No man is an island (right?)

The Moor is very wet at present and even though the area averages 1000mm a year (40 inches in old money) it felt that one or two inches of that were running inside my collar.  Despite the wind howling, the kestrel that has been there since the breeding season was out and about in complete control.

But then, Napoleon still reckons a walk is required whatever the weather.

Splashing over the peat bogs, I thought being such a difficult year and with little sign this pandemic will end soon, to say nothing of Brexit, I thought about how this must be one of Britain’s most difficult times but we’ve always survived. Partly, it’s helped that as an island, we’ve always been a sea-faring nation but until relatively recently, we were firmly connected to our best mates, the French.

It’s not surprising, but 500,000 years ago, there weren’t many people in Britain.  Evidence now suggests that people were here from as long ago as 900,000 years ago, with remains of tools in Happisburgh in Suffolk (pronounced Haze-bruh – why do we do that?  Annoy the French?).  Actually, people came and went into Britain as the climate varied during glacial and inter-glacial periods in several different waves.  They did this relatively easily because there was a land-bridge from south east England to the continent.

The first people we know of with actual direct evidence (as opposed to tools and other remains) was an early species called Homo Heidelbergensis, which you have to admit is a mouthful, maybe they called each other Heidi for short.  They had stone axes and tools and bone remains show they were able to butcher large animals like deer and horses.  About 500,000 years ago they were present as one of the first groups to settle in the land we call Britain.

The photo is a re-creation of Homo Heidi, from fossil remains in Greece, but I’m sure I had a pint with him in the New Inn last week.

It’s thought the continent looked a bit like the map below and the Thames was actually a tributary of the Rhine.  However, about 450,000 years ago, a huge lake formed in what is now the North Sea and started to cut a channel and was this followed up about 200,000 years later with a bigger flood event.  However, the final cut off, with no going back (a bit like Brexit) occurred only 8,000 years ago when a major series of landslides off Norway created one of the biggest tsunami’s in history, with a wave penetrating 25 miles inland.  

Britain was cut off and on our own (for the first time).  You can imagine a few Mesolithic people staring out over this mass of water where their route had been and wondering how the hell they were going to get home.  The conversation may have been:

“Gee, look at all this water, it wasn’t here when we walked over, how are we going to get home?”

“No – are you any good at swimming?”

“What’s swimming?”

“Well, can you build a boat?”

“What’s a boat?”

“OK – let’s stay here and find some food”

However, that effect, whereby Britain was now an island was perhaps the biggest event in our history as it’s the fact that we are an island that shapes much of our history and culture.  We haven’t been invaded for a thousand years and our seas almost certainly stopped that happening in 1940.    It meant we joined a community of about 45 global island nations, including a few big ones – Indonesia (the biggest), Madagascar, Japan and Iceland but most are smaller islands, especially in the Pacific and Caribbean.  

We are in a special club.

Well, you just feel that winter is here.  There are all the signs, I saw the first fieldfares last week, a handsome thrush from Scandinavia who thinks Britain is a sub-tropical place to over winter, but have not yet seen the smaller Redwings that usually accompany them. The Golden Plover are on the moors for the winter now and there’s been a big increase in visitors to the bird tables in the garden.

Fieldfare on the left, Redwing on the right

I decided I’d have to unearth the lawn mower this week, for one more time at least.  I used the smaller push one as I was just planning on dealing with the worst bits, although there’s a ride on for the larger areas.  I always think of a friend of mine who, sadly is no longer with us, bought a large and very swish ride on mower, with all the bells and whistles, as he had quite a lot of land.  He was happily whizzing around his property, chuckling slightly, till he came to a tricky bit.  He moved the machine back and forth and then was ready to go forward but when he hit the accelerator, he unexpectedly shot backwards and drove, at speed, into the pond.  He managed to rescue himself but the mower was more of a challenge.  He had to endure several weeks of jokes in the pub about how amazing it is to get a mower for pond weed, how to give fish a haircut, did he need to fit wipers and so on.  The mower was recovered but, strangely, appeared on Ebay soon after (hardly used).

There’s one unexpected phenomenon that comes to light when the trees lose their leaves.  It looks like sheep’s wool stuck on the tree branches but it’s actually a lichen (pronounced lye-ken or lich-en, you say tomato) called Old Man’s Beard.

Old Man’s Beard on a tree on Bodmin Moor

This lichen is very common and has many uses – as a dye, as a cosmetic ingredient, as a cure for skin infections and sore throats (I wonder who found that out?) or as a fire starter as is combustible when dry. It’s also very sensitive to pollution so it’s a good indicator of the fresh brazing air we’re lucky to have.

It’s one good thing about our ever-changing seasons, there’s always something new to see.