The Good, The Bad and The Ugly - Crime and redemption at Wandlebury

At Wandlebury, Bill saw different facets of crime and punishment, and redemption as he successfully helped young offenders for the probation service and also encounters brazen thieves.

Photo Kai Stachowiak 

Extracts from podcast readings of 'Route and Branch' by Bill Clark, former warden and nature conservationist at Wandlebury: Full podcast here: https://archive.org/download/the-good-the-bad-and-the-ugly/Ch8c-The-good-the-bad-and-the-ugly.mp3

...(The Probation Officer) was more forthcoming than usual when she phoned about the next candidate, ‘He should never have been given community service!’ Then gave me some lurid history. A hard drinking Scot, working on rail-track maintenance, he constantly got into trouble at weekends; on this occasion, and not for the first time, he had punched a policeman. She seemed surprised that I was still willing to take him on, and insisted that at the first hint of trouble, I should dash to the phone.
A couple of days later, a small, thick set man, climbed out of her car to be introduced, and as she drove off, an admonishing finger wagged, ‘Remember. No trouble,’ she called. I instructed him to climb on board the trailer, he must have felt quite at home on seeing a couple of 14 pound sledge hammers, two crowbars – one an extralarge, early ‘plate-layers’ model, and a couple of heavy duty, ‘navvy’s’ digging forks. Hopping off the tractor at the work site, I explained that we were going to dig round the foundation of a long-gone stable, break it into sections, load them into the trailer, for me to tip them in a nearby pit.

We soon had an open trench all round, and it was then just a case of donning our goggles, and thumping and levering, until sections broke off, when we lifted them into the trailer. We got on so well, that we had time to spare, and finished the day splitting logs.

The following morning Wendy called me to the phone, ‘It’s the Probation Officer!’ ‘Good morning Mr Clark, what on earth did you do to poor J**** yesterday? He is with me now, in tears; you should see his hands. He cannot possibly go to his work. He says he has never worked so hard in his life, it is impossible to keep up with you, and he doesn’t want to work at Wandlebury again.’ I asked her to make my apologies for providing such fragile work gloves, and she could assure him that further tasks would be much more reasonable.

A tentative J**** was delivered again the following week, and from then on, he arrived on his bike, on time, every Tuesday, and worked with never a grumble – often unsupervised – until his order was finished. But that weekend, did he celebrate! His antics – including hitting at least two policemen and getting down on all fours to bark at a police dog – earned him another term in Bedford prison.

Heatwave, drought and narrow escapes

The drought of 1975 extends into 1976, with a heatwave that causes the large beeches to drop some of their branches. This just at the height of the picnic season. Heedless of Bills' warnings, picnickers and lovers have a near death experience and a lucky escape. A TV crew arrives to film falling branches on command!

Woodland with fallen trees. Photo Bob Williams.

Extract from the podcast of chapter 8b from Bill Clark's Route and Branch. Full Recording available here: https://archive.org/download/heatwave-drought-falling-branches/Ch8b-Heatwave-drought-falling-branches.mp3

There was no let-up in the heat, and by mid-May my eyes were constantly looking towards the large beech and elm trees, expecting branches to fall. One local WI correspondent, reporting on a talk I had given, wrote, ‘... and Mr Clark said that the drought is now very serious; large trees are suffering, and only heavy rain very soon, will prevent many from dying. Incredulous editors and radio presenters got in touch for more information, and one national newspaper copied the WI announcement verbatim.

This meant that the derision came down on my head from even further afield! On the thirtieth of May the first branch fell. By mid-June I had emptied the pond and banned BBQs. I continuously patrolled – nerves a jangle – moving folk from under their pleasant shade/my perceived danger!

Saturday the 26th of June – the fourth day in a row that I entered, ‘Very hot day’, in my diary – was busier than ever; the visitors getting tetchy, even cross, as this ever roving Warden moved them on. A ‘Sunday School Picnic’ was due just after mid-day, and I met the large group, mostly children, planning to lead them to a safe spot among some elm saplings. But as we arrived in sight of our destination, I noticed a courting couple just settling under a particularly ‘worrying’ branch in the distance. Hastily pointing, I said, ‘Please lay out your picnic under that group of trees, you can play games on the far side, but don’t let the children go near any large beech trees – some of the branches are quite dangerous.’ I dashed over to the young couple. After seeing them ensconced beneath a ‘safe’ tree, a further survey through my binoculars revealed a family of four choosing a ‘wrong un’, and they too were moved to a safe tree – thank goodness my trusty old Raleigh bike was holding up.

Finally, I returned to check on the Church Party. To my dismay they had hardly moved a dozen steps, and were busy spreading their feast under just about the largest branch on the estate. ‘This is a very dangerous spot, you must move at once,’ I cried. And against a background of agitated mutterings, I bent down, grasped two corners of a cloth and dragged it – with angry ladies hovering – to the far side of the tree. With not a sandwich spilt, I stood up and remarked, ‘There, that wasn’t too bad was it, we’ll bring all the others over too.’ With a little louder grumbling, including, ‘We’ll be sending a letter of complaint to your employers,’ the picnic was at last out of my perceived danger zone. ‘Please make sure no one even walks beneath it,’ I called, as I cycled off, giving the branch a wide berth myself. Seconds later a loud ‘crack’ rang out, followed by a thump. The tree sized branch lay on the ground, a huge white scar on the trunk, and equally white faces almost in the leaves on the far side. Dashing back I scrambled towards an ominous red glint – it was a drinking cup, and then another. Standing to climb over the trunk-thick centre, faces came into focus, and I realised they were calling to me. ‘It’s all right, no one is in there.’ ‘But there are two drinking cups.’ ‘We know. They dropped them, as they ran back.’ Almost in tears with relief, I clambered out, only to have the man who had grumbled most hurl himself at me – he was in tears, as he threw his arms around my neck and hugged me!

First Winter storm at Wandlebury

A damaging Winter storm struck Wandlebury on Friday 2nd January 1976. All night trees were crashing down, causing flare-ups where electric cables were damaged. Bill checked and fought fires through the night, wherever they arose. The following weeks were spent clearing up the damage.

Iron age skeletons revealed under the roots of a fallen tree in the 1976 storm.

Readings by Chris Thomas of Route and Branch, the autobiography of Bill Clark, former Warden at Wandlebury. Extract from chapter 8. Full reading available in podcast at:
https://archive.org/download/first-storm/Ch8a-First-storm.mp3

....I decided to take the family on a break on the 5th of January 1976. With the weather forecast predicting a gale for Friday the 2nd, I spent Thursday nailing the rest of the tile battens over the roofing felt on the workshop roof. By 9.20 pm Friday, the noise was unbearable. Numerous fires glowed, as tree after tree was thrown through the 11,000 volt cables strung through the estate; cutting off our power, and in consequence, the well-water pump, then next the phone lines went – we were to remain in the ‘dark ages’ for five days. I laboured back and forth checking every new glow, to ensure it was a tree, and not one of the buildings – though how fire engines would have got to them I do not know. One did arrive at one point, for a concerned passerby had phoned them, but even as I explained the situation, a house fire call came over their radio, and off they dashed. Looking at the devastation in the light of day, I realised that I had been very lucky to survive the night! Over one hundred trees uprooted – and of the 58 large beech down, only two had my red ‘felling,’ numbers painted on the trunks!...

Teenagers DO listen - A butterfly sanctuary

As a Warden, Bill plans his first school visits and all goes well till he has a group of boisterous teenagers. Meanwhile, Wendy writes a history of Wandlebury ring. Caroline and Bill make a butterfly sanctuary. 

Peacock butterfly. photo Chris Thomas

Extracts from a podcast of Bill Clark's autobiography, former warden of Wandlebury, read by Chris Thomas. Full podcast available here: https://archive.org/download/teenagers-do-listen/Ch7g-Teenagers-do-listen.mp3


...At 9.30 am the following Friday, 60 excited children arrived on a coach. There then followed a procedure that I adopted for many such visits: I asked them to form two groups – although, thirty children is still a rather unwieldy group strung out along woodland paths, but with the next coach load due in a couple of hours, I would have to manage. I then handed one of the teacher’s my written history leaflet and estate map, who was to lead the group to ‘do the Iron Age,’ whilst I led off the group for the ‘Nature Trail.’ At 10.30 am we changed over, and at 11.30 am, both groups arrived back in the car park – minutes after the next load had disembarked.

The lesson for me that day was that groups of thirty 12 to 16 year olds, who felt that they were out on the spree, were neither quiet, nor very attentive. In fact if the last, oldest and least attentive group had visited first, I would have found it difficult to continue. Anyway, despite little help or control from the teachers – and by missing out on any sustenance except the odd glass of water, I, and especially my voice, just made it to 3.30 pm, when the last children climbed aboard their coach. I slumped in my chair at home, whilst Wendy put food on the table. Taking a cue from my demeanour, and the fact I could hardly speak, she asked, ‘That bad was it?’ I just nodded, and later explained I would have to rethink my strategy. Obviously the older, modern school child was not used to paying attention, or that much interested in the countryside; perhaps I had been naive in my belief that I could reach the adults through the children.

On the Sunday – as a warm sunny day was forecast – I hurried to have all in readiness for an influx of visitors – clean the toilets and pick up any litter. By 11.00 am the car park and the roadsides were full of parked cars and I walked the paths keeping an eye on things. Through my binoculars, besides noticing there were more family groups than usual, I espied quite a sprinkling along the nature-trail and resolved to take that path next, but as I approached the car park I noticed a family group looking interestedly at a young man gesturing on the edge of the Ring Ditch bank, and as I arrived in earshot, I heard his father say, ‘That was utter piffle. There is no such plant as Stinking Hellebore; and as to its use with cattle in mediaeval times, giving it the name of Setterwort, you are having us on!’ I stepped close to the lad; ‘Your son is quite correct – and if you would rather he used the botanical name, it is Helleborusfoetidus, which of course translates from the Latin, as Stinking Hellebore.’ Dad swung back to the boy. ‘My God, so they are teaching you something in that school after all!’

For me it could not have been better, for I recognised him as one of the most vocal and disruptive of the last class on the Friday. In a state of shock, I kept them in sight for a while and he never missed a stop – in fact almost a mirror image of myself – except doing the trip in reverse! For the rest of that Sunday, and a few following weekends, I walked in a happy daze as I passed family groups, often with one young member leading yet another, ‘Nature Trail.’

...In the previous season I had suggested to Caroline that she could make a project out of discovering why, despite these insects laying as many as two hundred eggs, we were only seeing butterflies in twos and threes. Appalled at the losses – Caroline discovered my predicted four or five percent turning into adults, was nearer two percent – she wanted to bring the eggs under our protection. Fortunately during a hospital visit with her, I noticed perforated metal ceiling panels, each about 600 mm square, being thrown on a skip. We were allowed to take all we required; and after buying a couple of dozen small hinges, and a large box of 4 mm pop rivets, we soon had a splendid row of cages!
Later, right on cue, with the buddleia in front of the stable block in full flower, three of the cages of hanging pupae emerged. So late on a sunny afternoon, we transported them over there, opened the doors, and with gladdened hearts saw the majority of the three hundred or so peacock and tortoiseshell butterflies, stay and disport themselves around the large shrubs. However, that was Friday! On Sunday afternoon – another lovely sunny day – I walked into the Ring, to see a child chasing around with a butterfly net, and thought it might be advisable to have a word. Thank goodness Caroline wasn’t with me, for as I rounded the building, three more siblings came into view, all thrashing around the buddleia, and close by, one proud mum sitting on a blanket, surrounded by jars stuffed with dead and broken winged butterflies!...

A lady ghost and making a home for bats

According to the former butler at Wandlebury, there used to be a lady ghost whose tap-tapping footsteps could be heard. People and animals at Wandlebury sometimes feel as if she has touched them on their shoulder, near to the sundial. Bill sets about converting the old drain and ruins into a safe place for the resident bats.

Pipistrelle bat in flight. Photo Barracuda1983 / CC BY-SA

Extract from readings by Chris Thomas of Route and Branch, Bill Clark's autobiography of his time as warden at Wandlebury. Full podcast can be heard here: https://archive.org/download/a-home-for-bats/Ch7f-A-home-for%20bats.mp3

...in the summer, by the sundial, I saw a lady jump as if startled. And when I asked, ‘why,’ she said she had felt a hand on her shoulder. Twice more during the autumn I observed kindred instances, and got similar answers. I mentioned this to the retired Butler, Fred Reynolds, who had roamed the rooms for many years. ‘Well I never,’ he said, ‘so she is still there.’ He then related that on various occasions he had heard ladylike footsteps pacing with him down the hall, close to where the sundial now stands, but each time, before he could light a candle to race down to the cellars, and catch the maid he was convinced was tap-tapping along the ceiling beneath him, all would be quiet. Then in the 1930s an electric generator was installed: ‘On the very first evening the power was switched on, I heard the footsteps,’ he recalled. ‘Switching on the lights I dashed down, but as I ran I realised the tapping was now above me: so, there are two jokers I thought. Bursting back up into the hallway at the far end, I was just in time for the footsteps to pass me by and through the next closed door. I never told anyone, it would only have upset some of the servants: but it did make the hairs stand on the back of my neck.’ ...

...I got in touch with Bob Stebbings of the Institute of Terrestrial Ecology – a bat expert based at Monks Wood – he was so keen he travelled over to see for himself. Upon entering the tunnel he became even more enthusiastic, pointing out open joints in the brickwork with dark greasy edges, saying, ‘Bats have been using this tunnel for years!’ I was able to tell him, that a former resident had confided that as a child he had often crawled in through a hole in the bank, before it was blocked off in the 1960s.
We also looked at Jarratts Cottage – I had found five long-eared bats behind some sacks in the tiny cellar. In imminent danger of collapsing and taking the corner of the house with it too, it had been condemned by the architect, whilst I, a keen beer and wine maker, looked on it as a very desirable part of the house, and had given my ideas for putting it to rights. Bob thought I should start work the moment the bats left in the spring! I asked if he could send me a letter of recommendation to put before the Committee, and I would also like to know what temperature and humidity the bats preferred during hibernation. He said, he knew of no such research on the subject, then with a laugh, said, ‘What an opportunity for you!’
During the following months, whenever I had spare cash – from my own pocket – I bought a Min-Max thermometer, spacing them along the tunnel to take readings.

Jake, grey squirrels, rabbits and moles in conservation

Jake, the trusty ageing doggy companion, disappears again. Bill explains the ambiguous roles of grey squirrels, rabbits and moles in a conservation environment.

Mole emerging from hole. photo Beeki

Extract from reading by Chris Thomas, of chapter 7 from Route and Branch by Bill Clark, former Wandlebury warden. Full recording here:
https://archive.org/download/jake-squirrels-rabbits-moles/Ch7e-Jakes-passing-greys-squirrels-rabbits-moles.mp3

...one Sunday our neighbouring farmer called to say, a couple of injured pheasants were in a nearby wood. I took nine year old Jake, and he joyfully romped through the thick ivy undergrowth, bringing me the first – dead and cold – within minutes, and sped off to find the other. Suddenly all went quiet. I circled the quarter acre patch of thick bramble and ivy, whistling and calling, determined the old rogue wouldn’t get away this time. Finally, deciding he had evaded me somehow, I turned to leave, but noticed a splash of white. I struggled through the waist high growth, and picked up an unconscious Jake, and carried him out. Laying him down, I ran to get my car, but after a hundred yards or so I looked back, to see him on his feet, walking unsteadily towards me.
Luckily my neighbour Dr Larry Owen, of the
Cambridge Veterinarian College, was at home. Larry ran his hands over him, and listened to his heart. ‘I think the old fellow has suffered a heart attack,’ he said, ‘keep him warm, and don’t let him exercise. Bring him to the surgery tomorrow and we will have a proper look at him.’ A still subdued Jake walked with me into the surgery the following day...

...I have long regarded the grey squirrel as a tree rat with a pretty tail, and have always been aware of their aggressiveness to the red squirrel, and believed they carry disease to them too. The competition over food is serious, in particular, they ruin the hazel nut crop long before there is a viable nut in the shell, which I am sure is also contributing to the decline of Dormice. The amount of damage they do by stripping bark off young trees is enormous – it can also be quite dangerous for people walking under trees in windy conditions, when the branches they have damaged, shale down – unless foresters make a concerted effort to keep grey squirrels numbers low, there will be no forest sized beech – and many other species – over much of Britain in the future...

Learning to dowse. The ghostly knight

Bill talks about how he learnt to dowse successfully with metal rods when a hazel twig did not work. Then there is the story of the ghostly knight who could be challenged in the Wandlebury Ring, to win a horse.

Knights ready for the joust. photo Chris Thomas

Extract from a reading of chapter 7 from Bill Clark's autobiography, Route and Branch. Full podcast here: https://archive.org/download/learning-to-dowse-and-ghostly-rider/Ch7d-Learning-to-dowse-and-ghostly-rider.mp3


For a full history of my own dowsing skills, I need to go back to my childhood. I first tried to dowse in the company of my grandfather, who was using a forked hazel stick to look for a lost well. I was useless. Later, I saw a professional water diviner at work. ‘You should use a willow stick.’ I was still useless! Then in the 1950s, whilst I was working with earth moving equipment, an engineer showed me how to find an underground cable, using a couple of brass welding rods, bent in an L shape.

From then on I regularly used them, it was the best grounding – no pun intended – in dowsing that anyone could wish for. At first, I only looked for electric cables – alive or dead – iron, copper or lead pipes, house drains and clay field drains. If any were water-filled I got an especially good ‘kick’ which led me to believe that I could find water too, and did! A good party trick was to pass them over a glass of beer, and see them clash together.

Because I usually uncovered my finds later, I knew for certain what lay below. Once, when excavating low lying farmland ready for a factory to be built, I was puzzled to find nothing where my rods had strongly indicated, until I realised, lines of different soil colour was showing filled in trenches – and I remembered grandfather describing how they used to drain fields with ‘bush drains’ by burying the hedge trimmings in the bottom of trenches...

...One old tale, oft repeated, cannot be established by either dowsing or the archaeologists’ trowel. It is of Baron Osbert’s fight with a ghostly knight who was said to terrorise the area. The accepted mode of doing business with the ghost, was to ride alone into the Ring (when the present circular ditch still had a high bank inside it, and a second ditch and bank inside that) on a moonlight night and issue a challenge. According to who you read, it was either: ‘Knight, tonight come forth’, or ‘Knight to knight come forth’. Shortly after hearing the Norman Knight’s ringing challenge, the group waiting outside are said to have heard the clash of swords, soon followed by the triumphant Baron leading out a magnificent horse: he related how he had unseated the rider, who had then thrown his lance and pierced his thigh. The prancing horse was taken in procession to Cambridge, but at sunrise it reared up, broke its tether and disappeared. As for the Baron, it is said that on every anniversary of the fight, his wound would open and bleed. I have often wondered if this story tells us that a bandit once used Wandlebury as a hideout: and whether anyone happened to hear a shrill whistle, moments before the horse reared up and broke away from its tether?

Exploring sewage drains, crackpots and leylines, Dowsing for metals and water.

Bill finds a major sewage spill at Wandlebury and ends up exploring underground pipes to clear the blockage. Myths associated with the Ring and some of the more crackpot theories regarding leylines centered on the ring. On Bill's dowsing skills for metal, water and disturbed ground.

PPE Stonehenge - photocollage Chris Thomas

Extracts from part of Chapter 7 in Bill Clark's autobiography Route and Branch. You can listen to a full reading here: https://archive.org/download/sewage-crackpots-and-leylines/Ch7c-Sewage-crackpots%20and%20leylines.mp3

Unfortunately other work was piling up for me – literally. I had found a sewage puddle in the bottom of the Ring Ditch – the drainage system was blocked. If it backed up to the dwellings and public lavatories that it served, it could be serious. The extra pressure could burst the old pipes, allowing sewage to leak into the 56.360 metre (186 feet) deep well which served all the estate: even worse, it would be directly in the water table that supplied the City of Cambridge. ...

...Transferring my search to the next line brought me to an iron cover under a thin covering of leaves, full to the brim but less than two metres deep. That evening, having mustered three of the residents together, I tied my new climbing rope around my waist, gave instructions that if I stopped snatching the line once every 10 seconds, to call an ambulance – and try and drag me out. I moved quickly along the smelly tunnel, stopping at the brickwork of the deep manhole blocking three quarters of the tunnel width, and there in the torch light could see relatively new pipe work, constructed in a tight double bend. No wonder it had blocked! And, there was no way that drain rods could pass through it – the old drain had been by-passed. The next day a sewage tanker pumped out both pits, and it then took me all afternoon – employing one hundred hired drain rods – to drag out a tree root and the lost, rotten, estate drain rods, via a third pit, and finally, an unpleasant few minutes to climb down and hook out the blockage in the deep manhole. Job done, I hurled my overalls in the dustbin, washed vigorously under the outside tap, and whilst still in a suitable frame of mind, phoned the Agents to complain about their lack of recording, and their unsuitably aligned drain.

...Many of our visitors look at Wandlebury in an entirely different light, the Ring Ditch is all that remains to be seen of the Iron Age Hill Fort, and is the most visited part of Wandlebury. Despite the inner area bearing the last vestiges of a Mansion and the remaining stables and coach houses – now converted to houses, office and an education centre – a walk round the circumference still has a certain aura, which can be heightened considerably in mist or by moonlight. Since early times there has been disagreement over its origins. Fiction and legend abound...

...Much of this interest, I am sure, was due to a certain Tom Lethbridge! In December 1956, after two years of research and thumping an iron bar into the soil to find the previously disturbed area, he finally dug out a chalk figure. His snap decision was, “It is anyone's guess who this chap is. Mine is that he is a Sun God!” Most press mentions of Wandlebury still insist on using a copy of an aerial photo of Tom Lethbridge’s partly excavated ‘Goddess’ which was printed in ‘The Times’ in 1956. Because of the trickle of visitors asking questions about it, I had already read up on it, and as many wanted to see it, had also removed the covering vegetation. Gradually it became a magnet for dowsing enthusiasts determined to find out for themselves – is it or isn’t it? A popular cry was, and still is, ‘Is it on a Ley Line?’ The most excited folk found a number of Ley Lines heading straight for it, and I often found myself embroiled in animated conversation! Strangely, although Lethbridge himself had long been a hazel twig dowser, looking for ancient graves and such, and later wrote about the use of the pendulum and paranormal activities, he didn’t use these methods to try to locate his figure...

On Dowsing
For a full history of my own dowsing skills, I need to go back to my childhood. I first tried to dowse in the company of my grandfather, who was using a forked hazel stick to look for a lost well. I was useless. Later, I saw a professional water diviner at work. ‘You should use a willow stick.’ I was still useless! Then in the 1950s, whilst I was working with earth moving equipment, an engineer showed me how to find an underground cable, using a couple of brass welding rods, bent in an L shape. From then on I regularly used them, it was the best grounding – no pun intended – in dowsing that anyone could wish for. At first, I only looked for electric cables – alive or dead – iron, copper or lead pipes, house drains and clay field drains. If any were water-filled I got an especially good ‘kick’ which led me to believe ...

Battles for rescuing cowslips and a 200 year plan for Wandlebury wood

On his first walk through Wandlebury with daughter Caroline, they discover a solitary cowslip which brings back childhood memories of golden fields for Bill. He vows to create this natural wonder again. The aging woodlands also present their challenge, but not as big as the battle to establish a 200 year plan for the nature reserve.

Cowslips, photo Chris Thomas

Extracts from Bill Clark, conservationist and former warden of Wandlebury, his autobiography Route and Branch. Full reading available here as a podcast:
https://archive.org/download/lost-cowslips-tpo-battle/Ch7b-Lost-cowslips-TPO-battle.mp3

On the following day – Sunday – I started my new life as Head Warden of Wandlebury Ring. I patrolled, notebook in hand, jotting down, ‘things needing urgent attention’. Caroline joined me for a time, ‘Look dad, some primroses.’ She stepped nearer to peer at the dozen or so broken stalks, and one tall brown stem with seed heads, ‘No they aren’t, what are they?’

I was in the middle of, ‘Caroline, don’t tell me you don’t recognise .....,’ when the truth hit me – hard! Just prior to her ninth birthday, she was looking at her first cowslip plant. I was stunned, and tried to remember when I had last walked among them; During my time in Essex? No. Buckinghamshire? No. Oxfordshire? No. It had to be during my own childhood in Bedfordshire – the ones that I had spread ‘Gramoxsone’ on.

I knelt down to carefully pick off the remaining seed heads, and knotted them inside my handkerchief. As we walked on, I explained to Caroline, how at her age, I played in meadows that were yellow with cowslips. Pointing to the just harvested wheat field beside us, I remarked, ‘If the Society allows it, one day cowslips will cover that field.’...

...Now at Wandlebury, I had 54 acres of very mature beech woodland to care for, with goodness knows how many miles of official and unofficial footpaths threading below the spreading branches. The numbers of folk treading them was unknown, but from day one, I knew that the paths needed regulating, and the people required guidance – and the trees certainly needed some TLC.

Many branches were downright dangerous to those walking below – my first contact from a Wandlebury resident, was a complaint about a branch that his wife passed under every day. Half a dozen beech had been blown down in a 1950s gale – the branches long gone for firewood, but the trunks still lying, root plates upturned and not a single sapling planted in their place!

At my first CPS Management meeting, I predicted that 50% of the beech could be lost during the next fifty years, and that unless we started a felling and planting programme immediately, there would be too long an interval for carrying over the wildlife that needed the holes, nooks and crannies of ancient trees. A quarter of an acre worked each year, would result in a 200 year cycle. It was then pointed out by member J K Taylor that the whole area was under a Tree Preservation Order, (TPO), put in place by the County Council in 1953. ‘Not even a branch can be touched, because of the importance of retaining the woodlands just as they are,’ he said. Truly shocked, ...

Becoming Warden at Wandlebury

Inspired by nature 1970's broadcaster Ted Ellis, Bill Clark makes a life changing decision, applying to be Head Warden at Wandlebury, Cambridgeshire. He gives up a life of farming for a new vocation in nature conservation.

Beech wood. photo Alfredo Perrotti 

Extract from a reading of Chapter 7 from Route and Branch, by Bill Clark, former warden of Wandlebury, red by Chris Thomas: full recording here:

https://archive.org/download/warden-at-wandlebury/Ch7a-Warden%20at%20Wandlebury.mp3

Unbeknown to me, 1973, was to be my ‘watershed’! Unfortunately, due to a reoccurring bronchial problem, Caroline had to miss a very pleasant April trip to the Brecklands, and the one to Wheatfen Broad in May. Thankfully, the heavy rain ceased as the coach approached Wheatfen – we were going to be taken round by Ted Ellis, the celebrated naturalist, author, broadcaster and TV presenter. As he met the coach, the sun burst through and with steam lifting from the lush growth we followed him along the lane to his cottage, arriving at a gateway, almost closed by a willow shrub, and filed into his garden. ‘You would think he would clear that thing out of the way,’ whispered a lady to me as Ted waved an arm towards tables set with cups and saucers, before disappearing into the house. All eyes were looking with some disfavour at the disreputable lawn, but Ted’s immediate emergence with a tray of fruit cake, followed by his wife Phyllis bearing a large teapot, put a stop to any comments. Whilst Phyllis kept our cups topped up, and plied us with the home-made cake, Ted regaled us with a resume of what Wheatfen was about, and what he hoped to show us.

I had always assumed that the reason Ted dressed in a pinstripe suit and polished black town shoes, was at the behest of his BBC bosses, but not so, it was obviously his accustomed dress. He did not look at all like the regular country folk I was used to. But the more I heard, the more I warmed to him, rapidly realising that here was someone, not only passionate about the countryside, but with knowledge I would give my ‘eye teeth’ to gain. How pleased I was, when, after apologising for his lawn being untidy, he then wandered around it pointing out various rare and uncommon wild plants! 

Once out in the reserve there were those who cut their walk short, even along Ted’s so-called managed paths, so by the time we got to where only Ted could hope to know the way – with shoulder high growth brushing us on either side – there were only a handful of stalwarts left. Ted would step off the track – often into ankle deep mud – to point to some insect, or an animal track: then dart back across with arms outstretched to part the sopping tangle, to reveal a marsh plant. I had never had such a wonderful time and was engrossed in every word, pointing out other plants and asking about them too.

We at last regained the mown path and rejoined the rest of the group. ‘Capital,’ said Ted, ‘now we are all back together, I hope to show you something special,’ and led us to a clearing in which stood a moth trap. He then proceeded to show us various moths, as he brought out the pieces of egg cartons under which they were hiding. Despite knowing most of the common names, I felt like a kindergarten school boy, as Ted rattled off the Latin names too, but finally, after turning over every scrap of carton, he gave a big sigh. ‘Oh well, I might have known that would be the one to fly off.’ As he stood up, I pointed out a moth that was new to me, resting on a tree trunk: a delighted Ted told us it was the Lobster Moth that should have been in the trap – the first he had seen at Wheatfen. 

He fell into step beside me as we walked back to the cottage, and plied me with questions. ‘Are you one of the Trust’s Wardens?’ ‘Where did you gain your knowledge?’ ‘With your visual skills you should at least be leading groups around nature reserves.’ After partaking of a last cup of tea from delightful Phyllis, our trip organiser passed on our grateful thanks, and we followed Ted out into the lane, he calling back, ‘Oh, by the way, I believe that willow is very rare, it could be the only one in the country.’ I just had to catch the eye of the lady who had been derogatory about it earlier! At the coach, Ted singled me out, and with a broad smile, took my hand and said, ‘Now remember what I have said, you are too good to waste your life in farming!’

If I thought any more about his words, it was only with fondness, and regret that Caroline had missed out. I believed there was no way that I could keep myself and my family on the sort of income that went with looking after Nature Reserves. Then only a couple of weeks later a letter arrived for Wendy from her sister Stella, and inside was a short note for me. On a page of bright orange paper was written, ‘Just a thought!’, and stapled to it was part of a page from the Cambridge Evening News, and highlighted was an advert:

GreatOutdoors

Warden required for 110 acre estate three miles from Cambridge...