wildlife – The Countryman's Daughter

Deflowering the Truth

Himalayan Balsam, although pretty, is a threat to many native species of plant and wildlife. Picture by Hans at Pixabay

I love a Great British ‘Whatever’ competition show. I’ve avidly watched every episode of Menu, Bake Off, Pottery Throwdown and Sewing Bee. I’m not sure why they captivate me because I’m not an enthusiastic cook or baker; the last time I made pottery was when I was 12; as for sewing, I was thrown out of the Needlework class and dumped in Art because I was so bad. The last straw came when I accidentally sliced clean through my school tie as I was trying to cut a thread on the sewing machine. I was concentrating so hard on the thread that I failed to notice my tie dangling dangerously close to the scissors.

In the latest series of Sewing Bee, I’m rooting for Anna because she comes from our very own York. She’s also really really good, not only at sewing, but at coming up with exceptionally creative ideas for the very difficult challenges that are set every week.

The theme of the most recent episode I watched was Reduce, Reuse and Recycle and each of the three tasks challenged competitors to repurpose garments that had had a previous life.

On that note, I’m delighted that it is now cool to buy things from charity shops, when in the past it was assumed that only people who could not afford to buy from new darkened those doors. The amount of waste created by what we wear is mind boggling and I’m proud to admit that as I write this I’m wearing a dress that I’ve had for at least ten years. A few years ago, it would have been embarrassing to admit such a thing. Like most of us, I’m not a saint though, and still possess far too many clothes made in countries with dubious environmental and employment track records.

Last night, our girl Anna won the prestigious ‘Garment of the Week’ by producing an outfit with a clear and poignant environmental message about the threat of ‘invasive species’.

She chose Calico cotton which was used in India as far back as the 11th century. Named after the port city of Calicut in the province of Kerala, the unbleached cotton became popular in England thanks to the rise of the East India Company (1600 – 1874). Home-grown manufacturers of wool and silk were up in arms as their businesses suffered drastic reductions in revenue as their products fell out of favour thanks to this ‘invasive’ new material. It led to the Government introducing the Calico Acts of 1700 and 1721 which curtailed the import and wearing of Indian Calico.

Anna’s second nod to ‘invasive species’ came in the printed design that she placed onto the fabric. She chose the delicate pink flower of the Himalayan Balsam plant. It is indeed a very pretty bloom which looked gorgeous against the neutral palate of the unbleached cotton. But this plant is a wolf in sheep’s clothing.

According to the Royal Horticultural Society, the species was transported from the Himalayas in 1839 and planted in private gardens. But its fantastic ability to self-propagate meant that it soon transgressed its domestic boundaries and infiltrated the wild, settling among the moist surroundings of our waterways. When mature, its seed pods explode, casting the contents far and wide. It grows quickly, depriving native plants of space and light. Our bees and dragonflies lose places to forage while the natural habitat of our river-dwelling wildlife diminishes.

Anna’s stunning dress reminded us of the dangers of introducing species from another climate into our own, no matter how beautiful they may look. Most sensible adults today know the risks of smuggling living things from foreign shores into this country. There are unmissable warning signs at airports and ports that leave you in no doubt about the risks involved.

So I was flabbergasted when someone I had only just met admitted that she loved gardening – and had stashed some bulbs from her holiday in Australia in her luggage which she had then planted in her garden. Just like those who planted Himalayan Balsam in their 18th century gardens, not for one moment did she pause to consider what might happen if the plant crept beyond her own wall.

I can forgive an 18th century gardener who would have had little knowledge of the potential consequences.

But that’s as far as my forgiveness goes.

Do you have opinions, memories or ideas to share with me? Get in touch with me using the ‘Contact’ button on the top right.

This column appeared in the Darlington & Stockton Times on Friday 7th and the Ryedale Gazette and Herald on Wednesday 5th August 2026

A cheep of faith

A black crow stole a chunky piece of wood from a neighbour. Would he use that to build a nest? Picture by Mick Gisbourne

I was at an appointment recently standing at the window waiting for a client.

Suddenly, a big glossy crow swooped into view flying at my eye-level across the front of the house before disappearing around the corner. A few seconds later it flew back the way it came with something chunky in its mouth. It looked like a piece of wood, or even a piece of masonry. There was building work going on, so perhaps it had been skip diving? It seemed to know exactly where it was going and what it wanted. But what it would be doing with such a hefty piece of rubbish? It was surely too big for nest building, and definitely not edible, so what would a crow need it for? I welcome suggestions from you bird experts out there.

On the walk there, I’d seen a pigeon fly up off a drive to perch on a roof. It had been standing by something on the ground, and as I drew closer, I realised that sadly it was a deceased baby bird. I wondered how it had ended up there, because it was too young to fly and too far away from any nest to have fallen out. Had it been dropped by an airborne predator perhaps? The pigeon stayed close by, and I have a feeling it may have been its parent, which sparked a pang of sadness. But at this time of year we see a fair amount of avian casualties, such as sickly chicks flung out of nests by parents or siblings. Sometimes fledglings test their wings too soon and end up marooned on the floor.

I’ve mentioned this before, but if you find a young bird on the ground, the RSPB advise to not interfere unless absolutely necessary. Its parents will likely be watching unseen, or off gathering food. To remove a fledgling from its environment has to be a very last resort, and then only if it is injured, in immediate danger, or you have established that it has been abandoned or orphaned.

Another day, I heard a commotion in a nearby fig tree. It was a posse of five or six little black and white birds, all chattering excitedly away. They started off on a low branch, then one hopped to the next branch up, followed by the others, and then seconds later they all hopped up again and so they kept on going up the tree, cheeping away, until they were almost at the top. They stayed there for a few more seconds, before one leapt off, followed by another, and then the rest all at once.

Well, almost the rest. There was one wee chick still left on the tree. It was as if he was plucking up the courage to leap into the unknown, a little afraid of what was to come. Then he did it, jumped off the branch, dropped alarmingly before recovering and following in the direction of his buddies. My guess is that they were fledgling pied wagtails out on the town for the first time.

It reminded me of days in the school playground where there was always a ringleader surrounded by hangers on trying to be cool by association. Then there were those on the periphery trying to fit in but not really managing it, lacking in confidence and battling their demons to try to keep up with the cool kids. If only they realised then that being different and individual is a good thing. Just ask Bill Gates!

The bird’s wobbly flight path also reminded me of the time as a young reporter I had to leap off a cliff for a story. I was strapped to the pilot of a hang glider and needed to gather all my courage to do it. When we took off, I expected to drop like that little chick, but instead, we were lifted upwards on a thermal, which was quite spectacular to experience.

Unfortunately, the thermal soon disappeared, the wind dropped and instead of landing back on the top of the hill as we were meant to, we floated lower and lower down, eventually crash landing at the bottom! Thankfully, we were unhurt. The glider, however, was stuck nose down in the ground.

Let’s hope the brave little chick didn’t end up the same way!

Do you have opinions, memories or ideas to share with me? Get in touch with me using the ‘Contact’ button on the top right.

This column appeared in the Darlington & Stockton Times on Friday 12th and the Ryedale Gazette and Herald on Wednesday 10th June 2026

Beavering away to tackle flooding

Beavers have incredible skills when it comes to building dams (Picture: Forestry Commission)

A beaver dam that is part of the Slowing The Flow, Pickering project which embraces natural resources to help to prevent flooding downstream

I received a fascinating email from reader Mike Potter, who got in touch via my Countryman’s Daughter webpage (countrymansdaughter.com).

Mike told me that in 2008 he was part of a study with three universities to examine and improve flood management in the Calder Valley area. Named ‘Slow The Flow’ (STF), it evolved into a national charity which educates the public, government and private agencies in natural flood management, sustainable drainage systems and other renewable methods of managing and working with the environment. Living in a flood-prone yet beautiful county like North Yorkshire, we must applaud people like Mike and his colleagues, many of whom are volunteers.

Mike set up the ‘Slowing the Flow, Pickering’ scheme where they have embraced the amazing skills of beavers to build dams upstream from areas prone to flooding. These dams calm the water flow, meaning that when we have sudden and significant rainfall, they act as ‘brakes’ on the speed of the current, reducing the likelihood of devastating flooding further downstream. This approach has been remarkably successful and adopted elsewhere, as reported in this paper on a number of occasions.

Mike explained: “Slowing the Flow at Pickering is exploring new approaches to flood management, working with nature to try and store more water in the landscape and slow its passage downstream. Whilst this will not prevent all flooding, it is expected to reduce the frequency of future floods in Pickering, as well as deliver a range of other benefits to the local environment and community.”

On a slight tangent, Mike also wrote: “I‘ve just been ploughing through the transcript of a 2008 interview with Malcolm Shaw, a retired senior drainage board engineer, which mentioned that the River Ure changes its name to the Ouse below Swale Nab.”

This piqued his interest, and he found an article about it with a logical suggestion that OS map surveyors had created the error and that the name should really change at Swale Nab, which is the confluence of the Ure and Swale. “It would appear that this was Mr Shaw’s understanding too. That still didn’t explain the name change from Ure to Ouse though, but the article coincidentally referenced the interesting and plausible theory in one of your articles about the possible origin of the name York coming from Ure/Yore, and the reason for the two different river names.”

The article he was referring to was my column from way back in April 2021 where I wrote about the fact that the River Ure changes its name to the River Ouse a few miles south of Boroughbridge. Back then I said: “An unusual feature of the Ure is that after it passes a place called Cuddy Reach just west of the village of Linton-on-Ouse, it is thenceforth known as the River Ouse. Usually, when one river flows into another, it takes on the name of the main waterway. So when the rivers Swale and Nidd enter the Ure, that is where they end, and the water continues its south-eastern voyage under the name ‘Ure’. However, when the water reaches Cuddy Reach, a seemingly insignificant stream called Ouse Gill Beck enters the Ure and in an audacious takeover, snatches the grander river’s name and from then on the waterway is known as the Ouse all the way down to the Humber. So why the name change?”

We still don’t know, but at the time I wondered if it was down to the Old Bretonnic language and the fact that the Ure stemmed from an old word meaning ‘fast-flowing’, and the Ouse from a word that meant ‘slow flowing’. Those familiar with the river know that up in the Dales, it runs fast but slows downs once it hits the lower plains of the Vale of York, and hence the two names reflect the change in character of the flowing water. I believe their origins lie in the oral evolution of the language spoken by those living around the river.

I just love stuff like this which can only come from readers like you getting in touch with me. I truly welcome your messages and will always reply. If you have written to me and think you’ve not had a response, please check your junk and spam email folders – or try me again

Do you have opinions, memories or ideas to share with me? Get in touch with me using the ‘Contact’ button on the top right.

This column appeared in the Darlington & Stockton Times on Friday 20th and the Ryedale Gazette and Herald on Wednesday 18th June 2025

Time to ban the bang?

Screenshot — Fireworks don’t need to be noisy to be impressive. For the sake of our wildlife, livestock and our furry loved ones, it’s time to ditch the bang

Fireworks season is upon us, having been heralded weeks ago by youths obsessed with watching things explode extremely loudly in the air. A number of them have been letting off rockets not far from our house, transforming some of our otherwise relaxed doggy residents into quivering wrecks who scurry to hide behind things or under things and shake with fear, no matter how reassuring we try to be. To an animal, the sudden earth-shaking booms are terrifying.

I am not against fireworks at all. In fact I love them, and for years, my children and I would head out to watch a display at a local cricket club. For a small club, it was utterly fantastic, and hundreds of people would turn up to eat hotdogs, drink warm beer and watch the show with choruses of ‘Oooooo’ and ‘aaaahhhh’ as the fountains of sparkles burst above us. The excitement would build and build towards the end, when the largest and most impressive sequence of exploding balls of lights and stars filled the sky. It was magnificent.

It was only once I started to look after dogs ten years ago that I began to understand the impact the noise had on them. It’s impossible explain to an animal that the loud explosions will not do them any physical harm, and when you factor in that dogs have far more sensitive hearing than we humans, then you can imagine how distressing it is. Owners often ask me what they can do to make it less stressful for their pets, and my suggestions include getting a thunder vest (or shirt). This is a tight-fitting garment that wraps around the dog, giving them the feeling of being enveloped in an anxiety-reducing hug and are recommended for anything that makes them nervous, such as trips to the vet, rides in the car and the like. There are also natural calming supplements, treats, sprays and toys that claim to help. I have no idea if any of these things work, and suggest you talk to your vet if you want more expert advice.

Saying that, there is already a perfect solution available, and I cannot understand why it has not been adopted by everyone yet. That is, low noise fireworks. They are often referred to as ‘silent’, but they are not totally quiet because the explosive charge needed to launch them from the ground does make some sound. I have seen some absolutely stunning fireworks that burst into enormous balls of sparkles while expelling a small ‘pop’. They are no less impressive than their brash, noisier counterparts.

I am delighted to see that supermarkets like Asda, Aldi and Lidl are blazing the community-friendly low-noise trails, having stocked them for a number of years now, and more and more retailers are following suit, which is encouraging. However, they still hedge their bets by continuing to offer the noisy ones alongside them.

My only experience of the effect fireworks has on animals is through domestic pets and wildlife in and around my home, so I would be interested to hear from those of you in the agricultural and equine sectors as to the impact loud fireworks have on your livestock. I do think someone in a position of authority should take the lead and recognise that the trend towards low noise fireworks is increasing, sending a clear message as to what the public wants.

I know there will be some of you who like the noisy bangs and explosions, and I do agree that they are a lot of fun, if only they did not cause such distress to our furry friends.

Interestingly, I have learned today that a person who is obsessed by fireworks is known as a pyrophile (never call someone this when you are drunk, otherwise you could end up in a world of trouble). I also now know what an oenophile is (lover of wine), a turophile (lover of cheese), ailurophile (lover of cats), a xenophile (lover of foreign things), an astrophile (lover of starry things), phonophile (lover of vinyl records), cinephile (lover of films), a sapiophile (lover of intelligent people) and lastly, a paleophile (lover of ancient things).

For reference, the future Mr Walker, whoever he turns out to be, will have to be a combination of at least the last two.

Do you have opinions, memories or ideas to share with me? Get in touch with me via the ‘Contact’ tab at the top right of this page.

This column appeared in the Darlington & Stockton Times on Friday 1st Nov and the Ryedale Gazette and Herald on Wednesday 30th Oct 2024