We began November well before it got light. A small gaggle of Marshians assembled over the Holy Brook and made our way to the venerable Oak set on a raised mound in the middle of the marsh.
As we walked across the fields a Barn Owl flew by just a few yards away.
This old tree is surrounded by a ditch, completely circular and of mysterious origins. It is probably much lower now than it once was and the oak tree has grown on it for a hundred years or more. The mound is obviously older, but how much older nobody knows.
I fancy that it was used at a time when birds were to be found on the marsh in vast flocks.
Birds in such numbers are a rare sight and only in a very few places can they be seen now. But they do exist and probably did here before we did untold damage to their habitat.
Before the advent of cold storage birds would be caught for food, fowled, using nets. In medieval Reading the people in the Abbey would have consumed wild birds served up to the staff and visitors. They would have been caught and put in baskets and they’d keep fresh until they were needed.
They’d probably have scythed the fields for hay towards the end of summer and as the water flooded the land birds would descend into the wet stubble. A team of fowlers could use nets and spring them over the birds in the shallow water. Of course they’d need somewhere to sit in wait, and to observe. Building a mound as a bird hide would be an obvious part of the plan.
The mounds would have been somewhere a Jay would bury acorns or a Victorian landscaper would plant a tree. So this oak is on a place inextricably linked to the management of the land and the biodiversity there.
How appropriate then to gather to celebrate the end of the warmth and light and the start of the long dark winter. The pagans called this Samhain. We don’t need any excuse to celebrate, but we jump on any that come along. And the roots of this celebration go back into deep history, just like the our old marshland does.
The night before was that tacky celebration of plastic decorations and sugary sweets acquired from a supermarket or petrol station, mainly intended to relieve the poor of their earnings, tax by the wealthy. Halloween. The roots of which lie in the Samhain itself but exploited by capitalism. Ours was much more respectful of the planet. We quietly sat under the oak while one of us recited a little prayer to the land.
“Blessed earth, we thank you for the harvest you have given, we pledge never to take your gifts for granted
Warmed by the sunrise, we let our burdens fall away like autumn leaves returning to the earth.
As the wheel turns, restore the waters, replenish the soil and the roots, from the trials of the dry summer.
May the willow stand watch in peace, and may the spirits of all natural things rest gently beneath winter’s cloak until spring returns.
From harvest’s end to winter’s rest, may the blessings of Samhain bring peace to ourselves, to the sacred earth, and to our loved ones, both among us and beyond the veil”
And with that we set to work to finish our cutting of the reeds and sedges in the hope that the birds would return in numbers that existed in the distant past.
As soon as we set foot on the marsh Snipe and Teal took flight and landed a bit further west. Then as we ventured further away from the path a Jack Snipe flew up from beneath a Marshian’s step. A very rare and welcome sight, and yet another harbinger of good fortune.
As we worked as if our little prayer was answered another omen appeared in the shape of a Great White Egret who circled overhead and, as if in an acknowledgment of our faith in nature, settled on the marsh a few yards away.
A few years ago men with guns came here to shoot the birds for sport. They weren’t local, and the people who lived in the estates nearby would hear the shots and rush over to confront them. Sometimes the hunters would arrive before dusk and put out decoys to tempt ducks to land. The decoys would get stolen while they looked on. People would shine lights into the hunters eyes to temporarily blind them. The birds would always be wary whenever anyone turned up afterwards with or without guns.
Now the birds turn up because Marshians are caring for the marsh. In fact some birds follow us around the marsh. Stonechats have been nicknamed Marsh Robins as they respond to us like Robins do to gardeners.
