Where there’s a willow

... there’s a way, observed one of our volunteers this morning.

Armistice Day 2014 dawned red …

then faded to field-grey.  And we, Wallingford Green Gym, wound up considerably more than ankle-deep in water – but only the limpid waters of a Chilterns chalk-stream. 

For two minutes, at the eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month, we did pause in silence.  And doesn’t it feel different keeping the 2-min silence outdoors!  For many volunteers this was the first time they experienced hearing the wind whistling over field, brook, and trees during that time, even a farmyard cockerel not so far off, and – a few seconds behind us – a distant piece of ordnance at RAF Benson. 

The rest of the working time this morning was dedicated to the almost year-round business of keeping water channels clear of excess plant-life.  Except that on this occasion there was also the business of clearing banks of invasive willow before we could start bringing in the heavy loads of vegetation cut from the stream:

A chalk stream is a very exclusive natural neighbourhood.  98% of the world’s chalk streams are in 12 English counties.  Ewelme Brook is typical:

• the water is pure, the same temperature year-round, and an even flow
• the stream runs reasonably fast, but shallow (hence safe for us to work in)
• the base is gravel, which makes for a good place for fish to spawn on
• the little shrimps, snails, etc living in the vegetation make a good spread of food for fish
• the fish and the plants – some of them – make for good food for humans (no, we don’t down tools to hunt for our elevenses, or even a bite to take home for lunch!)

While the chalk-stream may be one of the few habitats almost exclusive to this country, specifically central southern England, one of the plants which flourishes in that habitat – watercress (Nasturtium officinale) – is prized across Europe and Asia, even in places where it is not so easy to grow.  Very nutritious it may be, but there is such a thing as having too much watercress swaying, especially where is little scope for a stream to alter its course.  Those of us who’ve worked at this site before have got used to doing the counter-intuitive thing and pulling up great heaps of the stuff and flinging it on to the bank:

By half-way in the session (which was when I had to leave to go to the paid job), a length of bank had been cleared.  Willow rods were being stored with their toes in the water – for collection later.  And volunteers were wondering if they had any use for the wood.  “Make me a willow cabin at your gate?” suggested one.  (Will Shakespeare, Twelfth Night I v – Green-Gymmers are a cultured crew.)

I look forward to hearing whether anyone from the group did put their name down for a bundle or two – and hope people didn’t get too wet.  The serious rain didn’t appear to start until around lunchtime.