crayfish | Life in the English Cotswolds

I think this title may be a little misleading, for the river that runs past our little stone-built cottage is neither deep nor that still. However, it isn’t like the raging rapids that surge through my other secret valley, the one in my beloved Exmoor. I guess it falls somewhere between the two – perhaps the title should be Still Glides the Stream after the poem by Wordsworth for the water, for much of its course through the valley, does seem to glide rather than flow.

*The river seems to glide past our little stone house rather than flow*

*The river in my other secret valley in the Exmoor National Park is more like a raging torrent*

‘Our’ Cotswold river, the Glyme, starts its course in the hills above the town of Chipping Norton. There is no big fanfare to announce its rising from the ground, instead there is a marshy bit of land and a trickle of water. How surprising it is to think that this is the source of our drinking water and mill wheel power, as well as two beautiful, landscaped lakes created in the 18^th century by Lancelot ‘Capability’ Brown. One of these lakes is at Kiddington Hall where, when I first moved to live in this area, I was employed as Head Gardener. Another of the lakes is at Blenheim Palace in Woodstock, a UNESCO World Heritage Site and one of relatively few Grade 1 listed gardens in the UK. By the time the water has reached these it has flown past our little stone cottage and threaded its way around the series of meanders, the photo of which I use as my blog header.

*There is no big fanfare to tell you that this is the start of a most beautiful river*

*The Italianate gardens at Kiddington Hall at the time I was Head Gardener*. They overlook the river

Nature abounds along the whole length of the river. At its headwaters on a series of natural terraces an abundance of wildflowers grow including the rare native Salvia pratense, more usually thought of as a deservedly popular garden plant. On the banks around our house and elsewhere, orchids can be found as can, on dryer spots, diminutive wild thyme (see my earlier blog, I Know a Bank Where the Wild Thyme Grows). In the river both native White-clawed Crayfish and their larger, hungrier cousins American Crayfish thrive, the latter crowding out the former which are now restricted to the higher reaches. Trout and pike can be caught (although the private fishing rights are jealously guarded) and the much smaller minnows – ‘tiddlers’ to us as children, stickleback and Miller’s Thumb fish are also present.

*Purple spikes of the rare Salvia pratense growing amongst a myriad of other wild flowers by the headwaters of the River Glyme*

It isn’t just flowers and fish that frequent the river for many of the larger mammals live by or near it – four of the six species of wild deer in England roam here: Fallow, Roe, Muntjac and Chinese Water Deer. Roe are native, whereas Fallow were reputedly introduced by the Romans two thousand years ago; the Muntjac and Water Deer are more recent introductions. Badger, Fox and Otter are shy, mostly nocturnal and so are rarely seen other than by the lucky few. Fortunately, I have been one of them! Birdsong, especially at this time of the year, announce the many different species that visit or breed here: Red Kite, Spotted Flycatcher, Kingfisher, Little Egret being just a few of my favourites.

*Otters frequent the river but are shy and rarely seen*

*Red Kite, once hunted to near extinction are now a common sight along the course of the river*

After Kiddington Hall, the river continues to wind its way through the villages of Glympton and Wootton where it is joined by the even smaller River Dorn. A mile upstream of that river is where we stabled our horses and like our own valley, it is secluded and not much frequented despite being very pretty. The Glyme next enters Blenheim Park, and as mentioned earlier, the river has been dammed and landscaped to create the palace’s Queen Pool and Lake. From there it cascades into the larger River Evenlode which in turn flows into the Thames a few miles from Oxford.

*The River Dorn, a tributary of the Glyme, snakes its way through the hils*

*The lake at Blenheim Palace created by the waters of the Glyme*

Human settlement around the banks of the Glyme didn’t just start with the Romans. Evidence of much earlier Britons can be found all along its length. Perhaps one of the most prominent, yet weirdly more often overlooked, is the hoar stone in the village of Enstone. Perhaps the reason for this is that by tradition the Old Soldier, as it is known, takes himself off to the river when thirsty to have a drink (see my blog post on the Old Soldier here). This may well be true for, despite the stones’ huge size, I have often gone past it only later to realise that I hadn’t actually noticed it being there! Further downstream there are earthworks known as Grim’s Ditch, a series of banks and ditches that probably served as boundary markers. When the ditch was being created some 3000 years ago, the Old Soldier was already 2000 years old. I rather like the thought that living and working on the land I and am part of an unbroken chain that dates back five millennia or more.

*This insignificant looking little bridge marks the place where Akeman Street, a road built by the Romans, crosses the River Glyme*

Footnote:
i) Still Glides the Stream is from William Wordsworth sonnet, written in the early 1800s – “….Still glides the stream, and shall forever glide….”
ii) Still Waters Run Deep: a proverb dating from the early 1400s or even earlier. Modern use refers to great passion hiding behind quietness. Originally it suggested that silence often hid danger and Shakespeare (who else!) picks up on this theme in Henry IV – “…smooth runs the water where the brook is deep….show he harbours treason….”

The autumnal equinox has just past and with it comes those rare, clear and sunny days when the outdoors beckons, and your senses become alive to every detail. Perhaps it is because you’re all too aware that soon there will be many days when the countryside is shrouded in a clinging, wet mist that takes hours to lift, if it does at all. An early-start walk is all the better for several reasons: the light is extraordinary, the air clear, and there are few, if any, people out and about. Perhaps, best of all, with the shortening days, early isn’t at some God-forsaken hour 😉

From our little, Cotswold stone-built house it is only a matter of yards to the river. Unlike the true days of Autumn, the river is also clear. All too soon, the warmth mixing with the cool will see the vapours rise, often hiding the surface and sometimes blanketing the whole valley. Today, despite the frequent rain showers we’ve been having the water levels are low, there are no birds singing and I have only a sentinel heron to share it with. Dismayed at my appearance, he flies off lazily with a scolding, harsh croak only to settle a few yards further away to watch me as I pass. No sooner have I done so than he returns to his favoured spot to continue his hunt for crayfish.

Although the sun is shining, it is still set low in the sky, casting lengthy shadows and intensifying the first changes of colour in the trees. As it climbs higher, so the colours will appear to fade and the shadows shorten, and another part of the early-morn magic will be lost for another day.

Reaching the plantation, the sun filters through the still-densely clothed branches, diffusing the light and giving it the look of an Impressionist painting. Perhaps this is how Monet got his inspiration when looking at his waterlily pool. The path stretching ahead just invites you to walk onwards. At its end, where it meets the lane, the first of the stone houses in the nearby village remain silent, as do they all, for their occupants are still either asleep or not yet venturing out. They are missing so much but I relish the silence and glad that it isn’t disturbed by the sounds of civilisation.

*Almost, if not quite*, *an Impressionist painting!*

There are four lanes that lead into the secret valley. The one that I now take is little used and the grass grows thickly in its centre. Another is similar and, with no passing places for a mile should you meet another vehicle, only those with good reversing skills tend to use it. Occasionally a ‘lost’ driver attempts it, thinking it will be a short cut to their intended route, only to end up traumatised by the experience.

*One of the little-use lanes out of the secret valley…*

All along the lanes, the banks and hedgerows are thick with berries and the fading flowers of summer. Every year I intend to make a note of what I see but, although I never do, I can be fairly certain of seeing the same late bloomers, sometimes right though to Christmas. These single flowers are extra-special, as they cling onto life reminding us of their glories past and giving us hope for the following year.

*l-r top: hawthorn berries, crab apples, campion*
*l-r bottom: cranes-bill, prickly sow-thistle*

I have reached the cattle sheds now at the top of the hill above my cottage. Large and airy, they are empty and silent now for the livestock is still out in the fields and making the most of the last of the summer grazing. By Christmas if the season is reasonably mild and dry, or sooner if not, they will be brought in to be kept dry, warm and fed. The barns surrounding the sheds are stacked high with straw and hay, their bedding and feed – in a good year, there will be enough to last the winter however long it maybe; in poor summers extra will need be purchased for they will not be returned to the valley’s water-meadows until they have calved and the weather is right.