In a tiny hamlet, down a narrow lane, somewhere between London and the sea, is where my kind and unassuming husband have come for a restful weekend.  Timber-framed farmhouses sitting in ancient woodlands ooze inspiration and stories to tell.

     Passing by Willy Lott's Cottage, made famous by Constable, one can almost believe that time has stood still for a hundred or more years. Thatched cottages, rustic mills, windmills and old market towns are linked together by country lanes and retain the atmosphere of days gone by.

      And despite the hurrying skies, we managed to trek over a few nature reserves on the shoreline of Essex County with its medieval field systems and grazing marshes, home to thousands of sea birds. With Wallasea Island, Foulness Island, the Crouch and Roach estuaries, this is indeed a wildlife enthusiast’s paradise!

       Wintering geese and wildfowl descend on the 350 miles of Essex shoreline. Here too, you will find breeding waders and the common seal, water vole, avocet and sandwich tern. I guess the shimmering mud flats in this walker’s heaven, is home to much more wildlife than I ever imagined. And out in the marshes, where bitterns pick their way through the reed-beds, Harriers cruise the skies sneakily preying on the unsuspecting.

        We drove back across the flatlands just before dusk and looked out at the vast expanse of empty brown fields. But they were not empty at all, but alive with hundreds of the UK’s most colorful bird, the pheasant. Bred to be hunted and shot for ‘sport’ these beautiful creatures have, at least for the time being, the freedom of the countryside.  

As winter fast approaches, you might see a butterfly in the house asking to let her out, but please read this before you do.

      As most of us start to put on the heating and light fires, there is a chance we will see the peacock butterfly with its spectacular eyes on their hindwings, resting in our homes. Or the reddish-orange tortoiseshell with a ring of blue spots around the edge of its wings, these are the most likely butterflies to take refuge in our homes and sheds before their tiny bodies begin to shut down for hibernation.  

      But late in the year when our homes are heated, these vulnerable creatures wake prematurely and think spring has arrived. But wishful thinking!  Outside, the weather is still hostile and nectar is scarce, so what can we do to help?

      Re-housing the butterflies is the best solution. If possible, gently catch the wee creature and place it in a cardboard box or something suitable and leave it in a cool place for half an hour. Hopefully, it will settle down again. When the butterfly is sleepy, you can take it to an unheated shed or garage or a porch, where it is cool.  But remember; make sure it can escape when spring eventually comes.

      If you have no suitable winter home for the butterfly, then please keep it as cool as possible and release it outside on a fine day. Hopefully, it will find a place to rest before nightfall.

     I often think about the animals that scurry through our garden at this late hour, the hedgehogs, polecats, foxes (lovely animals, despite being a relative of the wolf and not very chicken friendly!) shrews and rats ugh! And mice.

    With less competition at night, the bat with its leathery wings, is a frequent visitor to our garden and contrary to belief, the bat is not blind. In fact, bats often have better eye sight than humans.

     And then there’s the owl that rests occasionally in the tree by the pond. With her heart shaped face, she has her eyes on shrews with their voracious appetite. And oops I mustn’t forget the frogs and the newts  that are looking to hibernate under rotten leaves or stones (already lovingly prepared for them) and the toads, with their warty skin and squat bodies.

     ‘See you again in February or March, my little friends! Sleep well!’

Guido Fawkes was just thirty six years old when he stood in the Old Palace Yard of Westminster. His punishment for attempting to blow up the Houses of Parliament, on November 5^th 1605, was execution! Fawkes was one of many people who thought the Government was treating Roman Catholics unfairly. They were disappointed with King James and his leaders, so a band of men decided to blow the lot of them up!

    This tall and powerfully built man with thick auburn hair, a flowing moustache and a bushy beard, known to us all as Guy Fawkes, had been caught red handed and in the possession of The 36 barrels of gunpowder in a cellar below the Houses of Parliament. There was more than enough powder to raise Parliament and the surrounding area to the ground.

     Whilst waiting to be hung, drawn and quartered, Guido Fawkes threw himself off the scaffolding and broke his neck, thus avoiding the agony of mutilation. His only regret, he said beforehand, was that the attempt to blow the place up, failed!

     And here we are,  400 years later and still celebrating 'Guy Fawkes Night' with all the firworks and bonfire displays......

It’s late again and all I want to do is to sit by the fire with a cup of sweet tea. The foxing hours are upon us and the polecat is still on the loose but the hens are safely tucked up in their beds, safe for another night at least. And you are more than welcome to sit in the chair opposite me. It’s old but comfortable and when the embers die down please use the blanket that’s folded on the side. I think tonight, I shall play my guitar and sing a wee song my father taught me a long time ago. It’s called Streets of London. But before that, I shall tell you why I chose this song.

      This evening I saw an old woman, lying lifeless on the cold, wet road. She had just been hit by a car. I quickly reassured her that help was on the way. She was thin and poorly dressed. Someone nearby said she roams the streets day and night and is always alone. I was heartbroken! Staring down at this woman, some mothers child, I wondered who she was and where she’d come from. Her name she could not tell me. And now, in the comfort of my home, I remembered the song that tells a story about loneliness and people, just like the woman who now lies on a hospital bed, alone!

       Close your eyes and listen to the lyrics. Picture the old lady and pray for her if you will.....

Have you seen the old man
In the closed-down market
Kicking up the paper,
with his worn out shoes?
In his eyes you see no pride
Hand held loosely at his side
Yesterday's paper telling yesterday's news

So how can you tell me you're lonely,
And say for you that the sun don't shine?
Let me take you by the hand and lead you through the streets of London
I'll show you something to make you change your mind

Have you seen the old girl
Who walks the streets of London
Dirt in her hair and her clothes in rags?
She's no time for talking,
She just keeps right on walking
Carrying her home in two carrier bags.

Chorus

In the all night cafe
At a quarter past eleven,
Same old man is sitting there on his own
Looking at the world
Over the rim of his tea-cup,
Each tea last an hour
Then he wanders home alone

Chorus

And have you seen the old man
Outside the seaman's mission
Memory fading with
The medal ribbons that he wears.
In our winter city,
The rain cries a little pity
For one more forgotten hero
And a world that doesn't care