Archive for Urban

Beaney’s Lane

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , , , on June 2, 2018 by cliffdean


One of several ancient highways dropping north from The Ridge between garlic-scented ghylls, this beautiful lane has only recently been saved from decades of neglect and abuse.

As you leave the Via Dolorosa, congested with hospital arrivals and school-run congestion, you first pass an abandoned waste disposal site: half-hidden behind a chainlink fence backed by dark Leylandii stands an asbestos shed with grass-filled gutters. In the yard, Garden Warblers sing from the scrubbed-over concrete.

Across the rack, a forgotten overflow of Japanese knotweed, moss-covered timber and tyres, but by now the traffic noise is replaced by Thrush & Blackcap song

A blockade of massive concrete Duplo pieces now impedes the progress of recreational car-torchers, though glass shards in a scorched corner mark a recent visit.

Beyond this point you pass between broad earth shoulders topped with Oak, Hornbeam, Hazel & Field Maple running in a green tunnel ,broadening in wet-weather braids and toward forsaken gateways, taking you into  a countryside of small fields, poor pasture golden with buttercups, grazed quietly by sheep.

The broad and once-busy thoroughfare passes Maplehurst Wood. A SSSI but hidden and now little visited, it bears the marks of edgeland practices such as fly-tipping: plastic debris which will never go away…

…deep mossy cicatrices left by long-gone off-roaders.

Now, in an initiative to re-create a coppice mosaic the dark world beneath light-seeking trees is opened into a broad glade where, on this misty morning in the humid High Weald microclimate, reanimated Sweet Chestnuts and foxgloves await the touch of the sun.

Great Spotted Woodpeckers, tending to their nestlings criss-cross the clearing; Nuthatches & Treecreepers call from the gloomy edges and the thin song of Goldcrests reels from Ivy.

Down past old pits & ponds, along a section constricted by a secondary embankment, you pass through the lower barricade onto the junction with Stonestile Lane, another old road now blessed with tarmac and consequently lined with crushed coffee cups and, thanks to speeding rat-runners, far too dangerous to walk along.

Though sheep still graze the meadows, market gardens beyond are abandoned, farmhouses smartly repurposed, their outbuildings rotting and unused.


Back among the dead

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , , on January 10, 2018 by cliffdean

More than a month after Ralph H first found a Hawfinch in Hastings Cemetery, and with many sightings since, David B emailed me to say he’d seen at least a dozen. Figuring that the nice sunny weather would make them easier to see, we called in at midday on our return from a recce to Beckley Woods but, tactfully taking a circuitous path in order to avoid the ceremonies in progress, we reached the north end of the cemetery without a sign of the fat finches in question. Not a click.

Never mind the birds, however, there is so much to see and to reflect upon: names familiar from illustrious Hastings firms both disappeared and surviving; military men who’d served in 19th century Madras; the naval Beaney brothers who’d been killed within a month of one another in the autumn of 1914…


… the work of skillful monumental masons: the chains, the anchors, the broken columns, draped urns, lilies-of-the-valley and clasped hands…then suddenly a stubby bird shot out of the yew-tops and parked itself in a bare tree as four other followed but dived into another yew. Peter C had just emerged from the gloomy conifers and was coming up the path towards us but from his angle the birds had been blocked by bushes.

Luckily though the one in the bare trees stayed there, lit by a shaft of sunlight like an angel – albeit one with a very big nose – in a Victorian devotional print. Once it had dived into cover we crept round there, seeing nothing again until a rattling council truck scared the birds out of cover to shoot off over the crematorium. Peter then told us that another friend, Jane B, had through patiently waiting for two hours earlier in the day had ended up seeing 15!

Time was up, but as we passed the flowers and mourners, the site’s sombre associations (our attendance more frequent with every year that passes) now seemed leavened a little.


This tilting, snake-draped urn commemorates Robert Tubbs Nightingale Tubbs.

In the shade

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , , , on June 21, 2017 by cliffdean

On Sunday, shadow falling from the park’s tall trees cast a welcome cool on a day of mounting heat. Although at 9 Hastings was still pretty quiet, traffic noise built up as visitors poured into the town and after a while the detection of birdsong was enhanced by the identification by sound of arriving motorcycles.

There was a remarkable amount of song – a lot of Wrens especially (and they always make themselves heard) – but also Blackbirds, Song Thrushes, Woodpigeons, Blackcaps & Chiffchaffs. A lot of Goldcrests too; we weren’t counting but it would have been interesting to have done so. My theory that the winter’s Firecrests might have stayed on to breed met with no support even after lengthy listening-in around ostensibly suitable habitats.

Caucasian Wing-nut – part of a shady stand of suckers by Shornden Reservoir

We spent a bit of time trying to identify trees. Out in the woods this is not too demanding but in this park it definitely is, thanks to the presence of about 400 different types, including forms & cultivars. As we moved around we passed through zones of musty perfume from flowering laurels.

The ponds provided interest not only from lazily cruising Carp but also a variety of spectacular dragonflies such as Emperor & Broad-bodied Chaser. At Buckshole Reservoir a Grey Wagtail seemed to be nesting in the concrete outflow structure and on Shornden the local Herring Gulls and a few Black-headed were joined by one Lesser Black-back.

From this open vantage point, a flock of Swifts could be seen wheeling over Bohemia.


Too many birds!

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , , on February 22, 2017 by cliffdean

firecrest-2pngFirecrest by Stuart Barnes

Not a huge number of species – 33 I think – but an awful lot of birds. Not just Robins, Blue & Great Tits (which were everywhere) but Goldcrests, Treecreepers & Nuthatches too. I’ve said before & I’ll say it again: birds for which you have to hunt in “wild” woodlands are packed into Alexandra Park and easier to see too.


Treecreeper by Stuart Barnes

On a warm sunny morning, the trees were full of song and flitting, hard-to-focus-on bird-shapes and shadows, from the  stiff-winged display flight of Stock Doves to the silvery trill of Firecrests. The first of these latter was singing in the very place we saw one last year – was it there still or again? We found at least 5 of them, 3 above the road bridge where we also saw the only 2 Grey Wagtails, a characteristic bird of the park which I expected to find more widely.


Following photos by Peter Matthews: Grey Wagtail



On Shornden Reservoir, a fine sinensis Cormorant and 4 species of gull: Black-headed, all adult,  on their way north; Herring adults & immatures, maybe resident locals; 3 Lesser Black-backs just arrived back from somewhere down the  Atlantic coast, maybe still en route, maybe planning a summer on St Leonards rooftops; finally a single Common Gull – the first I’ve seen in the park, not really the kind of place Common Gulls like.


Lesser Black-backed Gull



A bit of Park news: a grant has been obtained to renovate the greenhouse, which is now covered in plastic, protecting Prince Albert from the weather.


Firecrest by Stuart Barnes again

Colonna sonora

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , , , on March 26, 2016 by cliffdean

It was the truth when I wrote in a review of our B&B in Rome that we awoke to the sound of birds rather than traffic noise. I failed to specify, however, that the birds in question were Yellow-legged Gulls which went KOKOKOKOKOKOKyeeOOWW! from the rooftops at break of day.


I had been impressed by the inclusion of these birds’ calls in the dawn rooftop scene of La Grande Bellezza because I had not understood their predominance in the city’s everyday soundtrack.


The second species to fire up at dawn, subtle by comparison, was the similarly ubiquitous Hooded Crow, then some time later Great Tits and crooning Blackbirds.


Though I heard none of the Robins which feature frequently in the film – their early-morning innocence serenading the homebound playboy – mellifluous Blackcap song backed up by chattering of Wrens issued from evergreen courtyards along with the throbbing of amorous Feral Rock Doves.




As we waited for the tram, silvery Firecrest song and the sizzling of invisible Serins came down from Holm Oaks overhanging the busy street.


In the pine-shaded parks they were joined by Short-toed Treecreepers & Greenfinches though it was the shrieking bands of dazzling green Ring-necked & Monk Parakeets that caught tourists’ attention.


Black Redstarts quivered from broken columns and fallen arches while high above the waving selfie-sticks Kestrels cackled from the ancient brickwork.



Considering the vast numbers of wild beasts slaughtered at the Colosseum, few of their bones have been recovered. Nor does there seem to be any evidence for the martyrdom of Christians there.




Jeb, the film’s protagonist shows little interest in, but perhaps some appreciation of, the bird song (Song Thrush, Blackcap, Robin) that accompanies him, as fresh as the water he splashes from a wayside fountain.


He fails to register Peregrines wickering from a crumbling aqueduct, no doubt distracted by the naked performance artist about to bash her head against it.


 Nonetheless he scores a remarkable Roof-garden Tick when he discovers a flock of migrant Flamingos roosting on his city-centre balcony.




Bones, ashes, shards & guts

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , , , , on March 20, 2016 by cliffdean


Although the ruins of Ancient Rome have been cleaned of vegetation (much to the regret of those who read the accounts of early travellers there who found heroic, shaggy architecture projecting from lumpy farmland) the briefest exposure to them leads into an endless entanglement of cultural associations.

Not far from here, in Brightling churchyard, stands the steep-sided tomb of John Fuller. I’d never previously noticed just how steep-sided it was; I always assumed the model to be Egyptian.


Now I realise it’s much more likely, especially in view of its date, to take its inspiration from the pyramid mausoleum of Caius Septimus (18-12 BC) (its own pointy design maybe based on Nubian monuments), embraced by red bricks of the later Aurelian Wall (271-5 AD) which stands by a busy roundabout not far from Ostiense stations (itself unaccountably generous for today’s rail traffic until you learn it was built to welcome Hitler into the city in 1938…)


Beyond those walls it used to be open country, partly dedicated to those activities excluded from the city itself. By the early 19th century those included the interment of non-Catholic northerners attracted to Rome by duty, light or archaeology but having the misfortune (or good fortune) to die there, along with rather a lot of their children.


The principal object of pilgrimage in the cemetery’s older, less crowded part is the anonymous grave of John Keats – a “YOUNG ENGLISH POET”, victim of a familial strain of consumption, over in the corner of a lawn patrolled by plump and arrogant cats, beneath dark cypresses inhabited by Serins & Firecrests. Black Redstarts quiver on the ancient brickwork  of the wall from beyond which comes the rumble of city traffic and the howling chorus of rooftop Yellow-legged Gulls.




Shelley’s ashes were eventually removed here, though to the congested new section, following the cremation of his rotting, drowned body on the beach at Lerici.


Besides the soldiers, diplomats, politicians, hedonistic gentry and sickly Grand Tourists there are buried painters, sculptors, linguists, optimistic convalescents and those who met an unexpected end in the Tiber: a group of mariners, a 16-year-old girl swept off her horse.


Leaving the shadow, warbling Blackbirds and grating Sardinian Warblers of the graveyard, you turn down some steps onto the cobbles of a shabby, graffitied back-street, lined with single-storey shanties. No tourists, no pilgrims, no selfies. Feeling a bit dodgy actually.


The scrub rising behind the squalid, impromptu buildings covers one of the biggest waste-heaps in the world: millions and millions of amphorae mounded up over some centuries. Monte Testaccio, the last resting place of Dressel 20 vessels in which olive oil had been shipped to the hungry city from southern Spain. Whereas most amphorae were reused this type, for reasons of contamination and structure, it seems, were simply discarded. Not all that simply – it was done in a very organised way.

This article gives an excellent overview of the logistics involved in building Monte Testaccio and places it within the context of World Dumps, their management and rehabilitation.


Dressel 20 is bottom left, I believe.


At some point, it was discovered that the porous shard-filled hill maintained an even interior temperature which was just right for keeping wine cool and so sprang up a ring of bars supplied from cantine bored through strata of terracotta.

The Roman Campagna from Monte Testaccio, Sunset 1819 Joseph Mallord William Turner 1775-1851 Accepted by the nation as part of the Turner Bequest 1856


Then across the road is a fine neo-classical facade – topped by a crumbling cherub overpowering a justifiably resistant bull – also graffitied but in clear process of restoration – which turns out to have been the city slaughterhouse.


Behind the archway you see the stockades which once sheltered doomed beasts from the sun, and the overhead trackway designed to transport their carcasses from one part to another.


The installation is undergoing redevelopment, part of which is an arts centre which includes a music school.


P.S. Once I had published this post, people complained. “The title mentions guts but upon these you are silent. We’d like to know more about guts.”

I just forgot. It was taking too long. By implication the guts would be to do with the Mattatoio and so they are. Slaughtermen were paid in offal from which the rich Roman legacy of typical dishes descends, as explained interestingly in this article. Did I try any of them? Nope; I grew up in a generation only slightly less spoilt than my children. My mum, just one generation back, would eat chitterlings, hearts. brawn, kidneys, liver & black pudding. I continue to (uneasily) consume the last two.

The adjacent plot has been developed into a nice new market selling such grim stuff but also more photogenic vegetables.


“But, why, with all the glories of Rome to choose from, do you write about an old dump?” Well, it’s because it surprised me. Since I’d not been to Rome for many years there must be many other surprises lying in wait. The famous bits are so over-exposed that they’re hard to see clearly. The baroque churches I find heavy & bombastic (though making the Caravaggios they house look shockingly original and authentic).

There were, oddly enough, no other tourists the morning we went to Testaccio and, though it’s being gentrified quickly enough, the sequence down from Piramide retains the raw incongruity of Edgelandia.


Sprites in the shrubbery

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , , , on February 21, 2016 by cliffdean

It was a dull morning yesterday, but having already dumped a series of proposed walks on account of miserable weather, I was determined to go ahead and the sheltered nature of this lovely park (click on the “Alexandra Park” link at the foot of this post for more on its history and our previous visits) protected us from the wind.

As I noted in a previous post, we were surrounded by Wrens, Robins too, just everywhere but the other member of the Scrub Trio – Dunnock only in the more open spaces. We were keen to see the Kingfishers which have been reported on Facebook etc but they were nowhere to be found. The streams & ponds did hold a couple of Grey Wagtails however.

What was really interesting was the number of Treecreepers – starting to sing now – Goldcrests (likewise) and Firecrests. We saw 4 of the latter, 3 of them together in one spot (with a male showing a brilliantly orange crown), all reclusive at first. I suspect there could be many wintering in the park.

Altogether, we saw/heard 32 species. Looking at past lists, this seems pretty standard for winter. A conspicuous absentee was Greenfinch, which has returned to many breeding areas in the last fortnight. In the past I have recorded them in the 20s in winter. There are 3 urban species too which frequent surrounding houses yet rarely seem to venture into the park itself: Collared Dove, Starling & House Sparrow. Though we could hear the latter from nearby back gardens, but no sign at all of the others.