Graveyard that’s full of natural life (good job council can’t mow it)

I HEAR my first chiffchaff (Phylloscopus collybita) of the year and am so happy to note its little onomatopoeical song.

It is a tiny, lightweight warbler with many arriving here to breed after crossing the vast Sahara desert. What a journey that must be for such a tiny bird.

The chiffchaff is a sort of dull, mossy green colour with dark legs, unlike its close relative the willow warbler (Phylloscopus trochilus) whose legs are a shade of yellow.

In contrast to its cousin, the willow warbler sings an extraordinarily evocative, descending cadence that once heard is never forgotten.

For some reason, they are both known as leaf warblers. To me they are the sound of summer.

I have a GP appointment on yet another dreary, wet April morning, which gives me the opportunity to check out Balmore Park in Caversham on my way to the surgery.

Although this strip of land is limited in size, it is buzzing with insect life which I put down to the fact that the local council has not yet mowed all the flowers.

Unfortunately, it is only a matter of time until that happens and such potential for a seasonal wildlife haven will be wiped out.

As I stroll through the grass, common limes (Tilia x europaea) are coming into belated leaf somewhat behind all other tree species.

Scentless Spanish bluebells are growing in numbers. I’m not sure if I like this insidious march but they do add colour. Cow parsley is full on, meadow buttercups shine above rafts of daisies. Pungent, white-flowered garlic mustard or Jack-by-the-hedge (Alliaria petiolata), a member of the mustard family, is at its peak, a food source of the orange tip butterfly.

May or hawthorn is bursting into fragrant flower. There is an old saying, “Ne’er cast a clout till may is out”. This has nothing to do with the month but the flowers on the small trees or shrubs.

Along my way a cultivated cherry is blooming. Semi-felled by a high wind, it sprawls on the ground among short-lived umbellifers. It will survive no doubt.

Where once sweet violets (Viola odorata) with their little, happy faces shone in the slanting sun of March, white dead-nettles have taken over to form extensive carpets calling out to the bees.

I negotiate my way down 25 tricky steps into the Hemdean valley, passing the pale green, four-petalled flowers of spindle (Euonymus europaeus) in a laid hedge among hazels.

The next day my friend Matthew, back from visiting his daughter in Australia, arrives to take us on a walk.

We decide to visit Rotherfield Greys with its lovely old cottages, one of my favourite country pubs and the fine church of St Nicholas, not to mention historic Greys Court nearby.

Our drive out is sublime. Nearly every tree along the Peppard Road is in leaf — limes, oak and beech.

The last blossoms of wild cherry are scattered hither and thither, blowing in the breeze.

The common at Rotherfield Peppard looks inviting, as does the entrance to the beautiful green tunnel of Dog Lane.

The hawthorns here are a few days later in coming into flower than their counterparts at home. That’s understandable as they inhabit more elevated ground.

We turn right at Bolts Cross, the road dotted with oaks among old hedgerows. At Greys Green the cricket pitch is a manicured fairytale and old cottages sit in a bucolic dream. We then turn right at the well-tended war memorial into Greys Road.

As we approach the village and after passing what appears to be an old toll house, I note that many roadside horse chestnuts are about to produce bold, white flowers in upright panicles.

Although they are not native, I love them and the autumnal memories of playing conkers way back when.

Matthew parks opposite the Norman church. A path to our left leads downhill north-east into Pindars Wood and on to an old track that heads into the valley bottom almost parallel to Pack and Prime Lane for a good mile towards Henley where the paths diverge.

We cross the road with caution and step into the churchyard where there are the inevitable yew trees.

Typically, the turf between gravestones is spongy so I walk carefully.

Some gravestones are so lichen-encrusted that any reference to the deceased is illegible. Others are easier to make out and one denotes the resting place of a baronet and his wife.

Plant-wise, the graveyard is full to brimming with common sedge (Carex nigra), daisies and meadow buttercups.

Red valerian (Centranthus ruber) is growing against an old brick and flint wall. The plant’s origin is Mediterranean but, sadly, is naturalised to compete with our own.

Matthew and I take a peek inside the church before
re-emerging into the sunlight and amble along a narrow path by the graveyard. This right of way is stone-dry, which is a surprise.

A chaffinch sings. The species seems to live around every rural church that I’ve visited, which shows how important these small oases are for nature.

By the wall is a cranesbill, herb-Robert (Geranium robertianum). It is a common plant but I have always loved its delicate, pink flowers with five petals.

We move on through a series of wooden gates, the first to cross a rectangular piece of land that is fenced off with no apparent purpose.

As we pass through the second gate I spot a sign on another metal gate to our right that says that it is private land and planted for biodiversity. I’m all for that.

A wonderful array of native trees and shrubs is growing there, chosen appropriately for the chalky soil.

As we move on we notice a small, dense collection of Norway spruce in a tiny enclosure in the middle of an open field — another oddity.

The deep hedgerow to our right is primarily populated by blackthorn (Prunus spinosa) and the occasional wayfaring tree (Viburnum lantana) — both in flower — and some dogwood (Cornus sanguinea).

It is encroaching upon the path and will need some trimming before long but is a great sight today.

I’m happy to see many flowers emerging on both sides of the path but the hoary plantain (Plantago media) stands out.

After going through another gate, we see some holly trees. The lower leaves look a bit vicious but those 6ft or 7ft from the ground are glossy-green and prickle-free, a defence against browsing deer perhaps. We lean against a metal gate to survey the land. Broad oak trees with rusty-coloured new leaves are scattered at even intervals among hedgerows that frame a peaceful panorama, a large field swamped by common sedge.

There’s a small patch of parched-looking bluebells under the tree cover. They should multiply over the years to come.

You can really read the land here. To the south it is easy to pick out The Paddock and Flowercroft Wood just across from an abandoned house at Crosslanes.

If followed all the way, the path crosses this broad field with great views on this high ground to meet a section of the Chiltern Way, a lovely leafy path in late spring that meets Dog Lane if you go south. Take a right turn and you will emerge on to Peppard Common.

All the paths that you can make out from this vantage point are clearly ancient.

As we turn to make our way back, a whitethroat (Curruca communis) bursts into song like a chatterbox. Recently arrived house martins career across the sky hunting for airborne insects, a heartwarming sight. Let’s hope they find some as down here I’ve only spotted a few hoverflies.

Before we return home I stand for a minute to look at the Maltsters Arms and recall one of my most happy days.

Matthew drops me off in Caversham. As I clamber up the steps home, I smell the scent of newly-mown grass. The council wrecking crew are back. What a shame.

vincent.ruane@hotmail.com