Fagus, Bill's last dog - and a life saver

Fagus was Bill's last trusty companion, who helped capture criminals and was about to save a life.

Fagus, named after the trees.

Extract from podcast readings from Route and Branch by Bill Clark, former Warden at Wandlebury. Full podcast available here: https://archive.org/download/fagus-our-last-dog/Ch11c-Fagus-our-last-dog.mp3

That weekend I located a dog – eleven months old and last of the litter – a bit boisterous, but we fell for him immediately, paid the £100 asked and, large though he was, he travelled home cuddled up on Wendy’s lap. We named him Fagus – the Latin name for the beech tree family. He proved more difficult than Bruce to train, and probably due to two loose dogs attacking him on one of his first walks, I was never able to stop him from trying to get in the first nip; so we always needed to be watchful.

Some of his stroppy manner may also have been sparked off by a police dog during his second week with us! Steve phoned to say he had just seen someone climb over the wall round East House garden. As I ran to the scene with Fagus, a car without lights raced towards me. I flashed my torch – stepping smartly to one side as it swept past – but getting the registration as it roared off. Two figures then loomed out of the darkness. Switching on my torch, revealed Steve seemingly about to grasp a man’s arm and the glint of a long knife in the man’s other hand. I shouted, ‘Jump away Steve, he’s got a knife!’ At the same time, pulling Fagus into my light beam. I had left Wendy dialing the usual number, so all we needed to do was slow him down – he was now in whining mode. A police car at last turned in and the man’s demeanour instantly changed, ranting and raging until he was handcuffed, when he quietened down again. I had seen his knife fly into shrubs as the police arrived, and this was soon retrieved. Luckily a second car with two more policemen arrived just as the car that had sped out returned, and a huge bruiser of a man leapt out, and dashed among us.

All hell now broke loose, as, shouting and bawling every obscenity, he demanded that his partner be set free. Fagus alternately acted nervously and excitedly, his excitement notching up a gear, when a large, snarling Alsatian leapt out of the next police vehicle to skid to a halt. I moved away, but Fagus still had a very exciting time before the drink and drug crazed men were loaded aboard a police van. Even then, we could hear banging and shouting until the van was some distance off. Fagus went on to save my hide on a number of occasions, and was especially on guard when staying in the house. If I happened to be out, woe betide any family friend that visited. Fagus would tell Wendy – in the strongest terms – that no one must be allowed in when the ‘Master’ is away.

He got quite adept at leading me to anything that he thought needed my attention, and would look at me in disgust when we were elsewhere, and I declined to pick up any litter he had noticed! His most memorable accomplishment was on a very frosty night, when he refused to go past a large blackberry bush. I pulled at him and told him not to be stupid. ‘Probably a fox, or a mixey rabbit,’ I muttered, and tugged more forcefully. Again he refused, trying to go under the bush: so I got down on my knees, shone my torch, and there in the light was a small boy, curled beneath a plastic mac, and shivering violently. I radioed Wendy to have a hot drink ready, and after putting the lad at ease, took hold of his freezing hand to help him out. His only clothing being a light tee-shirt and short trousers, I wrapped my own heavy tweed jacket around him and hurried home. Fagus had a good life until arthritis caught up with him, though due to the expertise of Larry, he still enjoyed further pain-free years – but soon after my retirement he deteriorated, and Larry volunteered to take care of him so he would not have to leave his home patch. I learnt afterwards that it was Larry’s last veterinarian ‘act’.

A positive word for Ivy

Ivy undeservedly has a bad name for killing trees - here are some surprising observations and facts on it's benefits.

Ivy and birdbox

Extract form Route and Branch by Bill Clark, podcasts - full podcast here:

https://archive.org/download/a-good-word-for-ivy/Ch11b-A-good-word-for-ivy.mp3

From time to time I go into print to help the ivy – usually in answer to published letters and articles wanting a purge on it. Despite the popular conviction, I have never seen a mature tree killed by ivy! Of the 250 huge Beeches that died on this estate during the 1976 drought – when I reckoned that the ivy must be competing with the trees for water – no dead trees were ivy covered: but among the 1,700 that remained, many of the healthiest had ivy covered trunks. I decided that the ivy had protected these thin barked trees from sun scorch. Of a further 3,000 mixed species lost in various gales, only four were heavily ivy covered – even I had thought that an ivy covered tree would be more vulnerable in a gale! 

Of our 600 Elms that were lost to ‘Dutch Elm Disease’ I noticed that the ivy covered ones were the last to go – I believe the ivy camouflaged the trees from the causative beetles (mainly Scolytesscolytes) which seek out the living trees by scent in order to feed on the young shoots, thereby introducing the fungus. In really hard winters, ivy covered trees did not suffer from frost crack – which spoils the timber for future marketing. (Ash trees are still being cut down with ancient frost crack present.) Continuous observation shows that ivy spreads vigorously over dead and dying trees after leaf loss lets in more light – the casual observer then believing the ivy caused the tree’s demise. On many dead trees, branches that could be dangerous, are held in place by the ivy, so gradually disintegrating rather than crashing down – which is good for the 60% of woodland wildlife that depends on rotting wood in part, or all, of its life-cycle!

Ivy provides nest sites in one way or another, to a greater variety and number of birds than any other shrub; helping to make up for some of the thousands of miles of lost hedgerows. Similarly, because of the loss of hollow elms to disease, many of the larger birds that nested in them, now frequently use the thickly ivy covered crutches of trees. It is also our last shrub to flower, providing heavy yields of nectar and pollen – a final and often only food source – for a variety of insects, including bees, beetles, hoverflies and butterflies. 

In fact, butterfly species such as Comma, Small Tortoiseshell, Large Tortoiseshell, Peacock and Camberwell Beauty – many of whose last broods go into winter as butterflies – search for ivy flowers because they need to build up body-fat before they go into their winter torpor: interestingly, you can look at ten ivy covered trees in the shade and not see a butterfly, look at the next in full sun – when it smells most honey-like – and count them by the dozen! I believe some of the visiting Red Admiral and Painted Lady butterflies – two more ivy nectar imbibers – are now managing to hibernate here because of our milder winters. After feeding up on the nectar and pollen, many of these insects then snuggle under the ivy mat on tree trunks and walls – especially lacewings and ladybirds which devastate the hated aphids the following year. Ivy is also the last of our berries to ripen, and coupled with the insect life hiding in its depths, feeds many birds just when food is most scarce – at winter’s end.

It can also be linked with the Holly – besides in the much loved Christmas carol – through the Holly Blue butterflies, Celastrina argiolus, which emerge in April/May from chrysalids attached under the ivy leaves: they mate and then the females search for a holly tree, and lay their eggs on the flower buds. Once hatched, the tiny caterpillars start by devouring the opening flowers, later eating the developing berries – those that get laid on the male flowering trees, have to move onto tender young leaves – eventually pupating in chrysalides attached under the holly leaves. This brood emerges in July/August, when after mating, the females go looking for ivy flower buds on which to lay their eggs – so giving rise to the caterpillars, which after finishing on young ivy berries, will go into pupation and start the cycle once again the following May. 

I have also seen them laying eggs on Spindle and Dogwood flowers, and others mention Snowberry, Buckthorn, Furze and Bramble. In some areas, it is known only as a single spring brood, which makes me wonder if there are two distinct families, with only the single brood one managing to survive where there is no ivy! There are times when their numbers crash. Ted Ellis was overjoyed in June 1974, when, just as he had decided that this time they could be extinct, I phoned him, to say I had just seen two flying around our holly trees.

Damsels in distress at Wandlebury

Bill recalls a mixture of the light hearted and serious situations with damsels in distress during his time at Wandlebury.

The abduction of Rebecca by Delcroix

Extracts from a reading of chapter ii of Bill Clark's Route and Branch, read by Chris Thomas. Listen to full podcast  here: https://archive.org/download/damsels-in-distress/Ch11a-damsels-in-distress.mp3

Ladies needing my help seemed to happen fairly regularly. Most of those on the phone were quick and simple to deal with: ‘The organisation you need to speak to is ...’ Or, ‘take the baby bird back to where you found it – no not the middle of the road – close by in the hedge, the parents are searching for it as we speak!’ Constant alertness for the wellbeing of our visitors is a necessity, a snap decision can become quite involved. A lady gathering up her accoutrements was being harassed, and seeing me dashing over, called, ‘Please help me, this horrible man has made my visit here an absolute misery!’ By the time her husband had convinced me he was her husband she had driven off in their car, leaving him to walk home!

One midmorning as I was hurrying home to get tea for a volunteer group, I passed a lone lady who looked upset. I stopped, introduced myself, and asked if she was lost. Bursting into tears she leapt forward and threw her arms so tightly around my neck that I could hardly breathe, and between breathlessly kissing my face, sobbed that she was in a terrible state, and just did not know what to do, and what a wonderful man I was to stop and help her! After going up various ‘blind alleys’ in an effort to help – and not wanting to walk round for the rest of my life, with her arm tightly round my waist – I deemed it best to take her to the Police Station, and get help there. Making sure the childlocks were on I went inside, pleased to see an elderly sergeant behind the desk who I always found very helpful when I took in abandoned animals. ‘Hello Mr Clark, what have you brought in today?’ ‘Well.’ I hesitated, ‘It is something a bit different this time, I am sure you can help, but you need to come to my car.’ He followed me outside. ‘I have picked up this lady in Wandlebury, who is in a bit of a state,’ I explained. And whilst he stood at the driver’s side, I unlocked the passenger door, and helped my passenger out.

Worried that she might freak out at the sight of a policeman, I held her arm and chatted merrily to her. ‘Would you believe it, this must be your lucky day, this nice policeman has said he is willing to help you.’ With one bound, she was out of my grasp, and had her arms tightly round the sergeant’s neck raining kisses on him. ‘Oh well,’ I said, ‘that is good, she has taken to you, I will leave her in your capable hands.’ ‘Oh thank you Mr Clark. Thank you very much,’ he called, as I quickly jumped in my car.

Ladies who had lost their dogs were legion – despite our policy and notices that dogs must be kept on the lead – one lady with an unruly couple, got very annoyed when I demonstrated, that with some firmness, hers could behave whilst on the lead, and suggested she should go to training classes. That I was, ‘a cruel, unfeeling man,’ was one of the kinder things she said during our continual confrontations. Then one cold February Sunday evening, there was a hammering on our door; and there she stood – in floods of tears. ‘Oh Mr Clark, please, please help me. I have lost both my lovely dogs.’ And off she dashed. Throwing on a coat, I caught up with her at the car park as she opened the back of her car to reveal the sopping wet bodies of both dogs. She had lost them during a walk by the river in the morning, and with the help of her family, had finally found them – floating at the base of a much scratched wall. The help she wanted from me, was to bury them in their, ‘favourite place.’ At least I would know where they were in future!

Another lady had lost her beagle, I finally found him – chomping down a long dead rabbit – She was sorry she had let him off the lead, but bone cancer and pain made it difficult to hold him. I could see by her stance that I was being told the truth, and as a concession, asked that she walked him – early or late – when few other folk were around: at least he mostly kept to heel. Just after dark one evening, I saw her car was still parked and I immediately cycled along her usual route: only to find her sitting on a tree stump. Nearby, the dog was chewing on the head of another stinking rabbit! Smiling with relief, I said, ‘You seem to have a problem?’ ‘Nothing like the problem I shall have later,’ she grimaced, ‘he was sick in the car last time.’ Bending down I grasped the dog firmly by the back of the neck, then with one foot on the rabbit’s body, I lifted him sharply. Despite snarling, he managed to keep his teeth clenched tight enough to keep what was in his mouth. I put her lead on him, and walked with them back to the car.

As her illness progressed, a chain-smoking, overweight gentleman transported her and waited in the car for her return. 

After her death, he gave a donation for a group of trees to be planted in her memory, and took over walking the dog. Unfortunately the animal kept pulling him over, so I gave him the same privileges – which ensured I had to make two more rabbit chomping rescues! A couple of years after I last saw him, the CPS secretary, asked if I had any idea why £15,000 had been left to the Society specifically for Wandlebury. Fortunately, I remembered the man’s name from his tree planting donation. Finally – soon after my retirement – I was told a lady was giving a handsome donation, on condition that her dog was interred at the spot her brother’s ashes had been scattered: ‘did I know where that was?’ I was honoured to dig out the last resting place for the ‘tad’ overweight beagle, who had set off the train – and he was now among his first owner’s memorial trees.

A goodly number of mothers managed to lose their children – how different the reactions in such circumstances...

Next podcast - A positive word for Ivy https://routeandbranch.blogspot.com/2020/06/ivy-undeservedly-has-bad-name-for.html

Brewing Mead

With beekeeping comes brewing mead. Bill Clark judges the wine makers and brews his own first class mead.

Brewing Mead in  a tradition in Poland. Photo Wikipedia: Strzałecki, Tak, tak, Gerwazeńku, olej na płótnie, 1884 

Transcrippt from the podcast from Bill Clark's autobiography Route and Branch. you can listen to it here: https://archive.org/download/brewing-mead/Ch10f-brewing-mead.mp3

Of all the, ‘small’ gales, the Christmas Eve one in 1985 was the most upsetting for we always had a lot of visitors during the Christmas holiday. I cycled round at daybreak, expecting to have to put out the closed notices, but finding only two trees – out of the seven down – blocking paths, and a single hanging branch, I dashed home for my equipment.

By midday, exceedingly sweaty, dirty, and feeling guilty that Wendy was having none of my help with the family ‘gettogether’, I dragged the last trunk off the path with the tractor. Seeing a family group approaching, I jumped down to hurl a couple of small branches out of their path. One lady stopped briefly as they passed, and loudly exclaimed, ‘You would think that he could leave his blessed chain saw alone on Christmas Day of all days!’

This was the time of year that my wine and beer making efforts bore fruit! My occasional gallon had long since built up to as much as thirty eight in one year! The reason being, that I could give my long term volunteers a nicely presented bottle – or two – and on some tasks, whole groups could be treated to a glass of cider or beer. To prove to the recipients that they were getting something a little special, I attached a copy of my latest prize card. I was now judging wine at village shows – and of course could no longer enter my own! I could still enter my beer in one show – where I often got first – as they had a separate beer judge, but on one occasion, when he didn’t arrive, I was requested to take his place. I asked the steward to taste too, who thought that some were undrinkable. When he turned over the cards, he said they indicated that I had won the ‘panful’ – but I just gave myself a ‘First’, and left a note to say that the rest of the entries were, ‘not up to standard!’ At least my efforts were rewarded by hearing the comment – at the Wandlebury Cupola, topping out ceremony – ‘Bill’s champagne is better than that stuff we had at the wedding last week!’

When I joined the Cambridge Beekeepers Association in 1979 their Honey Show was held in conjunction with their AGM. It covered at most, four tables; later, in discussion with the Secretary – both of us having been voted into Committee posts half an hour earlier – we agreed that more should be made of the show, especially inviting the public to view: not only would it promote beekeeping, it could also help honey sales. Year on year the One-day Honey Show steadily grew. We moved it around various villages, in order to gain a wider audience – though opening to the public for only the afternoon, still didn’t give us a very wide, ‘window’ The catalyst for really doing something special was our 1981 centenary. And what a display it was.

On a splendid site – Our President, Mrs Townley’s lawns at Fulbourn Manor – and not only a two day show in a marquee, but demonstrations too. Alas it was also very expensive – even though it was in conjunction with the Fulbourn and Teversham Garden Society – and we returned to our previous format.

A week previously to our Centenary Show, I had attended the East of England Show with my ‘Spray Warning’ display, and spent the between times helping the Peterborough BKA in their marquee there – the outcome being that I promised I would try to get the CBKA to take part and help in future. Then only weeks after the Centenary Show, CBKA Publicity Officer, Bob Lemon, asked if I could help, as he had been invited to stage a beekeeping exhibit at the first ‘Fenland Fair.’ The stage was set to require my presence at three annual beekeeping shows, fortunately, Richard Steel, another beekeeping stalwart, threw himself into making permanent show equipment and helping set up – often providing 50% of the exhibits! In 1988 – the now fully fledged ‘Fenland Country Fair’ considered the, ‘Bob Lemon’ beekeeping exhibit warranted its own marquee, and the CBKA arranged to move the Honey Show in too – Saturday for the beekeepers, Sunday and Monday for the public – and very popular it proved to be.

Most years I constructed the ‘theme’ exhibit – this was not too onerous, as it was used at all three shows, and I also helped fill space at the Cambridge Honey Show with a Wandlebury exhibit, which first did duty at the Cambridge Converzatione. At least I could enter my theme, in the “Z Class” of the CBKA show, so I often won a Rosette for something, other than my mead entries! One successful theme was mead making – complete with tasting. The first airing was at the East of England Show. There was much interest in the three laden tables of bubbling jars, possible ingredients and information. Even Cecil Tonsley, a beekeeping magazine editor and honey show judge – famous for his own mead-making – volunteered to man it for a while. 

In the dying minutes of the final day, a group of men wandered in, and despite intimating ‘home-made’ was not for them, asked to taste – and then commented very favourably. I noticed them in a huddle outside, as I started to pack, then one strode back in and offered £6 each for all the remaining bottles, upping his offers after each of my refusals. After his final offer of £30 was refused, he said, ‘I am a BBC Producer, we have been celebrating the successful conclusion of a series and at the end of our dinner last night, we still had money in the pot, so I decided to treat us to a once in a lifetime toast, and bought a £300 bottle of wine; we are of the opinion that yours is equal to it!’ 

As I finished my packing, an elderly Peterborough beekeeper, having collected her own mead and honey exhibits, paused by my opened bottle still on the table, ‘May I have a taste of your Black Mead?’ She held up the glass to the light, ‘Hmm, it’s clear!’ Took a tentative sniff and then a sip. A look of anguish came over her face. Spitting it out, she snapped, ‘Absolute rubbish,’ and swept out of the marquee. By the time the Fenland Country Fair moved to Quy in 1989 and provided us with an even larger marquee, the PBKA no longer needed our help. Happily, our helper numbers had grown too and I was now only involved with one ‘Honey Show’.

The discovery and naming of Wendy's Gold snowdrop

Bill Clark discovers that the pretty snowdrops growing at Wandlebury are the last remnants of a rare yellow centred variety.

Wendy's gold: Photo Snowdrop wiki

Transcript from the continuing podcasts from Route and Branch by Bill Clark. podcast available here: https://archive.org/download/wendys-gold/Ch10e-Wendys-Gold.mp3

I was sitting at my desk on March 21st 1985, perusing a catalogue for wild seeds and plants, when I heard a knock on the door. The lady apologised for being a nuisance, but explained that she had come on behalf of her son, Joe Sharman, a horticultural student at Writtle Agricultural College. ‘We believe a rare snowdrop is in the grounds here; could he have one?’ I said that it was usually not our policy to allow plants to be taken, especially rare ones, but we could at least have a look. 

I collected a trowel, and as we walked along I was acquainted with a little of her son’s history. Joe was a keen member of various horticultural groups, one of which was concerned about the loss of old varieties, and as a hobby, he searched the vicinity of old houses and gardens, and had already found some rare and uncommon plants, but he was especially keen on snowdrops. I soon realised that we were heading towards a group of yellow centred snowdrops, and remarked as such. Mrs Sharman stopped in astonishment, ‘Good gracious, how long have you known about them?’ ‘About 11 years,’ I answered, ‘My wife and I usually make a point of looking at them each spring – the clump is particularly good this year.’ As I knelt to dig a bulb from the edge of the clump, Mrs Sharman exclaimed, ‘Bless my soul, there is Joe!’ I stood up, in my hand a large lumpy bulb with three flowers attached. I was introduced to Joe, and he was informed of events so far. He turned to me, ‘You knew they were here, and never did anything about them?’

I explained that I was restoring a remnant of Cambridgeshire's chalk grassland, and only gave the garden flowers in our grounds a cursory place in my species list – at least he was able to see that I still protected them as enthusiastically as the wild ones. Any knowledge I lacked about this snowdrop though, I was hoping to now put right. ‘Joe, this is about to split into three bulbs, yours with pleasure, but the price is – all that you can find out about them, they may get a special place in my plant list yet!’ 

Payment arrived on the 26th of March! After extensive enquiries, he had found information of a similar snowdrop in the 1920s, the nearest location being the Cambridge Botanic Gardens. All had been lost – probably during a botrytis epidemic in the 1940s – he thought that the Wandlebury group were the only survivors. Surprisingly, any name had been lost too. He described how I could name and register them, and if I spent a couple of years building the numbers up, there was a good possibility that they would sell for more than £6 per bulb. However – Joe’s letter went on – you will need to hide them and take great care of them.

Only a day or so later, I saw an elderly man diligently quartering the snowdrop areas: I immediately dug them up and hid them in my garden. At the next management meeting of the CPS, I spoke of my snowdrop problem and suggested we should sell them to a bulb growing company. Agreement was given, and I posted off blooms to likely firms. The ‘Procurement Manager’ of the Horticultural Marketing Arm of Geest’s, replied the following week. Later, as we looked at the pot of bulbs, he remarked, ‘Your flower caused quite a stir when I showed it to my colleagues.’ I explained that I did not want to be accused of losing a rare snowdrop by taking it from the home where it had thrived for so long, so one bulb was to remain with me, and it was to be understood that Joe Sharman had potentially three bulbs, and could do as he wished with them: also if Joe and myself did successfully increase our bulb numbers, we would give Wisley and Cambridge Botanic Gardens samples. And finally, the snowdrop was to be known as, ‘Wendy’s Gold’ in honour of my wife, who had given me so much help and encouragement in looking after Wandlebury. Without a quibble he made an offer of £250 for the 27 remaining bulbs and said good-bye.

An expert from their ‘Quality Control’ department was next to arrive, wanting to examine the bulbs for disease. He gave an enthusiastic appraisal, mentioning that his boss had flown to Holland with the flower. I expressed my disappointment at the low price being offered for such a rare flower. A few days later a letter arrived giving three alternatives. A £1,000 outright payment, a £250 payment, with a five pence royalty per bulb over five years, or a £500 payment plus £500 worth of trees and shrubs for Wandlebury. I had at that time planted all the trees I needed, and being a firm believer in the, ‘bird in the hand’ theory, I accepted a £1,000 cheque on behalf of the CPS.

Next reading: Brewing mead https://routeandbranch.blogspot.com/2020/06/brewing-mead.html

Protecting rare farmland weeds

With commercial agriculture taking over our countryside, it was important to Bill to also preserve the now rare farmland weeds.

Corn cockle, from Wikipedia

Transcript from Chapter 10 continued in Bill Clark's Route and Branch, a podcast by Chris Thomas:

https://archive.org/download/Protecting-Rare-Farmland-Weeds/Ch10d-protecting-rare-weeds.mp3

One innovation was a small arable plot at the top of the field, to show the school children the sort of weeds that used to grow in the farmers’ arable fields. I already cultivated a small plot at the top of the Picnic Field. Only owning a cultivator meant that few seeds got buried deeply – as originally used to happen with the plough – to be brought to the surface in later years. And so the harvesting of some seeds was needed. Plants such as scarlet pimpernel and Venus’s looking-glass were usually few and far between, whilst poppies, spring up, flower and seed, at the ‘drop of a hat’, but others need help if there is to be a ‘show’ during the time most schools are visiting. The cornflowers, corncockles and corn marigolds were collected as they ripened, and then in late summer, the plot was flailed and cultivated a few times over the course of a few dry days – to frizzle up the grasses, docks and thistles. In the autumn or spring – during a dry period – the plot was cultivated again, and the gathered seeds broadcast and harrowed in. with a final firming down with the tractor tyres – in lieu of a roller – as a final touch. Over the seasons there was always a profusion of flowers, and I found that autumn cultivating and sowing favoured the Corn-cockles, and in spring, the Poppy. The Corn Marigold would not have grown in this area, as they prefer sandy soil, so they needed constant help to survive.

That plot had sat a little like a fish out of water in the Picnic Field, so a band of trees and shrubs would separate this new plot from the rest of Varley’s Field. Because of the mild winter, I was able to cultivate out a second crop of weeds over the whole field in mid-February, before getting on with this planting. I was rushing to finish, before promised rain or nightfall overtook me, when through the gloom, I spied a couple of regular visitors hastening along. ‘Look dear, isn’t that Mr Clark?’ ‘Of course not silly, Mr Clark doesn’t work, he just walks about,’ said the husband. I straightened up to tread in the tree, ‘There, I knew it was him,’ said his wife. ‘Oh dear you are planting trees, who on earth decided that?’ ‘Yes indeed, what bad planning, we always stop here to admire the view across this field,’ interjected her husband. ‘It was my plan, I will argue the reasons with you another day,’ I said with a wry smile, and turned to plunge my spade in the next spot as they went on their way, still grumbling. I had just two or three plants to go, when I heard, ‘There’s someone digging over there.’ And a lady came quite close as I bent down to place the tree in its hole. ‘Oh, how marvellous, come and look darling, Mr Clark is planting trees; you have no idea how many times we have stood in this corner and said how bare it looks. Are you going to plant the whole field, it could certainly do with it!’ The following day I was able to hand broadcast the corn cockles and various other flowers and the, ‘Arable Plot’ was done and dusted.

Except for cultivating out another crop of weeds, it was April before the rest became dry enough to think about seeding. With the forecast for only three more dry days, I decided to get the job done. At 6.00 am on the 23rd I was driving the little Ferguson 35 tractor up and down – with a home-made levelling bar fixed behind the spring-tine cultivator – and by 8.00 pm I had driven over every inch of the field in three different directions leaving it reasonably level and firm. The following day, as soon as it was daylight – headlights are not much help when not leaving a mark – although it was really too windy for seed sowing with the borrowed machine, I made a start on the sheltered side of the field. Luckily the wind dropped away, and I carried on sprinkling the fourteen varieties of grass and flower seeds until by evening I had broadcast two thirds of the seed in two directions. Unfortunately the TV weather forecast brought the next lot of rain forward from the following evening to midday. I had planned, whilst broadcasting the last seed in the third direction, to hook up harrows behind to cover the seed, then finish by rolling the field. So, at 3.00 am I coupled up the roll behind the harrows behind the drill behind the tractor, and although having to drive in a lower gear, I had a good mark to steer by in the headlights. At 11.00 am I pulled my ‘train’ off the field as the last specks of seed scattered into the gateway, and rushed the borrowed seed-drill back to the farmer in Stapleford – getting caught in the rain as I drove back up the hill!

Chapter 10 continues with the story of the rare snowdrop, Wendy's gold at https://routeandbranch.blogspot.com/2020/06/the-discovery-and-naming-of-wendys-gold.html

Dr Varley's bequest helps Wandlebury Country Park

Dr Varley left a significant sum of money to the CPS that would helt fund Wandlebury's new tree nursery. Bill set out his plans, but will the committee accept his Christmas Tree nursery idea?

Christmas tree nursery. photo Manfredrichter

Podcast of chapter 10 from 'Route and Branch' by Bill Clark continued. Full podcast available here:

https://archive.org/download/dr-varleys-bequest/Ch10c-Dr-Varleys-bequest.mp3

Doctor J F Varley died in 1981, he was a life Member of the CPS, but other than that, no one in the CPS knew much about him, and it came as a surprise to hear that he had left one third of a large bequest to them – two other recipients being the National Trust and the RSPB. Some £110,000 was paid in 1982, with a further £35,000 or so in 1985. Even disregarding money from the sale of a house and reparations for land taken for the M11 motorway at Coton, this immediately put the CPS on a more favourable financial footing; the hand to mouth existence of former years should be no more. 

I saw a, ‘now or never’ chance to get Wandlebury’s last 18 acres of arable put down to flower meadow. However we had a very cautious Treasurer – he had had to be – and I knew even now, he would not be keen to lose the income from this land. I suggested to Steve Donoclift – that year’s Merrist Wood student – that he could draw up my plan as part of his College dissertation. (We couldn’t have dreamed that 28 years on, he would be visiting with his two sons – my grandsons – to play in the field!) I later approached CPS Vice Chairman, Gwyneth Lipstein with the first rough proof. She was very enthusiastic, but thought we should enlarge the small tree nursery at the north end, into a commercial venture. Realising we needed to make both a good business plan, as well as a pretty meadow, I spent any spare minute with Steve, honing the presentation for the future Committee meeting.

By the time we had finished, the field plan looked quite handsome. A nice curved hedge snaked across the centre of the north field. Behind the hedge – besides our tree nursery – were thousands of Christmas trees. In the first season we could sell hundreds of half to one metre trees, then as the years progressed, four or more metre trees would be available too; the enterprise should eventually equal the farming income. Regarding the flower meadow, grants were attainable from the Countryside Commission, City Council, South Cambs and the County Council, keeping the cost to a minimum for the Society. Although Gwyneth liked the plan, she was not at all sure the vote would go our way, ‘Can you give a forecast of the profits to come on the Christmas tree venture – should it be on an even larger scale, perhaps the whole of the north field?’

On the morning of the meeting my final inquiry was answered. My profit margin on the trees held good; the bad news being that year on year, people were turning away from real trees. I closed my folder with a sigh; ‘Oh Dr Varley,’ I thought, ‘Why didn’t you make yourself known to me, I could have encouraged you to fund your own field.’ I jumped to my feet to answer the phone, ‘Ah, hello Bill,’ said Gwyneth, ‘how are things going?’ ‘Well I am ready for the meeting, but still apprehensive as to the outcome, might it help if we named it, ‘Dr Varley’s Field?’ ‘Bill, you’re a genius, see you shortly.’ During the meeting Gwyneth introduced my proposal for taking in hand the Telegraph and Shooting Shed fields, and Chairman Sir Desmond Lee, invited me to talk it through. I placed our field plan in the centre of the table and proceeded with the explanations, putting emphasis on the future income; leaving Gwyneth to come in at the end with the idea of the name change.

One of the three members I feared would be against it, spoke up, ‘I am afraid I am not in favour at all; why on earth make yourself a lot more work by growing and selling Christmas trees?’ ‘Exactly,’ broke in another of the trio, ‘Take away the commercial venture, and it is a good scheme.’ ‘It is obvious that it should be one large flower meadow,’ agreed the third, ‘However, I am not at all happy with the name, Dr Varley’s Field sounds a bit of a mouthful.’ ‘Varley’s Field sounds much better,’ said a fourth member. A mutter of agreement from all and sundry ensued, and in a daze I heard the Chairman say, ‘Well that’s settled then Bill, when are you going to start?’

The last crop grown in the field was winter barley – not a crop that could be under-sown as I did with the Picnic Field, and so it was a case of waiting until the harvest was off. As it happened, things had moved on since I planted the Picnic Field, not only were there even fewer wild meadows to harvest seed from, there were less, ‘seed houses’ in business, but more folk – from Prince Charles to City Park Managers and Coal Tip restorers, all wanting seed to create ‘Conservation Areas.’ It was to be September before I gained delivery, of what I discovered afterwards was just about the entire UK quantity of many varieties! Of the five companies I contacted, only one could supply enough for more than one hectare, and even by rounding down the area with my tree and arable plantings, I still needed to plant just over six hectares. 

Another shock was that rarity had pushed the value sky-high; even if those firms could have supplied my needs, we could never have afforded to buy. The whole field price for 320 kilos, varied from £500 through to a massive £16,500. Fortunately the one firm that said they could supply my needs, was the second cheapest, but for weeks they continually phoned to say certain species were unobtainable, could they change for this or that – even from foreign climes, and the problem there was aliens, but I could weed them out as they grew – one or two did turn up. Another worry was that a grass acclimatised abroad, could have difficulty when sown in our dry, chalky soil, but as this could be a problem from another part of Britain, I allowed the changes.

Unfortunately, due to rain the harvest was late, so no chance to sow before the winter. The heavy crop had also laid in many areas, leaving much straw behind. The Merrist Wood student, Edward Wills, needed tractor driving experience, and he certainly got all he needed – as the cultivator blocked every few feet in places. I reluctantly decided to join the stubble burning brigade – at least it would be the last time that I would ever need to do it. As it happened, it also turned out to be one of the last seasons in the country before it was outlawed altogether! Once the deed was done, the cultivating was an easy task, if a little on the sooty side for Edward, and he soon had a fine tilth encouraging the weed seeds to grow, he was even able to cultivate the first flush before he finished his time with us.

Chapter 10 continues with Protecting Rare Farmland Weeds https://routeandbranch.blogspot.com/2020/06/protecting-rare-farmland-weeds.html

Upsetting the Constabulary Top Brass!

Dangerous criminal on the loose nearby means that the police descend on the Wandlebury car park as an operations base. Bill manages to put his foot in it.

Image: needpix.com

Transcript from podcast of Chapter 10 contd. "Route and Branch" by Bill Clark, former Warden at Wandlebury, read by Chris Thomas and available here: 

https://archive.org/download/upsetting-the-top-brass/Ch10b-Upsetting-the-top-brass.mp3

In July 1984, I very publicly upset the Chief Superintendent of police, and probably the Chief Constable too. A sunny Saturday usually promised a busy day. But with a large contingent of Girl Guides booked in – expecting input from me at various times – and my assistant having a weekend off, hectic was probably going to be nearer the description. I hurried home to get in a tea break before the coaches arrived, and noticed the car park was full of police cars. A sergeant I recognised stepped over to say there was, ‘an incident,’ and they were only using our car park to rendezvous and would soon be leaving. Later, after spending the morning with the Guides, I was heading home for lunch only to see yet more police cars, just queuing to leave. I asked the nearest driver, ‘Are you still on this morning’s incident?’ ‘No idea, I have only just come on duty,’ he replied, and followed the others out.

After lunch I traversed the estate on my mountain bike, making sure all was well with the numerous groups of girls – now amusing themselves – and in particular, that there were no ‘undesirables’ around. Then soon after 4.00 pm, I noticed police cars and a large motor van in the car park. After climbing the steps at the rear, I was introduced to the, ‘Chief Superintendent in charge of operations.’ I was horrified to hear, that two men – probably armed – had been loose in the area for most of the day! But as the Golf Course had been surrounded, it was only now deemed necessary to clear our park. I immediately cycled to the top of the hill, and could see constables at intervals, from just below my house, to the Hinton Way crossroads; but along the estate boundary from my house to the Roman Road, not a single one. I returned to the Chief somewhat miffed! ‘There is not a single man across country on our boundary.’ ‘I am well aware of that Mr Clark, I would need at least a hundred men to seal off that woodland area and I haven’t got them available.’ ‘I could have stationed only three men along there, and they could tell you if as much as a hare came out of the Golf Course.’ He stepped from his desk, and called to a nearby Sergeant, ‘Quickly. Get three officers to go with Mr Clark, he will show them where to stand.’ And by about 4.45 pm, not only had Wandlebury been cleared of visitors, but no one could cross between the two areas without being seen.

After a late tea I strolled out, expecting the police operation to have long been abandoned, only to see the nearest constable still standing where I had placed him. I expressed the opinion that surely the two men had long gone, and he agreed, but that his instructions now were to watch for the miscreants trying to get back to the golf course. Officers were about to sweep the cornfields from the A11, back through Wandlebury to the golf course! I dashed down to the van, and informed the only constable there, that unless the sweep started much closer to Wandlebury, it would be too dark to see under the trees. He thanked me for my concern, but assured me that the Chief would have taken this into account – he expected the men would be moving quite fast. Needless to say, the hunt ended in complete disarray as they entered Wandlebury in the gathering darkness.

Late Monday afternoon, only minutes after my reading the Cambridge Evening News front page headline: ‘60 POLICE IN ARMED MANHUNT’, a reporter phoned to ask, ‘Did the police hunt on Saturday affect you at all Mr Clark?’ This resulted in the Tuesday edition’s headline, ‘SIGHTSEERS ‘AT RISK’ IN MANHUNT,’ and in lower case: ‘Police failed to clear park – warden.’ The rest of the story was about my grumbles, and police denials that anyone was at risk. Soon after reading that, Wendy dashed to find me, ‘You had better come home,’ she panted, ‘The Chief Constable has been on the phone.’ 

I agreed to visit the police station the following morning, and arrived to find some half dozen ‘top brass’ gathered round a table with a large map of the area laid out on it. After being asked if I preferred tea or coffee, the Chief Superintendent introduced me to the others, including the Assistant Chief Constable, who apologised on behalf of the Chief Constable, as he was going to be late. Everyone was surprisingly friendly – I was expecting a drubbing for sticking my nose in. Once the Chief arrived, he asked for my view of the operation. One outcome of the morning was that I provided them with an up-to-date, large scale map of Wandlebury – they had used a ten year old, countywide one. We parted on the best of terms – though I was extra careful with my driving for some time afterwards.

Next chapter: Dr Varley's Bequest here https://routeandbranch.blogspot.com/2020/06/dr-varleys-bequest-helps-wandlebury.html

Bruce the Snowy Alsation

Bruce, the gentle snowy Alsation, helps Bill Clark deal with unruly visitors at Wandlebury.

White Alsation: Photo from PickPic

Transcript of podcast - Chapter 10 part a) from Route and Branch by Bill Clark, read by Chris Thomas. podcast here: https://archive.org/download/bruce-the-snowy-alsation/Ch10a-bruce-the-snowy-alsation.mp3

I was suffering yet another spate of evening problems – some thirty lads in cars and vans came careering round this Saturday at midnight. The police, as usual, were very prompt, and after all was quiet, the Sergeant said, ‘They were a very rough lot Mr Clark: it worries me the amount of time that you are alone confronting these yobs, I wouldn’t care to do it. You need a big dog, have you thought of a German Shepherd?’ I confessed that I had, and added, that if they hadn’t been so expensive, I would probably already own one. In fact, I had been apprehensive for some time about Wendy walking through the woods alone, accompanied only by gentle old Julie and latterly Jake. And therein lay another problem: I needed a dog with a bit of ‘presence’ when dealing with unruly youths of an evening, but Wendy could only handle a gentle dog, and neither of us wanted to intimidate the thousands of visitors we met. A few days later the police sergeant in charge of the Dog Section phoned. ‘I have been told you require an Alsatian. I believe I know of the very dog for you – he is too docile for our needs.’ He then gave me the details of Joe, owned by a man working at Sibson airfield who was about to go abroad.

I thanked him profusely, and phoned the chap immediately.

The following morning I arrived at the airfield in my little Citroen C4. Joe’s owner had already left, leaving instructions with an office secretary to give me the collar and lead and the key to a large warehouse – I was expected me to take the dog immediately! As I unlocked the door I made suitable calming sounds and slid in quickly peering into the gloom. A very large white Alsatian was standing in an alleyway between piled up desks, tables and chairs, he gave a couple of ‘woofs’ but stood quietly whilst I put his lead on. We walked a couple of times around a large empty car park, before I returned the key. The couple inside the office said they were so pleased that I liked the dog as his owner had been going frantic with worry. 

I arrived home, drove up to the kitchen door and pressed the hooter. Wendy’s face was a picture! She hadn’t dreamed that I would bring him back immediately, and the colour white had been the farthest from our minds. Before I let him out, I stood in the kitchen doorway to view the spectacle. He filled the entire back of the car, drooping his head over the front passenger seat to see out! We both agreed Joe was no name for a dog of ours, and promptly renamed him Bruce which he took to with alacrity.

A couple of evenings later, as I walked him through the car park, I came across five noisy youths sitting in a car, with a circle of cans, bottles and take-away cartons scattered around it. The driver answered my ‘request’ with. ‘Pick ‘em up yourself.’ Bruce, noting the tone of his voice, growled. ‘All right, all right, I was only joking.’ the driver said, quickly climbing out to pick everything up. But I still wondered whether Bruce would stand firm if we were actually attacked? The next weekend I had my answer. An elderly Wandlebury resident, saw me remonstrating with a group of youths in the car park as he drove home, and walked back down to see if I needed him to phone the police. But they had already left, and I explained how my life was suddenly so much easier now that I had Bruce, and how he growled when they raised their voices at me. ‘How clever of him: I expect if I was to try and strike you he would attack me?’ And he jokingly raised his walking stick. Thank goodness I had the lead on Bruce, but it was all I could do to hold him, as his teeth grazed the man’s sleeve. ‘Oh dear, that was rather stupid of me wasn’t it,’ he remarked, as he retrieved his hat that had been sent flying.

Next reading from Chapter 10: Upsetting the Cambridgeshire Constabulary Top Brass! https://routeandbranch.blogspot.com/2020/06/dangerous-criminal-on-loose-nearby.html

Cowslips return to the Picnic field at Wandlebury

By 1981 - 1982, volunteers had begun boosting the numbers of cowslip plants ready to plant them out in the picnic field - with a small hitch!

Extract from the podcast of Route and Branch chapter 9 continued, by Bill Clark. Full podcast or the reading by Chris Thomas here: https://archive.org/download/caring-for-wild-plants/Ch9e-caring-for-wild-plants.mp3

...Alan Dixon was the Merrist Wood student for 1981, one of his tasks was collecting and sowing flower seeds, delicate ones put in pots in the greenhouse and some 600 pots of cowslips outside – descendants from the plants that Caroline first saw. Wendy took them over after Alan left, and by the time student Hugh Roberts arrived the following year, many were ready to plant out. As I was to be busy at Bourne windmill on the chosen day, I hurried to the Picnic Field with Hugh and a school boy volunteer, and demonstrated my method of planting. Removing a small square of turf – to ensure the plant didn’t get too much competition at the start – I dug a hole in the centre, put in the plant and firmed it with my heel. Hugh’s planting of the second one was quite satisfactory, and I left them to it.

Upon arriving home at 6.00 pm, I was surprised to see them only just putting the tools away. They had decided to finish the task as the weather forecast was for rain to water them in the next day. After tea, I walked over to admire their work, but before I got near, noticed a problem. During the next couple of weeks, Hugh wandered over the field each morning, picking up every plant that had been pushed out of the ground, to replant them in a different place. During the original planting, he had decided the mole heaps were a ready prepared spot! ...

...Thankfully, I found another grazier and during the next four years, we gave the lawns an early graze to encourage the dwarf grasses, clovers and bird’s-foot-trefoil, then when the seed was ripe, I scythed and spread that too in the Picnic Field. The grazier – Mick Mellows and his son Roy – could not have been more enthusiastic and helpful, even though my set-up meant that they had no security of tenure and must allow me to move the sheep to wherever and whenever I wished. They provided the batteries and electric netting, and though I carefully hid the expensive batteries from view, some were stolen – even the energiser and a complete length of netting on one occasion. They voluntarily tidied up after the sheep with their own tractor and mower – which gave me a small problem! I have never expected – even the most careful wildlife enthusiasts – to be able to notice everything whilst working with machinery: so I examined every area prior to their arrival and flagged up any plants I needed for seed, those with butterfly and mothcaterpillars or eggs on the leaves, or the occasional ground nesting bird, or leveret in its form: in order for them all to be given a wide berth.

One afternoon, I failed to notice the pair waving for my attention. ‘Huh,’ remarked Roy to Mick, ‘We should have been a couple of b***** caterpillars!’ The Picnic Meadow was still short of my vision, but because of the thin grass cover and the activity of moles, many of the arable plants still flourished, so there was always plenty to interest the school children: White campion, Venus’slooking-glass and heart’s-ease. Wild mignonette and red dead-nettles – especially loved by the bees, and stork’s-bill and crane’s-bill providing the food plants that caused an upsurge in Brown Argus butterflies.

Next reading from Chpater 10 - Bruce the Snowy Alsation: https://routeandbranch.blogspot.com/2020/06/bruce-snowy-alsation.html