NORTH DOWNS & BEYOND

Priest Hill. Until the Second World War it was north Surrey farmland, a mix of arable (wheat, barley, oats and potatoes) with a small herd of Jersey cows that were used for milking. A demand for the payment of death duties meant that the owners were forced to sell, which in 1942 brought in the tidy sum of £100,000 from Surrey and London County Councils. The farm was demolished in 1956 which then lead to the building of Ewell Technical College and the creation of playing fields for the use of Tulse Hill School, used to service its 2,000+ pupils, who were bussed in from South London. When Tulse Hill closed in 1990 the playing fields, changing rooms, tennis courts and cricket nets were abandoned to vandals, graffiti artists, fly tippers, travellers, glue sniffers, motor bike off-roaders... and me. I used to wander across the fast vegetating land, a vast open wasteland, to see what alien plants were springing up and what (few) birds I could find. A bit of the land was saved (Glyn Schoo...

The heading of this post may give you the false impression that I had some sort of connection with David Hockney - maybe that we shared studio space, or he was a drinking buddy - but no, we never met and he certainly had never heard of me, whereas I, of course, had heard of him. It would be virtually impossible to think of a list of the highly creative individuals that blessed the 1960s and not have him in their number: The Beatles, Twiggy, Terence Stamp, David Bailey, Mary Quant, David Hockney… they all slip off the tongue with ease and without so much as a need to think about it because they were all so iconic of that era - and continue to be so, so strong are their legacies. ‘A Bigger Splash’ and ‘Mr and Mrs Clark and Percy’ are just two of his paintings that will be familiar to many and just as redolent of the brightness and freedom of the 1960s as is ‘Sgt. Pepper’ and the mini-skirt. If I’m being honest, I’m not old enough to fully appreciate what was going on at this time - I can...

On the morning of 2 September 2006 I turned over the final egg box in the garden MV trap (here in Banstead, Surrey) to be surprised and delighted by a Striped Hawk-moth, a decent migrant record especially for a site so far inland. A once in a lifetime back garden capture - or so I thought. Fast forward to the morning of 2 June 2026, same site, same MV trap, with the same result - only this time a Striped Hawk-moth was the first species to be seen, hanging onto the cone of the trap. There are plenty of grizzled old moth trappers who will not record this in their gardens (even coastal ones) so I am understanding of my good fortune. They are smart, as can be seen from the images above and below. I had switched on the trap with a vague (oh alright, strong) hankering after an Eastern Bordered Straw, a species that has been almost invasive during late May and early June (I'd seen three at Dungeness recently). I still live in hope that the odd one may still be floating around. In the same...

Ever since I was a young lad I've liked to walk. Offers of a lift would be politely turned down - I wanted to walk. To see what was around me, whether that be a panoramic view, interesting architecture or getting a feel for an area. In later life it also included looking at the wildlife. When I go into London I'll shun the underground as there are parts of the capital that are hidden away from you unless you walk the pavements - lively side-streets, tucked away museums, discreet churches, fantastic pubs. When I was very ill (some 30 years ago now) I refused to lie down and used my walking as a way to keep fit both mentally and physically. And now that I am well advanced in years I use walking as a way of oiling my joints, stretching my muscles and helping the grey matter to keep working. I do not take my ability to 'put in the steps' for granted and when I do it is an act of celebration and, if I'm being honest, a way of trying to keep ageing at bay. There is, I...

May 30th. There were none at dawn, but a couple of hours later they suddenly appeared, as if dropped en mass onto the very tip of Dungeness - Painted Lady butterflies (above). Every flowering Red Valerian plant held them and on approach they fell from the flower-heads, either onto the shingle or would circle off together, taking the short flight to the nearest source of nectar. Others did not move, busily feeding, refuelling from their cross-channel flight and getting ready for their next northward push. There were hundreds, possibly low thousands. I walked the road northwards from the lighthouses to the estate entry gate and sought out the Red Valerian - not as much as formerly found - each clump dripping with this migrant lepidoptera. It was mesmerising, these orange, black and white visitors from North Africa and the continent that had shared their arrival alongside some saharan dust and a cast of rare migrant moths. By lunchtime they had all gone, melted away. It left me feeling be...

"Prrrp...prrrp..." There aren't many bird calls that can illicit such a strong response from the birder than that of a European Bee-eater. They are uncommon enough to be valued, colourful of plumage to the extreme, graceful in flight and are rainbows with wings. Redolent of the Mediterranean and the Middle East they bring glamour and excitement to our ordinary world. So when I heard one call whilst eating an ice-cream and sitting chatting to Dave Bunney I knew that the day had just got a whole lot better - and more were to come! That afternoon (May 24th) we were to be treated to at least four of them flying around the point, giving their position away with calls to then reward us with low fly passes. Two of them decided to hang around Kerton Road Pit for long enough to enable all-comers to feast their eyes upon these apparitions calved from the sun, perching up on wires or sweeping above in the blue skies, feeding and calling, feeding and calling, feeding and calling. Bli...

I’ve just returned from a further spell of 12 days at Dungeness in Kent, making use of the facilities offered by Dungeness Bird Observatory (DBO). Once again this magical shingle kingdom bestowed upon me a trip that was full of highlights - further posts will cover the birds, invertebrates and detail one very long walk that was undertaken in the heat - but this post will concentrate on the emotions that were stirred during this late-May period, owing to a mixture of feeling the spirit of the Ness, interacting with the people who populated it and the sheer wonder of being able to walk across the shingle - at different times of day - and feel blessed to be part of something so huge that could inexplicably and suddenly collapse into something so small and personal. I cannot put my finger on it, and in some respects am glad that I can’t, but there are special forces - benign powers - that govern this corner of Kent. The overriding theme of this stay was of heat. Rarely have I felt so hot i...

Harry Cawkell would tap his pipe out, lean back into the common room chair, survey the eager faces before him and then begin. Anecdotes and stories, gossip and rumour, all had a place in the show that had now started. Harry, Dungeness Bird Observatory’s (DBO) long standing honorary secretary, loved nothing more than to talk about ‘the old times’ with any birders that happened to be in his orbit when he popped into the obs. For those of us who had known Harry for a few years the stories would be familiar, but we listened with avid interest regardless. Some of his stories were so familiar, and so rarely did he deviate in their telling, that we would know exactly what words were about to be spoken. Some of these became catchphrases. Harry’s stories - and Harry’s telling of them - became part of the Dungeness story itself. And then, in 1999, Harry died. And with him went those stories… They didn’t entirely go. Some of us remembered them, or at least the odd personally selected highlight. I...

Banstead Downs sits just to the south of the Greater London boundary - in fact, if you cross the road at its northern limit you will be straying into the London Borough of Sutton. This relatively modest area of chalk downland has a decent record of natural history recording (no doubt due to the close proximity of London) and so for the local naturalist there is the pleasure of being able to browse historical species lists across several groups. Having lived in the general area for 55 years my ventures onto this particular downland were primarily in search of its birds, plants and butterflies, but recently that has shifted to dipping in-and-out of the wonderful array of invertebrates that it has to offer. This morning I had a small window of opportunity to go exploring. There is one small area on the eastern flank that I make a bee-line for, with low vegetation choked with Bramble, Stinging-nettle, Cow Parsley and Hogweed (with a dash of Horse-radish for good measure). It is next to a l...

Dungeness is a superb location for seeking out invertebrates, be they common-place or specialists. For a 'jack of all trades' like myself - and certainly no expert - such immersion into the world of insects can be daunting, but ultimately highly rewarding. Identification down to species level will not be possible for many of the individuals that you might come across, but sometimes just being able to identify the creature before you to a specific family is reward enough. And, at times, you just need to admit defeat when you realise that the bee you are watching might just be a hoverfly, or even a wasp - it is OK to hold your hands up and surrender! You are also opening yourself up to life on a steep learning curve when looking at tiny insects with the aid of a magnifying glass or a loop, only to realise that there are even smaller insects alongside them. Are these even smaller beasts a different species or nymphs of the larger ones with them? Questions, questions... A few of my...

It was but a month ago that I suggested that staying at Dungeness Bird Observatory (DBO) might be a thing of the past for me. Seeing that I have just returned from a week’s residency at that very same establishment proves that I really do not know my a*** from my elbow… And what an enjoyable week it was. There may not have been the volume of migrants that were hoped for,  but there was rarity, there was a more than passable passage at sea, the invertebrates were forthcoming and the pleasure to be gained from meeting up with friends old and new was priceless. It will come as no surprise to even the most casual of visitors to this blog that the shingle, once again, burrowed its way deep inside of me and on more than a few occasions I found myself stopping in my tracks to take in special moments - I will try to put these moments into words, although words can rarely evoke the feelings that these jolts of joy produce. Star billing went to Dungeness’s third Iberian Chiffchaff, found sin...