Down to Earth

NEW COLUMN: KIM BERLIN – A newcomer to the Rock

Dear Dorset – we need to have a chat...

Ian Baird is a Kimberlin –an incomer to Portland from West Dorset. Here he writes a letter from the island to the mainland, inspired by his love for the isle.

Dear Dorset This is going to be… difficult, but it needs to be said. You haven’t been the best of partners, have you? Whilst you have been beautifully maintained, with your quaint villages, lush valleys and vibrant heathlands, I have been pillaged and looted, my body scarified, my saltmarsh drained and much of my human history erased. But I’m still here. And I’m proud of everything that I am. I have asked a friend, no, a lover, to write these words. He came from the east – not so far away, but far enough to have gazed upon my beauty without prejudice – and I drew him to me. He was in awe of my high Verne Hill, once an Iron Age fortress. He saw the grace of my gentle southward slope into the ocean. He was filled with wonder at storm-washed umbilical Chesil, raised his head to my towering West Cliff and I cooled him with the healing waters of my shores. Like many others, his feet came willingly to wander my myriad paths and byways. But I have heard that unkind things are said of me by others, in your lands, Dorset; that I am a dump, not worth visiting, nothing there… But they never visit, do they? They don’t bathe in the ginclear sea that laps at my feet. They’ve not been to Church Ope Cove, beautiful and

secluded. Have they seen the medieval buildings of Rufus Castle, St Andrew’s ruins and the windmills? Do they know that London and St Paul’s were hewn from my East Weares, where they can wander amongst flowers and butterflies in peace and solitude? Do they visit my fascinating museum or the castle on my northern shore? Have they been to Georgian St George’s or the extraordinary graveyard, so filled with history, human endeavour and tragedy? Are any of them aware of those animals and plants, singularly

evolved, to live here and nowhere else on earth? The Cretaceous Silver Studded Blue butterfly, Portland Lavender and Portland Hawkweed? Or that the Large Tortoiseshell butterfly, extinct in the UK is alive and well here? Last year, my writer went to a village in West Dorset where he used to live and spoke to a man who had lived there all his life. ‘I’ve never been to Portland’ he said. ‘I’ve been windsurfing down there, but no further’. Similarly, two ladies in Bridport, tight lipped, ‘We don’t know Portland’. They don’t come because they don’t know what I have to offer and tales of denigration proliferate. A little while ago there was a plague among the people but when they could travel again, they did come. They came from London and Birmingham and many other places. But not from Dorset, unless it was to use me as a racetrack. I am the Isle of Portland, independent and proud. Wight gets that distinction! Why am I just referred to as ‘Portland’? Things have to change, Dorset. I have so much to offer. Don’t ruin it for us now…

Portland Sea Lavender, Limonium recurvum ssp. portlandicum

PAGAN VIEWS by JO BELASCO

One thing which is undeniable is that the London Plane tree in Abbotsbury is a whopping beauty. She has made that space where she was planted in the valley between St Catherine’s Chapel and Nunnery Grove a special place for many. Pagans and Christians alike are known to sit in her shadow and each ‘pray’ in their own manner. It’s the closest to a world tree we have around here, with the roots so visible and snake-like. We can agree it’s amazing, but where did it come from? Not surprisingly, many different origins are claimed by various people. Some say it was John Trandescant the younger, the famous 17th botanist who created the environment for the American sycamore and the Oriental plane tree to mingle in his gardens in Vauxhall, London. The trees were not at first known as London planes as they were initially used to line the boulevards of the landed gentry’s vast gardens. Indeed, the few I have tracked down in Dorset are all in what used to be manorial pleasure gardens. In the 18th century Bryanston School was still a country seat for the Portman family. The Portman family were housing developers in London. The Lords and Ladies of Dorset were set apart from the ‘great unwashed’ and kept a tight circle. The Lords brushed shoulders at Westminster and at shooting weekends at each other’s mansions. In a book by the late Rodney Legg one can see an etching of Bryanston House’s formal gardens still very much influenced by French styles. It’s not too much of a stretch of the imagination to think that Portman, who owned property in Berkeley Square (only two miles from Trandescant’s Vauxhall gardens) got hold of some seedlings through his connections and tried them out in Bryanston’s gardens. He would have discovered how tough and adaptable they are. Then when he extended his building schemes across London he may have taken the London Plane with him. Not too much of a stretch of the imagination either to place Mr Henry William Portman in a ballroom tête-àtête with the first countess of Ichester, Lady Elizabeth FoxStrangways, who started what is now Abbotsbury Sub -Tropical gardens in the middle to late 18th century. “Did you bring the London Plane seedling, I so want one for my new gardens by the sea?” “I did, Lady Elizabeth, but I warn you it is a beautiful thug. Grow it outside the wall of your garden!”

SPECIAL BRANCH: The London Plane at Abbotsbury A thug of beauty

A splash of scarlet to brighten the winter drabness

JOHN WRIGHT is a naturalist and forager who lives in rural West Dorset. He has written eight books, four of which were for River Cottage. He wrote the award-winning Forager’s Calendar and in 2021 his Spotter’s Guide to Countryside Mysteries was published.

I expect that most of us appreciate the dull colours of winter; they form such a contrast with the warmer seasons and present a more architectural feel to the landscape. However, a handful of fungi, evidently determined to brighten our walks whether we want them to or not, have more colourful ideas. The bright orange Velvet Shank is one, and the Scarlet Elfcup, pictured, is another. The latter little gem is most common in February, but mild winter weather often encourages an early fruiting, and it is likely that it is around now. This fungus (Sarcoscypha austriaca) is fairly common in deciduous winter woodlands, its brilliant scarlet standing out strikingly from the ubiquitous greys and browns. It forms hemispherical cups about 30mm in diameter on dead branches that have found themselves fallen among the leaflitter. There is a less common species, S. coccinea, which is distinguished by more or less straight hairs. For the taxonomically minded among you, Sarcoscypha species are related to morels, yeast and the many other cup-shaped fungi that appear in our woods, although the last are not confined to the wild –a particularly splendid crop of a large, brown cup fungus (Peziza cerea), once took up residence in the passenger footwell of my leaky car. Despite knowing that Scarlet Elfcups are not poisonous, I never thought to eat one until a foraging friend told me how nice they were. I duly fried one gently in butter and found it generally underwhelming and only saved as a comestible because of its faint but still unexpected hint of roses. Our very own Mark Hix served it at a dinner I was hosting in Lyme a few years ago and I must admit that it did, at least, look splendid. Something, then, to both delight and terrify your guests, though you may think that it is better left peacefully in the woods.

The West Dorset Magazine, January 2023 51 Down to earth Star-struck by knowing constellations

Kevin Quinn is a Dark Sky Custodian for the Cranborne Chase Dark Sky Reserve who lives in Piddletrenthide. Read his blog at theastroguy.wordpress.com

When I was a kid, there were no smartphones, no sky map apps, no local stargazers that I knew of, and no one to ask about the night sky. My dad pointed out the Plough, Orion’s Belt and the Seven Sisters, but that was it. They were all he knew. Despite being fascinated by the night sky, as most kids were and are (it was the time of the Apollo moon landings, after all), I knew no way of finding out about the night sky. These days there’s really no excuse for not recognising constellations, we all carry smartphones around with us all the time, and there’s a plethora of sky map apps available. But, I hear you say, why should I? What’s the point in being able to name/ recognise constellations? Well, the simple answer is knowledge brings its own rewards. Plus, being able to answer a child’s question about the name of a particular pattern of stars is priceless. Likewise, pointing out a constellation or asterism to a friend or partner during an evening stroll. Although I’ve always had an interest in astronomy, it was only when my daughter was young and asking such questions as ‘What’s that star called?’ or ‘Is that the Big Dipper?’ that I became determined to be able to answer her questions. Once you start to recognise a few constellations they become like old friends –reliably popping up at the same time every year, regular as clockwork.

And when they do reappear, the sense of familiarity, the awareness of our place in the solar system’s calendar they impart, and the knowledge that a particular constellation can herald the arrival of spring, for example, gives a warm, fuzzy feeling that unites us with humanity down the ages. The fact that stone-age people who painted Orion the hunter and Taurus the bull on cave walls tells us of their importance to early people… a connection lost to many of us these days. Then there’s knowing the astronomical objects within the constellations: open and globular star clusters, nebulae, galaxies etc. This takes things to another level. For example, and as I’ve mentioned in the past, just being able to point out the Andromeda galaxy to people never gets old. For a start, why not spend an hour scanning the dark winter sky with just the naked eye, or better yet with a pair of 10x50 binoculars? Start with Draco in the north, and work your way through Ursa Major in the northeast, Gemini, Auriga and Orion in the south, through Pisces, Andromeda, Pegasus in the east, and finish up with Cygnus setting in the northwest. Becoming familiar with the constellations is so worthwhile and rewarding, and you’re bound to spot something that piques your interest/curiosity … be it a richly-coloured star, a dazzling star cluster, or even an oddly intriguing fuzzy smudge. One last thing to look out for: Comet C/2022 E3 (ZTF) is binocular visible low in the northwest just after sunset, but rises again just after midnight, and will be nicely positioned for observing pre-dawn.

KNOWLEDGE IS ITS OWN REWARD: Orion and Taurus due south of Piddletrenthide and above, Gemini to the east of Piddletrenthide

BEACHCOMBING with JO BELASCO BA Hons History of Architecture and Design

If I ever do a talk about beach metal detecting I have a great plan for my entrance. To the soundtrack of the Queen song I Want to Break Free, I will sashay along swinging NOT a vacuum cleaner as Freddie Mercury famously did but, yes, a metal detector! Unfortunately, that would be the end of my lecture as I know very little about this subject – luckily others do. On Weymouth beach front I met Stuart, who is a member of both Weymouth and Yeovil metal detectorists’ clubs. He told me he sometimes finds silver sixpences. The coins were probably from a time when icecreams cost sixpence at Rossi’s Ice cream parlour, which was established in 1937. On the Esplanade there is still a Rossi’s ice cream shop. Stuart has also found jet and amber rings. I was curious to know if the metal detector he used was one specially made to cope with sand. Stuart said nope, it was a general use detector. Next I wanted to know what brand Stuart used... but my voice conked out. I have had a throat condition for a year but now my voice is back but just a tad rusty. Talking of rust, Stuart also showed me what he usually finds –rusty nails and tin openers. It’s good to have realistic expectations of what you may find, he told me – so you don’t get disappointed and let the detector rot in the shed forever after. On Sandsfoot beach I bumped into Richard. He was using a Garrett and kindly showed me the various buttons, whistles and dials. Some indicate what metal your machine has found, others how deep down the treasure is. Richard, too, had had a lot of luck with rings. Many he found were lost down wooden groins and old posts. “You have to imagine where holiday makers would sit,” suggested Richard, “and then look in those places.” Another sunny day and I met father and son – Dan and Teddy Skelton, near Castle Cove beach. In the photo Teddy is proudly showing us a bell which he found. His dad Dan said it was a great hobby for a father and son to do together. Weymouth Town Council allow metal detecting but just request that on busy days the searching should pause between 10am and 6pm. Happy hunting!

IN THE HUNT: Dan and Teddy Skelton, Stuart showing some coins he has found on Weymouth beach, Richard at Castle Cove and, right, the dial on his Garrett

Watching the detectorists enjoy their happy hunting

Sally Cooke lives in Tolpuddle with her husband, two grown-up sons and spotty rescue dog. She loves to photograph and write about the everyday wildlife she sees in her garden and on her daily dog walks. You can follow Sally on Instagram at Sparrows in a Puddle or contact her with your wildlife observations at sally@westdorsetmag.co.uk

I was very young when I first started to take an interest in the birds in the garden. Keen to encourage me, my dad found out his Observer’s Book of British Birds and gave it to me as my first bird book. As a teenager in the 1950s he had written his name and the date inside the front cover and suggested I do the same underneath. As I pored over each of the beautiful little illustrations, I noticed dad had put little pencil ticks on the different birds he had seen, and it was so exciting for me to see if could spot the same birds in our garden some 25 years later. This was about the same time that the RSPB launched their first Big Garden Birdwatch in 1979, where they encouraged everyone all over the country to tick off the birds they saw in their gardens. The number of people taking part in the annual survey has grown and grown and nearly 700,000 people took part in 2022, counting 11 million birds, and confirming it as the world’s biggest wildlife survey. It’s very easy to take part, you just watch your patch for one hour over the weekend of January 27-29 and record the different birds that visit. I will be watching my Tolpuddle garden and won’t be surprised to see a ‘quarrel’ (yes, that really is the collective noun) of around 20 house sparrows, the number one bird recorded nationally for 19 years running. I’ll be pleased if I see one or two of the runner-up blue tit and the third-placed starling, and I’m sure the fourth, fifth and sixth-placed birds of woodpigeon, blackbird and robin will all be present. With over 40 years’ worth of data the RSPB have observed some worrying trends. Although still commonly seen in gardens, the numbers of sparrows and starlings have dropped dramatically. Song thrush sightings have fallen by 81% since 1979 and, over recent years, they’ve also observed a sharp decline in greenfinch numbers due to disease, though numbers rallied a bit last year. The gardens of the UK are thought to total more than three times the area of all the country’s nature reserves combined, so keeping our Dorset gardens naturefriendly and providing clean food and water for the birds can really make a difference. You can register for the Big Garden Birdwatch at rspb.org.uk and get a free guide. I would love to hear from you about the birds you see in your garden, email your photos to sally@westdorsetmag. co.uk and you may see them in print next month’s edition.

FEATHERED FRIENDS: A quarrel of house sparrows and, below, a robin and a blue tit No need to quarrel about it, just take part in survey