A walk in the woods and gnarled oak that dates back to Civil War

A STRANGE transformation has occurred in the hazel bushes near my mother’s home in Caversham, where I am living temporarily while continuing to recuperate from my broken hip.

The fragile, brittle hazel catkins have broken from their icy shackles and are swaying like lamb’s tails or belated Christmas decorations — a welcome sight.

Then a powerful gale blasts from due west. The wind attacks full on as I go walking into the village centre for some essentials.

Upon my return, many catkins are strewn across the ground under and between my feet, disintegrating.

It’s a little sad as they’ve only just emerged but then that is nature.

As I look down, I also notice an abundance of nutritious dog-rose hips crushed underfoot by human feet.

Lifesavers for winter migrants and resident birds, I cannot work out why this bounty has not been consumed.

Is this evidence that our winter tourists from Scandinavia have not made their annual journey?

We have been experiencing unpredictable weather for a while now and I wonder when it will settle down, if ever.

I begin to prepare for a walk with one of two friends, Dave Kenny and Matthew Coome, both naturalists, local historians and ardent walkers, but a turn in the weather and other commitments intervene so an excursion is ruled out for a few days.

As it turns out, this was a blessing as we had thought of exploring the River Thames between Goring and Henley.

The burst riverbanks and extensive flooding is like nothing I’ve seen in more than 20 years. Mute swans seem to be making the most of it from what I’ve seen.

The next day I slip outside to be greeted by an icy wind. A flurry of snow soon peters out.

Looking up, I see several red kites soaring impossibly high. There must be a reason for this.

I watch as wood pigeons strip purply berries of ivy that is wrapped around sycamore and elm trees. They’re challenged by a bullish male blackbird. Greenfinches and goldfinches twitter with enthusiasm, goldcrests go “diddly dee” and a dunnock claims his territory.

Mum’s friendly robin sings for his breakfast.

Finally, the allotted time comes and I’m off out with both my friends. What a treat.

Neither has met before but they get on famously as if they have always known one another.

Between the three of us, local knowledge, history and the love of nature coalesces into a shared pool.

We decide to visit Clayfield Copse and Blackhouse Woods in Emmer Green, not far from our respective homes.

This will be a test on how far I can walk without running out of steam. Although the sky is overcast, it is not raining, which is a plus.

Matthew parks in the car park by the tennis club and out we get. I have not set foot here for nearly two years and I’m very interested to see how things have moved on.

In particular I’m keen to examine an expanse of former farmland that at my last visit was turning from basic scrub to early stage woodland. It can happen very quickly and I’m not disappointed.

From the outset the going is sticky and slippery underfoot due to the predominance of surface clay but I’m more confident with my two pals accompanying me.

We walk north with a deep ditch — presumably man-made — to our left.

To either side are oak, ash and field maple trees. Below them, blackthorn, hazel and hawthorn have been flailed back and look a little raw.

One of the ash trees exhibits signs of both die-back disease and regrowth. Strange.

We speculate on the purpose of the ditch. At its tip lies a largish pool of water which may be a clue as to its origin.

A short distance away carrion crows are strutting about, presumably in search of earthworms. Magpies maraud in silence.

We enter Blackhouse Wood. Between the widely spaced trunks a large pit is a third-filled with groundwater.

There are many springs and ponds, seasonal and permanent, between Emmer Green and Henley, all down to geography.

We take a long look at a wild service tree that never seems to grow but is very much alive.

I sit down on a conveniently placed iron bench for a few minutes to take in the surroundings. Apart from a passing woman walking her dog, all is quiet and peaceful.

Dave spots an odd looking, orange-coloured gelatinous fungus with little black spots on a decaying hawthorn branch.

I have no idea what it is but discover later, from a mycological expert acquaintance, that it is Tremella mesenterica, a winter specialist and a beauty.

The three of us think to make our return through the middle of Clayfield Copse but on our approach find our preferred entrance into the trees impossible as the earth is saturated and in places under water.

Instead we head back a little to more open ground to take a detailed look at the saplings that are beginning to dominate this former arable field. There is a myriad of grassy paths here.

A couple of jays flash past as I take a rest on a wooden bench.

Just as in Balmore Walk by Mum’s house, hawthorn, blackthorn and dog rose are laden with nutritious fruit, albeit now decaying.

The highlight of the day is saved for last. Back at the car, Dave says that he wants to introduce Matthew and me to a local treasure.

We leave the car park, turn left into the main road and then right into the maze of Caversham Park Village, take a few further turns into a close and there it is — a pollard oak standing proud in a cleft in the land between houses.

About 20 feet high, the trunk is hollow but some 8m in girth. I guess it must be at least 800 years old and now a complete ecosystem in its own right, a monument to nature.

Dave informs us that in local legend the tree was used as a lookout post by royalists during the Civil War when it was part of extensive parkland. It’s that old.

I managed to walk over a mile today, a significant achievement for me. This means that I can start planning ahead for the coming months and will be able to revisit the many wondrous places that I love.

As I am dropped off back at the house, I spot a large flock of redwing, which makes me feel good.

vincent.ruane@hotmail.com