringing, the day wore on and still none came and the same every following day. I am mystified. I have no answer. I can only wonder. One missing squirrel I could think, maybe a passing car, fox, cat or even a bird of prey, but all of them -- could they have succumbed to an infectious disease.

Butterflies have been in colourful abundance this spring and summer and the garden has hummed to the tune of hundreds of bees of many types -- and now a few wasps are appearing. We arrived home one evening to find a huge swarm of angry hornets buzzing around the outside light, we used the back entrance and turned off the light, the swarm dispersed and thankfully although we've seen the odd one or two, we haven't seen a worrying number. Hornets are not naturally aggressive, I read, however their size is enough to make me shudder! The fruit trees are heavy with their welcome crop, which as yet although unripe is being eaten in situ by the tits and blackbirds. Hips and haws hang heavy this year as do the elderberries, reminding us that golden autumn is on its way with its shorter days and misty mornings.

Mid-Summer in the Garden

One fine morning with the kitchen window wide open, I heard the pheasant beating a tattoo with his beak on the paving stones beneath as he pecked up the seeds, on looking down I saw a jay delicately picking ants from the surface of half an orange, placed there for the butterflies. This month in addition to the usual birds we have been lucky to also watch; herons, spotted flycatchers, reed buntings, reed warblers and a kingfisher. The Muntjac deer still use the garden and keep the lower branches of an apple tree well pruned.

Within the garden are large clumps of Geranium Phaeum or Morning Geraniums as they are commonly known, the flowers are small, dark and fairly insignificant, appearing one after the other up the stem. Now the flowers are all but finished and many people cut the untidy, straggly stems back to the neat mound of leaves beneath. However if this action is resisted the reward will be great as bullfinches will visit to enjoy the seeds. These are such attractive birds with their well defined and striking markings and a great addition to any garden.


The delicately pretty wild roses are festooning the hedgerows, both field roses ---white, and dog roses--- pink. I notice a great variation in the depth of colour of the dog roses, from palest pink to a really deep shade. I wonder is this natural or because they have interbred with the field roses? Orchids spotted so far: Bee, Common Spotted and Twayblade.

Lately one of the squirrels has grown increasingly fat, she sits wide-legged and walks with a legs apart gait, she has also grown increasingly irritable with her mate, seeing him off with loud growls. When I first heard this sound I couldn't understand what it was or where it came from, but on watching from the open kitchen window I saw it was a squirrel. Each time her mate approached either her or the food she became aggressive--- growling and chasing him away, this is the first time I have heard a squirrel growling.

For two or three days I didn't notice her at all, then today she was back, patiently waiting on the windowsill. She snatched the food from my hand and sat back where she was to eat it. I put more beside her and shut the window. A jay flew down but lacked the courage to collect food while she sat by it. Her belly is no longer swollen --- indeed she looks so much thinner I hardly recognised her. I wonder how long it will be before we see her little ones.