Long Tailed Tits and Fungus

The previously mentioned insect box hung in the lower boughs of a malus, is easily seen from the dining room, and has become another area to keep an eye on. It is clear the insect box is a success because it is frequented by great tits, who use it as a feeding station. I am now tempted to hang a bird feeder close by, to see which other birds are drawn to that area by the promise of food.

We are being entertained by flocks of long tailed tits, prettying the garden with their swooping flight as they visit our trees and bushes. Their favourite place in the garden is an old upturned dustbin lid balanced on an old chimney, we keep it filled with water and it has become their daily bathing place.

Fungi this year are wonderful, such a quantity and variety. I have so enjoyed seeking it out to photograph. I enjoy looking at fungi and wish I was more knowledgeable, perhaps this winter, I will try to learn more about it.

Black Sky, White Birds

For days we have had rain. All morning it was wet though just before we left it dried up, but was very windy. Now on the journey to the hospital, to hear the scan results, there is bright sunshine, although the roads are still very wet.

Deciduous trees are almost bare and all rivers are full to overflowing. I can see the sky reflected on the flooded areas of flat fields and road edges.

We drive quietly. We are both sober. The uncertainty of the last three months has been bad enough, but the strain of the last three days has been almost unbearable.

Pylons march across fields reminding me of the Eiffel Tower, they stand sentinel at the roadside between the turning for Westmill and the village of Buckland.

Here and there is evidence of the high winds in the trees, having blown down on the verges and roadsides. In a field on the right-hand side is a dwelling – once a windmill. I wonder what it is like inside. Does it have curved walls? Steep chalk sides bound the road on either side now – very ivy-covered in places.

Cambridge is 13 miles away. 12 miles away. 11. Put Coldplay on the stereo.

The sky is very black and angry, and silhouetted against it is a rising and falling flock of white birds. Perhaps they are not white – it may be a trick of the reflected light against the clouds’ blackness. How can the sky be so black and yet the sun be shining so brightly? It feels like a reflection of my fear and hope.

Black sky, wet roads and cars with their headlamps on.

In Trumpington now and passing the turning for Grantchester – these so familiar names from researching the Howe family history, so many of Mike’s forbears came from this area.

A thick rainbow rises from a belt of green trees ahead.

Turning off now for the hospital at the end of this road. The windscreen is splattered, as if the drops are my tears being held back, but only just, because my fear is great and my sorrow at what might be is even greater.

The Heron

Today, just as Mike walked into the kitchen, I looked out of the lounge window and watched a heron take off. It was flying low across the lawn and upward through the branches of our garden’s trees. I have very mixed feelings regarding the heron, because he empties our pond, but I love to watch him. It takes away my breath when I watch him in flight. He did not fly very far – just across the paddock and into the field, where he spent the next two hours silently stalking the river’s edge.

Later on, I watched a goldcrest, such a tiny restless little bird. He spent ten minutes between a conifer and a bird bath never staying long on either, but impatiently flying between the two.

Monday feels very near now. I cannot believe that for the last few months I have been so anxious for this day to arrive, and now that it is here I am filled with dread. Will I have the strength and fortitude to bear what I must if the news is bad? How foolish and selfish to even wonder such a thing when I have already lived 67 years, and so very many people have not even had this much.

Home Creatures

Tired but happy, a most enjoyable day yesterday.

The squirrels, pheasants and birds have missed their handouts, and seemed extra hungry today.

We were pleased to oblige, we missed the contact with them yesterday.

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.