Rolling, rolling, rolling

By the session leaders

Pond-side renovation was where it all started for Wallingford Green Gym.

Back in the early years of this century, when we were just the ‘Abingdon-Wallingford pilot project’, our first major project was to restore a pond area: in a fenced-off area of Wallingford Castle Meadows, which – thanks to our efforts – was brought to the point where it could be opened to the public.  Today, the task was on a smaller scale.  With a dozen fit and eager volunteers, there was even a good chance of our being able to complete this job in a morning.  A small pond had been created near the stream in Ewelme.  We had been summoned to landscape the surround-side.

For those of us who arrived on site early, it was a time to enjoy the sunshine, and take in the tranquillity of the scene before start of play:

The early-bird volunteers also admired the crystal-clear water of the chalk-stream, where the watercress is just beginning to come into new growth, and sweet little ducklings may be seen …

debated whether this should properly be described as a ‘turf-cutter’ or a ‘lawn-edger’ (either way it proved jolly useful, especially for having been well sharpened beforehand)

observed that the planting in the bed we had dug out some years ago, has matured nicely

and mused about how exactly telegraph poles are put up – typical Green Gym: what the guys really wanted to do was to take the construction apart, so that they could see how it all fits together.  What they did in fact do was a little weeding of the grass which had grown inside the plastic tube:

At 10:00 precisely, we were stirred out of our respective reveries by a call to order.  The site warden explained the outline of the plan: pond, downstream, needed “tarting up”, ie earth placed on top of the liner on the bank.  Soil for this purpose could be obtained from the compost heap near the pond; and turf – inevitably – only from the furthest point away on the site upstream.

So the call went out: “We need barrows!”

“The wagons roll”

As the procession of empty barrows made its way across the upper meadow, ever-cheerful Green-Gymmers found all manner of half-remembered songs and rhymes going through our heads: something about a marrow in my barrow, talking to a sparrow; “rollin’, rollin’, rollin’, keep them doggies rolling”; and stories from Wagon Train.

Wagons in place, the first task was to work out how best to cut those turfs: how long, how deep, how broad, how high [Ed: or am I now getting this confused with the words of a hymn?] then how to get them loaded on to the transport:

While this was being researched and tested, barrow-wheelers again had time to stop and take in some of the beautiful sights (and sounds) of nature.  From the young trees nearby was coming a loud buzzing sound:

Spot the bee

Soon, however, it was time to get those wheels rolling again.  From then on, there was a more or less constant to-ing and fro-ing: barrows of turf carted downstream; empties returned upstream.

This turned quite a few heads in the village, as part of the route took in the public road.

Down at the pond, this was the sight awaiting the workforce – a little bit on the bleak and desolate side:

It was not difficult to decide that we should start by laying turf on the far side, and work our way round from there.  Here the first turf is laid:

Prime-quality, beautifully-manicured, professional turf this was not.  If we had tried to roll it like carpet, it would only have fallen apart; and the depth of earth needed (to give it a fighting chance of flourishing) meant that transporting it made for quite some work-out.   

There was also the business of fetching earth to ‘bank up’ the turf, and shaping it into place:

Tea-break came just at the right time.

Plus an extra treat for some lucky volunteers: watching a Red Kite fly low and fast along the length of the watercress beds, like a ‘dambuster’.

Re-invigorated by home-made cake we may have been, but progress was slower in the second half of the session – if only because we had lost two of our crew.  One had only been able to come for the first half anyway (due to other commitments).  And the other?  Well, ‘C’ found herself on ad-hoc sentry duty, until village postie was spotted and summoned back to retrieve his keys:

For whatever reason, it was not until the second half that we noticed this beside the stream, although it must have lain there some considerable time.  From the path, it was not immediately clear that the bird was long dead – not all scenes in nature are cute:

C’s scepticism notwithstanding, in fact the job was completed, with almost perfect timing for our normal session end.  It was quite a surprise, but a welcome one, to hear the cry, “No more turf!”  The turf-strippers had been doing a grand job, and by now were well-practised:

Inevitably, one load of turf was already in transit when the call came; and it just so happened that it was C who had the ‘honour’ of delivering the last consignment – and so being in place to persuade volunteers that they really could stop now, because the moment of ‘putting the finishing touches’ had already been captured on camera: