LandScape - Life at nature’s pace
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Life at nature’s pace
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Mar / Apr 2015
Spring garden | Fritillaria | Shrubs for blossom | Orange puddings | Cheese makers | Freeminers | Glastonbury Tor | Bitterns | Woodhall Spa
A village built on healing waters Delicate spring decorations The elusive reed blower
Mar / Apr 2015
Issue 21 | Mar / Apr 2015 | £4.25
BELLS OF COLOUR
A meadow full of snake’s head fritillaries at Magdalen College, Oxford.
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he demure bells of the snake’s head fritillary, Fritillaria meleagris, bring subtle beauty to a garden in spring. The delicate nodding flowers add colour to borders. Naturalised in grass, they appear to float above the ground. F. meleagris is a bulbous perennial member of the liliaceae family. Reaching 12in (30cm) in height, it has lance-shaped, greyish-green leaves and one to two flowers per stem. The bell-shaped flowers have six identical petals. These are most commonly dusky purple with a pale pink chequerboard pattern, although there
are other colours including green and white. It is the chequered appearance that gives it the name fritillaria, from the Latin word fritillus which means dice box. A groove at the base of the flower head secretes nectar with high sugar concentration consisting of sucrose, glucose and fructose in equal parts. This provides food for early bees, in particular queen bumblebees waking from hibernation. Its delicacy of form, colour and ease of growth have made the snake’s head fritillary a favourite in the UK for centuries. It is not known for certain whether it is a native ›
HERALDs of
spring
The nodding chequered purple petals of
Fritillaria meleagris signal the change of season
The chequerboard head is the reason for the plants also being known as the chess flower.
legend behind the name
The snake’s head fritillary gets the meleagris part of its name from the guinea fowl (Numida meleagris). In Greek mythology Meleager, youngest of the Argonauts, was a hero. On his death his sisters cried continually until the god Artemis turned them into guinea fowl (meleagrides). The white spots on their feathers are said to represent the sisters’ tears and the petals of Fritillaria meleagris resemble these feathers.
Pruning and shaping roses Spring is the time to prune roses to ensure a good display of flowers
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utting back roses in early spring encourages healthy new growth and a good show of flowers in the summer. The majority of roses produce their flowers on new wood. This means the more new growth that is encouraged by pruning, the more flowers will be produced. Pruning improves the shape, avoiding ungainly, top-heavy plants with long, spindly stems. It opens up congested thickets of crossed stems, letting air in. Roses that have grown too big for the border can be pruned to a more appropriate size. Hard pruning revitalises gnarled, old plants, encouraging them to produce more and bigger blooms. The work is done in early spring, before the roses burst into growth. Pruning when the plant has started producing new leaves removes this growth and delays flowering. Doing it before the leaves grow means the framework of the rose is visible. This allows stems that are dead, damaged or diseased to be easily identified. It shows where stems have crossed and are rubbing. This restricts air flow through the plant, and creates a greater risk of disease. Bypass secateurs that make a scissor action with the blades make clean cuts, without crushing the wood. Secateurs will cut all but the thickest stems on old shrub roses. Bypass loppers are used on these. Longer handled loppers are useful to reach into a rose with a tangle of thorny stems. When pruning, cuts should leave a clean, white surface. If a brown marking shows this can indicate the stem is suffering from dieback. This means the woody stem is dying from the tip downwards due to weather damage or disease. ›
Thinning out stems The general principle of pruning is the same for all the types that are pruned in spring. All stems that have died back or started to die back, need to be cut back. This is done as close to the base of the plant as possible. Stems that are brown at the top are cut down to green, healthy growth to stop the stems dying back further. The brown colouring caused by dieback is not to be confused with a rose having brown patches on all its stems, which is a natural occurrence. Thin, spindly stems do not flower well because they cannot support the This congested rose will produce fewer flowers as much of the growth is old and unproductive.
Loppers are used to cleanly remove thick, woody stems.
Stems showing signs of dieback are pruned back to green wood.
weight of the flowers. Leaving a lot of spindly stems growing in the centre of the plant reduces airflow. This makes the plant vulnerable to fungal diseases such as powdery mildew, which are spread by spores. These stems are trimmed off at the point where they start. Strong winds in the winter months bend and break long stems, which are now cut back into healthy growth. When thinning out stems, removing them at regular intervals through the plant helps maintain the natural shape. If a rose is getting too big in the border, the outer stems are completely removed, to reduce its spread. The plant is then thinned out to form the new shape.
Dead, dying and crossing stems are first removed to create a more open frame.
Lopside stems are shortened to create a well-balanced plant that encourages air flow.
sharp and sweet Oranges add a hint of freshness to cakes and desserts
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Caramel oranges Serves 6 6 oranges 225g golden granulated sugar 100ml cold water 100ml hot water 2 tbsp orange-flavoured liqueur (optional)
St Clement’s cake Serves 8 For the cake finely grated zest of 1 lemon 3 tbsp lemon juice 150g butter, softened 150g golden caster sugar 3 eggs 200g self-raising flour For the filling finely grated zest of ½ orange 2 tbsp orange juice 100g butter, softened 200g golden icing sugar
Grease and line the bases of two 20cm sandwich tins. Beat together the butter and sugar until pale and fluffy. Add the eggs, one at a time, beating well after each addition. Sift the flour into the bowl before adding the lemon zest and juice. Gently fold into the mixture. Divide equally between the prepared tins and bake for 25 mins at 180°C/gas mark 4, until springy to the touch. Allow to cool in the tin for 3-4 mins, then transfer to a wire rack to cool completely. To make the filling, beat the butter until fluffy, then gradually beat in the icing sugar. Beat in the orange zest and juice. Continue beating until the icing is smooth and fluffy. Sandwich the cakes together with it. To make the icing, zest the orange using a zester. Cut zest into very thin strips and blanch in boiling water for 5 mins. This softens it sufficiently to be used as decoration. Drain well. Sift the icing sugar into a mixing bowl and add the orange juice a teaspoon at a time until it is smooth and spreadable. Spread over the top of the cake and sprinkle the orange zest on top. Allow the icing to set before serving.
Remove the zest from three of the oranges with a zester, taking care not to include the white pith. Cut into long, thin strips. Blanch in boiling water for 10 mins, to soften it sufficiently to be edible, then drain. Place the sugar and cold water in a saucepan and heat gently, stirring until the sugar dissolves. Increase the heat and boil rapidly until the mixture turns a deep golden colour. Add the hot water slowly, taking care as the mixture will splutter and stir until combined. Add the orange zest. Peel the oranges, cutting away the white pith. Cut into slices and reshape securing together with a cocktail stick. Stir the orange liqueur, if using, into the syrup and pour over the oranges. Chill the oranges for a minimum of 2 hrs, occasionally spooning the syrup over the oranges. Remove the cocktail sticks and serve the oranges in a pool of syrup.
For the icing ½ orange, zested and juiced 125g golden icing sugar
Cake with history
St Clement’s cake takes its name from the nursery rhyme, “Oranges and lemons say the bells of St Clement’s”. This is believed to refer to either St Clement Danes or St Clement Eastcheap churches in London. Both of these are sited near the wharves where citrus fruits were landed.
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Village cheese A Warwickshire family has been producing hard ewes’ milk cheese on their farm for a quarter of a century
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Stephen Fletcher (right) runs the farms with his parents Sheila and Peter. It was Sheila who created the cheese’s characteristic shape.
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ucked behind a 16th century sandstone and red brick farmhouse stands a busy milking parlour and dairy. Here, instead of the lowing of cattle, the bleat of sheep can be heard. Milk from the Friesland sheep being milked goes to produce an award-winning cheese. Spring is a busy time for farmer Stephen Fletcher. Two thirds of his 1,000-strong herd have lambed, and are being milked. Cheese production at the Warwickshire farm rises by 30-40 per cent at this time of year. The Fletcher family have been producing Berkswell cheese at the 330-acre Ram Hall Farm for 25 years. In 1989, when dairy farmers were being encouraged to diversify, Stephen changed his cows for sheep. “People who could not tolerate cows’ milk realised they could have milk from sheep,” he says. From milk to cheese Initially the family sold sheep’s milk, yoghurt and ice cream. Then Stephen heard that a neighbouring farmer’s daughter had learned to make cheese at college. “I asked if she wanted to make some from our milk,” he says. “She came with a churn and started making some soft and hard cheeses to mature in our cellar.” Sheep’s milk is particularly good for cheese-making because it has a relatively high solid content compared to cows’ or goats’ milk. It takes approximately 1½ gallons (7 litres) of sheep’s milk to produce just over 2lb (1kg) of hard cheese compared to 2 gallons (10 litres) of cows’ milk. The Fletcher family set about refining a recipe. After three years they had developed the hard cheese that is sold today. “It was quite a painstaking process,” says Stephen. “It was really just a matter of trial and error. We needed to get a product that we were consistently satisfied with, time and again. The process needed tweaks here and there. We adjusted the conditions the cheese was kept in, the temperature and humidity, until we hit on something that we were really happy with. To get a premium product takes time and experience. There are no short cuts.” Berkswell has a rich, sweet, fruity and nutty taste combined with a creamy flavour. It is named after the local village. “I’ve grown up
here and I’m proud of it,” says Stephen. Ram Hall now produces more than 25 tonnes of Berkswell Cheese each year, compared to less than two when they began. Their success is reflected in the gold medals won in The British Cheese Awards over the years. Stephen’s mother Sheila is responsible for the cheese’s distinctive shape, with angled sides and a flat top and base. “My mother went on a cheesemaking course. They used colanders as moulds, the sort you might have in your kitchen. And that’s still what we use today. It’s a simple way of making an attractive shape,” Stephen explains. The flat, stable bottoms also make the cheeses easy to store. The maturing process Today local cheesemaker Julie Hay and a team of three make the cheese. It takes up to five months from the sheep being milked to the cheese being ready to sell. The milk is unpasteurised. “Pasteurising would kill the ‘good’ bacteria which helps the cheese develop and adds flavour,” Stephen says. “We test the milk each week to ensure it is free of pathogens.” The milk is heated in 450-litre vats to stimulate bacterial growth, which in turn accelerate the cheesemaking process. A powder formula of natural dairy bacteria ›
Year after year my stock it grew, And from this one, this single ewe, Full fifty comely sheep I raised, As sweet a flock as ever grazed! William Wordsworth, The Last of the Flock
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garden art
Using twigs as brushes, Joshua, Joseph, Freya and Romy create bright, textured paintings 53
river harvest Peter Carter is the last man to navigate the remote waters of the Cambridgeshire Fens catching eels in his traditional, homemade willow traps
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he sun rises in a vast grey sky which arches over the endlessly flat landscape of the fens. A flat-bottomed 6ft long punt glides noiselessly through the water of Well Creek. This stretch of river was once part of the River Nene, lying east of the city of Peterborough in Cambridgeshire. A tall figure in a battered waxed hat guides the punt, or ‘shout’ as it is called locally, with a long willow pole called a quant. He stops every now and again to lift and check the hand-woven willow traps that he placed in the river the previous evening. Peter Carter is Britain’s last traditional eel trapper. “On a good night, I will catch 40 to 50 eels,” he says. “I sell them to an eel smoker in nearby Wisbech, or to restaurants. Most of my trade is local as eels are still in demand as a delicacy.” His own
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preferred way to eat them is fresh from the river, skinned, cut into chunks, then dipped in flour, and fried in butter. “Family records show that my ancestors were eel fishermen in this area back in 1475, and the skill has been passed down the generations,” he explains. “As a lad of four or five, I was always out in the boats with my grandfather Joe Wells, or my great uncles. Sometimes I’d miss school to hide in the willow trees and watch the men at work. I think I learned more at the river bank than I ever did in the classroom!” Eels hibernate in winter, so the season for trapping them starts in the month of March. From then until October, Peter goes every day to the river where he is licensed to fish. “When you punt, you don’t make any noise, so you’re always surrounded by wildlife, such as swans, geese and herons. I never get tired of ›
Using a branch of a tree as a punt pole, Peter Carter eases his homemade flat-bottomed boat through the water to collect his eel traps.
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The face in the woods An inscrutable face carved into a tree is glimpsed through woodland foliage. This is the centuries-old Green Man, still being recreated today
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Sculptor Paul Sivell and the first Green Man he carved on the Isle of Wight (top and above left). Working on a carving at Eleanor’s Grove near Quarr Abbey on the north coast of the island (above left). 92
Giving new life to a scarred tree Isle of Wight based wood sculptor Paul Sivell carved his first Green Man 14 years ago. “I was walking in a wood with a forester when I spotted an old oak which had been struck by lightning,” he recalls. “It had a tall, dead spire and a long scar down its trunk, caused by a lightning strike. As soon as I saw it, I visualised a Green Man image. I asked the forester if I would be allowed to carve it. That was my first.” His carving stands 13ft (4m) high in Whitefield Woods in Brading on the island. It is a long, narrow Green Man, measuring approximately 16in (40cm) wide. An oak leaf is carved into the forehead of the face. Willow leaves are interwoven through the beard. It took two days to create the carving. Paul did the initial shaping of the figure using a chainsaw. “I get as close as I can this way to the finished design. After that I tidy it up with a sander and grinder, mallet and chisel.” ›
Photography: Marcus Matthews, Paul Sivell, Alamy
n enigmatic face carved into a dead section of a living oak tree peers out at the world. Foliage is woven around his face and through his hair. This strange figure is a modern representation of a mysterious figure with a long history back to the Middle Ages. The Green Man is a carving in wood or stone that shows a head surrounded by, or made from, leaves. The foliage depicted represents British native flora such as oak, hawthorn, maple and ivy. It weaves around the face or grows from it. At first glance, the rich verdant foliage appears to represent springtime and rebirth. A closer look reveals a more sinister figure. The original Green Men, the majority found in churches, were seldom merry. Their frowning figures are encased in mystery, their origins lost. Today, carved into trees across the country, they have taken on a new role as champions of the woods.
With hair and beard of intricately carved oak leaves, this Green Man sits in woodland at Beacon Hill Country Park near Woodhouse Eaves, Leicestershire.
“I am the stirring in the Spring, Leaves of green and sap for blood You’ve carved my face in wood and stone, And I look down upon your prayers and song, But though I dwell in your halls and churches It’s in the wild free woodland that I belong” Paul Sivell
When disturbed, the bittern stands motionless among reeds with its neck, head and bill held pointing upwards.
In steady flight, the bittern’s neck is retracted. It has broad wings with rounded tips.
the reed blower In the spring England’s reedbeds resonate with the booming mating call of the elusive bittern
a name of two halves
The first part of scientific name, Botaurus stellaris, relates to the bittern’s unique call, deriving from taurus, the Latin for bull. The second element of the name refers to the bird’s spotted, or ‘starry’ plumage. It is this that allows it to blend effortlessly into its reedy habitat. Its folk names are equally evocative, among them Bogbumper, Mire Drum and Butterbump.
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s the thin spring sun gently warms the tranquil pools of the reedbed, life stirs amid the stands of phragmites or common reeds. A male bittern is looking for a mate. While its presence is difficult to detect, it can certainly be heard. A low, resonant honk punctuates the stillness. The bittern’s distinctive ‘boom’ is the lowest frequency bird song in Britain. A distinctive sound This booming call is the bittern’s trademark feature. The sound is sometimes compared to a distant foghorn or the noise made by blowing across the top of a milk bottle. It is produced by the males, between January and the end of April, and especially at dawn and dusk. Highly resonant, it can be heard up to three miles away. It has long baffled people as to how it was made. The medieval writer Geoffrey Chaucer thought the bird made the sound by blowing into the water. In the 17th century, Daniel Defoe argued that it did so by blowing into a reed. ›
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up glastonbury tor
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A spring walk combines ancient buildings, myths and legends with breathtaking views across the Somerset countryside
The path up to St Michael’s Tower on the 500ft high Glastonbury Tor (main). The ruined nave of the once powerful Glastonbury Abbey (top right). The view over the fertile land of the Somerset Levels from the top of the Tor (right).
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LandScape in Spring Spring issue on sale 11 March
a feast for spring dawn’s choristers containers full of colour Photography: Richard Faulks
wildflower eggs
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