Our annual trip to Devon kicked off on the 1st of the month and a long weekend lay in wait for some walking, birding and boozing.
It was the WMBC’s spring foray into darkest Devon, and before joining the rest of the group at the Best Western Passage Hotel in Kingsteignton, Pete and I ran up a few hours in Haldon Forest Park.
Clocking the Siskins and Coal Tits on the feeders, we then took one of the circular trails through the forest, detouring slightly to visit the raptor viewpoint from which we could hear a thrush but little else.
Exminster Marshes proved more profitable with the poster boy for the day – a Short-eared Owl quartering the fields not far from the car park.
The marshes are always a good diversion with stretches of marsh (the clue’s in the name) and squelchy grass fields spanning the points between the railway lines to the canal.
A pint of Yellowhammer ale in the Turf Hotel after a yomp to the estuary shore supplied all the criteria of our initial aims. A few waders pootled around the mudflats as we quaffed some ale and made inroads on huge slabs of fruit cake (a staple accompaniment on a par with scratchings and peanuts).
The next day and a very similar (but not unwelcome) itinerary to previous years with a first stop at Berry Head for Cirl Buntings and Wheatear, then Broadsands for Coffee and Pasties, and Dawlish Warren for Whatever the Wind Blew In.
Berry Head was in much better condition than last year without the howling rain and crashing wind. The buntings weren’t showing particularly well, but some sprightly Wheatears were flitting around by the quarry.
We returned to the car park and left 22 minutes past our allotted 2 hour stay and were subsequently fined £85 by the marauding car park company via their CCTV. Rip-off doesn’t come close so a strongly worded letter must surely be in the offing.
Broadsands has a very convenient café from which to view the sea for the lazy watcher, and much to enjoy around its little circular shoreline. A pair of Peregrines bombed through overhead, and a Kestrel stuck to the script, hovering above the lower slopes of the surrounding hillside.
At Dawlish Warren, the walking took us over the sapping dunes alongside the golf course and onto the hide facing across the strand and shoreline. Nothing out of the ordinary but the ordinary is always welcome with waders, plovers, gulls, mergansers, egrets and terns tearing up the place.
On Sunday, we took off for Bowling Green Marsh on the east bank of the Exe Estuary. Plenty of waterbirds crowded the grassy banks and swirled around in the pools. BGM overlooks the Clyst and the rising tide often pushes waders off the mudflats. The tide was taking a time-out when we got there, many of the birds blurry in the distance.
So it was off to the fern and gorse of Woodbury Common for Dartford Warblers and a general mooch about, catching the odd glimpse of these elusive little perks of a bird as they ducked and dived in the undergrowth.
Having stayed overnight at the Manor Hotel in Exmouth, we made the slow run back to Brum via Ham Wall and Shapwick Fen in Somerset. Lots of Great White Egrets, a Bittern and Glossy Ibis provided a decent haul in between the prolonged showers (actually, prolonged drenching, more like).
The Rotter’s Club, that most excellent coming-of-age novel by Jonathan Coe, was being adapted at the Birmingham Rep. A World Premiere, no less (according to the flyer).
Always a sucker for a World Premiere, I roped in Steve B and we popped along for the show, performed by the Rep’s very able and talented youth theatre.
Here’s some of the review by Richard Lutz and a photo from the Birmingham Press website: http://thebirminghampress.com:
The Rotters’ Club: Sparky, cheeky and fresh faced in a changing world
There’s a telling photograph on the cover of The Rotters’ Club theatre programme. It shows a group of mid-seventies grammar school boys in Birmingham: cocky, ready to roll, happy to pose and be posey in front of the camera. They’re the aspirational class lads. And Jonathan Coe’s novel brought their hopes, anxieties and fantasies sharply into focus in his successful novel of the same name.
Now it comes to The Birmingham Rep. And what a pleasure it is to see a Birmingham story, written by a Birmingham writer, staging the premiere in a Birmingham theatre by a young troupe of…you guessed it…Birmingham actors.
It’s never easy to transplant a book into a play. Many times it fails. This one doesn’t. The novel’s context is stripped away by adaptor Richard Cameron leaving us with what has to be the bare bones of Coe’s book and its era: From Callaghan to Thatcher, from the end of frugality to the pub bombings, from emerging prosperity to the Longbridge strikes and even from the ennui of prog music to the anger and spit of the punk generation.
The transformation is told through the eyes of Ben Trotter clearly a youthful Jonathan Coe – who loves his music, loves his dream girl and has an even more deep love for his grammar school pals (Coe himself was a King Edward lad).
The young cast, some of them in their teens, acquit themselves well: refreshing, vigorous, foul mouthed, sparky and, for the boys at least, fetid, sweaty and, of course, obsessed by sex.
Leading the pack is Charlie Mills as Ben, a south Birmingham shaggy-haired lad whose daily path on the number 62 bus takes him from post-war family complacency to the more rigorous world of school. He experiences the universe of changing music, the anger of politics, the ugliness of racism and, through a family tragedy, the vileness of the IRA murders in the city in 1974. There is growth and there is the allure of the future. Mills does teenage yearnings and anxieties very well. An A for him.
Other cast members flesh things out – Jasmin Melissa Hylton as the young teenager who longs for her older married lover and Haris Myers has a nasty sting as a fresh-faced proto National Front supporter. All thankfully use the Brummie accent, that only adds to the sense of place.
So, full marks for this cast from The Young Rep troupe. They had to deal with the stripping back of a good novel but in all a production worth seeing and one for this city to be proud of.
The month’s fell-walk ventured into the heady heights of Leicestershire, a county no doubt agog with impending Premiership acclaim.
Here’s Adrian with his usual brief account:
Welcome to details of the next excursion this time to the pleasant hilly countryside of Leicestershire. Several miles of undulating loveliness with (on a bright day) some excellent views to be had. There is some Geology for the rock heads, some archaeology for me, something for the steam heads and a bit of tarmac for Roy. And dur dur dur dur, dur dur: a surprise feature on the walk. Might do a dur dur dur dur, dur dur surprise feature bit on walks from now on.
Burrough Hill, Leicestershire
Start: 10.00 am: Burrough Hill car park
GR: SK 766115
Map: Explorer sheet 246
Postcode for Sat Navs: LE14 2QZ
We end up going through the Hill Fort at the end so will probably not dwell there at the start although views from there are glorious on a bright day. Anyway if I start rabbiting on about the Iron Age at the end of the walk instead of the beginning, you can all make your excuses and leave or just sneak off behind my back so I am left talking to myself.
From the Hill Fort area we pick up the Old Dalby road. Sorry Roy don’t get too excited it was grassed over decades ago you will have to wait a bit longer for some tarmac. We go through a pleasant wood then turn to pick up the path to Somerby taking in the lovely Leicestershire countryside. The beer at the Saddle in Twyford where we shall go for lunch is pretty good. It must be. It is after a visit there that most people have spotted the Twyford Panther roaming in the village. Green King IPA was on last time I was there at Easter as well as some local panther-seeing inducing brews.
Anyway we make our way out of Somerby and Roy finally gets a bit of tarmac to walk on. I am then in two minds. No, not that of a fool or an idiot. There are two paths we could take. The one slightly longer but does disguise this walk’s dur dur dur dur, dur dur surprise feature for longer and may be the more pleasant. If there is time I shall take the slightly longer route (Editor’s note: we did). Either way we end up at White House Farm. From there we go through a very pleasant shallow valley to: dur dur dur dur, dur dur – THIS WALK’S SURPRISE FEATURE.
I could give details about it but then it wouldn’t be a surprise would it. From dur dur dur dur, dur dur THIS WALKS SURPRISE FEATURE, we make us way to nearby Twyford and the aforementioned pub The Saddle.
Details of pub menu are given below at the bottom. You can try and book your order if you want to. Might be best, as they may feel swamped otherwise. (Editor’s note: no point – they only had sandwiches on).
From the Saddle it is a little uphill but we go through some lovely open country side. Crossing the bed of the old railway line and eventually to the edge of the Church at Burrough Hill. From there we head for the Hill Fort, which we do have to climb up to. It took me 1 hour and 20 from the Saddle to the top of the Hill fort last time I did it. That was by no means pushing it. So we should do that stretch in well less than a couple of hours. But you do then have time to take in the Hill Fort and its glorious setting and surroundings. There is a toposcope in one corner of the fort. You can see back to a walk we did a few years ago just outside Leicester where the newly elected Chairman of the club won the annual raffle for a year’s subscription of a magazine. You will pass the bottom end of that walk on the A46.
This walk does undulate. I was originally going to push on from Twyford to the Carrington pub at Ashby Folville. But that would push the walk too far and the Carrington has been taken over by someone who wants to project manage it. Project Management in the civil service usually means a bloody shambles.
Bonus bird trip time: Off to Woolston Eyes in Cheshire to see what was occurring at this RSPB reserve, a superb wetland habitat, which lies next to the Manchester Ship Canal and can only be reached by scurrying across the Mersey via a steel bridge.
The eyes are beds that were (and still are) used for holding pumped dredgings from the canal. No3 bed is the main part of the reserve, and is actually an island accessible by a bridge with a secure gate. Pochard, Teal and Tufted Duck milled around on the pools; some Shoveler, Shelduck, and a couple of Little Grebes also did their bit. However, the flagship species is the Black-necked Grebe, and there were several of these bonny little birds bobbing along in the water.
Then it was off to a new reserve for the afternoon – Burton Mere Wetlands, which straddles the border between England and Wales on the Dee Estuary.
It was worth going just for the bluebells that floored the forest. Here’s a selection:
Burton Mere has been crafted by many years of hard work, which has restored reedbeds, fenland and farmland into a unique blended landscape. An impressive Visitors’ Centre leads out onto boardwalks and trails, which lead up past an Iron Age Hill Fort to Burton Point, affording wide, sweeping views over the estuary.
As well as the usual medley of waterfowl, a cluster of Yellow Wagtails proved to be a highlight, flitting between goose-laden grasses and often perching on the wire fencing.
The month’s Flat Disc Society theme was nuclear catastrophes (next month: rom-coms) marking the 30th anniversary of the disaster at the Chernobyl Nuclear Power Plant near Pripyat, Ukraine.
First up was a documentary, The Battle for Chernobyl, to get us in the mood. Then Threads – Barry Hines’ controversial 1984 film examining the effects of nuclear war by following two Sheffield families. Barry Hines died last month, and is best known for his novel A Kestrel for a Knave, filmed as Kes.
Threads was pretty meaty but if you want a more thorough review, here’s the lowdown from http://tvtropes.org:
“In an urban society, everything connects. Each person’s needs are fed by the skills of many others. Our lives are woven together in a fabric. But the connections that make society strong, also make it vulnerable.”
Threads, a 1984 docudrama produced by the BBC. Britain has quite the history of post-apocalyptic fiction on its DVD and book shelves, and Threads is amongst the most disturbing examples.
The film depicts the terrifying consequences of nuclear warfare upon an unsuspecting world. Set mainly in Sheffieldduring the height of the Cold War, Threads follows two families, amongst the other members of their town, as they deal with the absolute destruction of their society as a result of nuclear war with the Soviet Union (which at the time of release was somewhat more likely than it is today). The findings of the 1955 Strath Report noted that the UK was singularly vulnerable to a nuclear exchange due to the country’s small size, high urban population, and dependency upon food-imports. The film reflects this fairly accurate assessment of the UK’s likely situation with what the uninformed might call a hopeless and pessimistic outset – ending with a medieval world where agriculture predominates, starvation is ever-present, modern medicine doesn’t exist, martial law prevails, capital punishment is routine, children are undereducated savages, the ozone layer is gone, and Survival Of The Fittest is the only way to get by.
To any would-be viewers: if you’re looking for a story with a happy or hopeful ending this movie is not the way to go, and a strong stomach is pretty much mandatory. Its strict adherence to a realistic portrayal of nuclear war and its after-effects makes it one of the scariest films ever made.