Webster’s Land and the Forbidden Triangle

I am an explorer at heart. Disappearing off alone and finding new places is a joy. Sometimes it is more than a joy; it is a necessity.

So when I read about a place only a short walk from the furthest edge of the Patch called “Webster’s Land”, my interest was piqued. My fellow Wren Group member and wildlife surveyor extraordinaire, Paul Ferris, mentions this place on his website.

I walked down the path between the River Roding and the City of London Cemetery, eventually losing the Roding to the Ilford golf course and picking up its tiny tributary, the Alders Brook instead.

The Alders Brook

I left what I consider* to be the end of the Patch by walking through a concrete and brick tunnel underneath the railway track (between Manor Park and Ilford stations). I won’t pretend there wasn’t a little trepidation as I read the writing on the wall.

Apocalypse now? Or light at the end of the tunnel

If the other side of the tunnel looks pleasant, that is because it is the Patch. I turned around to take that photograph for effect, but the Ilford side of the tunnel is somewhat less welcoming… Although the blue-painted concrete walls did match the sky that day.

The concrete continued. After crossing a road or two I wandered through the streets of various housing estates with some bright colour schemes – presumably added to soften the brutalism of bare brick and concrete.

I know many disagree with me but I personally find something aesthetically satisfying about the municipal and social architecture of the 50s-70s. Although even I wondered whether more inviting street names could have been found than ‘Warrior Square’?  The military theme continued when I found ‘Jack Cornwell Road’.

Digression alert: As any military historian would tell you, Jack Cornwell – a local boy from Leyton – was only 16 years old when he fought in the horrific sea battle of Jutland in World War One. His ship, HMS Chester, came under enormous fire and the entire crew that manned his gun were killed except him. He was found manning the huge gun alone, badly (in fact mortally) wounded, surrounded by the bodies of his fellow crewmen, exposed to further fire but refusing to leave his post and just “quietly awaiting orders” as the citation reads. He died of his wounds and was posthumously awarded the Victoria Cross for his astonishing bravery. He is buried locally and – so I discovered – also had a street named after him. Here ends digression.

Eventually I found the long, narrow strip of grassland that Paul Ferris had written about: Webster’s Land. I had Paul’s photo in my mind (inset in the photo below) which was a mistake. Paul had visited at summer when the grass had been allowed to grow into a pleasant meadow. The bare trees and mown grass was not quite so appealing when I arrived on a cold winter’s day:

Webster’s Land looking down towards Ilford Little Park

I don’t quite know what I expected to find there, but whatever it was, I didn’t find it. I turned around and left.

As I walked back to the Patch, I reflected on what I had seen and what I had been expecting. With the exception of a few local dog walkers and joggers, very few people visit Webster’s Land. Very little is known or written about it. Although Paul explains that it was left to the people of Manor Park by another military figure, a Lt. Colonel Webster. This thin strip of land is sandwiched between a housing estate and the North Circular road. A line of cherry trees hides the busy road. A buffer of common land.

I thought more about this buffer as I walked along an even narrower strip of common ground fenced in between the cemetery and railway line.

It is a long walk. A necessary evil for those of us needing to connect up two parts of the Patch and can be a destination for few other than drunks and junkies (in case you detect a sneering tone of condescension, I assure you that actually I am grateful for such places and offer no judgement whatsoever on those of us who feel we need to escape ‘civilisation’ or just ‘life’ in body and mind).

At the end of the narrow path, we arrive at another buffer zone. Another no-man’s land in an overpopulated city. A large, bleak place with little human purpose. Not as wild or natural as the Flats, not neat enough to be a ‘park’. A place so insignificant it doesn’t even have a name, although some might consider it to be a continuation of the Flats with just another bi-secting road. We call it the Forbidden Triangle as it seems to offer little prospect of interesting birds. [Edit: The person who initially set out the delineation of the Patch has informed me that it is actually called the Forbidden Triangle, because we can’t count any birds we might see there for the Patch – luckily there seems to be very little there.]

All of the places mentioned in this post could do with being allowed to get a little wilder in my mind, but frankly, I am just glad that these spaces exist at all. If you want to read more about such places, or their slightly wilder counterparts, I can highly recommend Rob Cowen’s excellent book, Common Ground.

The ‘Forbidden Triangle’

1: ‘Forbidden Triangle’ 2: the ‘long narrow walk’ 3: Webster’s Land

 *Others consider that the Patch ends before this point, but I feel that would abandon this small strip of land to a limbo state, so I include it.

The sounds of Mirkwood

“As their eyes became used to the dimness they could see a little way to either side in a sort of darkened green glimmer.” – J.R.R. Tolkein, The Hobbit

Tonight, I ventured into a mirky wood. Not the Mirkwood of myth and Middle Earth, but my local Bush Wood. I went to listen for Tawny Owl, but heard the sound of monsters instead; not a giant spider, but something far worse.

A Bush Wood Tawny Owl for 2017 eludes me still.

I trod carefully through the wood tonight, but as my eyes became accustomed to the gloom, the silver light of the moon (albeit somewhat softened by the urban glow) illuminated the paths quite well for me: hardened mud tracks glimmered softly and reassuringly; whilst darker patches warned of churned up mud; and, puddles shone clearly like warning beacons.

Even taking deeper woodland paths was easy enough and when I reached the space known as the ‘clearing’, the grass glowed.

The wood itself was silent; no owls, no birds at all except a single short alarm call from a Blackbird.

During the day, I often notice how the sounds of traffic quieten as you move deeper into the trees; wood, leaf, mud, and moss seeming to muffle the urban roar and allowing the sounds of the wood to be heard more clearly: most particularly the calls and songs of the woodland birds. But tonight, that magic of the daylight hours appeared to have worn off; even deep within the wood, the traffic sounds filled my head. Our flight paths seemed to have got lower and louder, and the bell-ringers in the local church chimed long and loud.

There was incongruity between the eerie shadows of being alone in a wood at night, and the familiar scream of the metropolis which pervaded every corner absolutely. Any fear of the unknown was drowned out by the sounds of the only-too-familiar.

Turning my camera phone to the trees, the flash-light picked out the branches like green fingers stretching out from the darkness.

Where my eyes picked up the nuances of the woodland shadow, the camera flash replaced them with the sharp contrast of close and far; light and dark. Only very faint ghostly lines appear out of the darkness in the images, where my eyes could at least pick out a range of silhouetted shapes.

In the dark, so much more than the day, the wood seemed to be betrayed by the artificial lights and the mechanised noise of the surrounding city.

Was it the wood that was betrayed? Or was it me and my sensibilities? I had come in search of an owl, but I had also come to embrace the peace of the wood at night. The trepidation that still exists in adulthood towards a wood at night, a fear that must have truly primeval roots felt like something ‘real’ I wanted to experience; but it was somewhat shattered by the W19 bus, the Boeing 777 from Tel Aviv to Heathrow, or the motorbike going past at double the local speed limit.

The moment the Boeing 777 passed over my head, thanks to Flightradar24.com

I keep returning to the wood to look for ‘something’ but I clearly need to look and listen a little more deeply; to the wood and to myself.

The ‘green glimmer’ of a street light, not Shelob’s lair

The tragedy of Colchis

All good classicists know the ancient stories of Colchis. The land where Jason and his argonauts went in search for a certain fleece. It was also the kingdom with a tragic princess, Medea, who – of course – famously avenged Jason’s betrayal by murdering her children (as you do).

Colchis was an ancient kingdom on the shores of the Black Sea where we find present day Georgia. One of the ancient towns was Phasis. It was around here where Western Europeans first came across a bird that they named after the location: Phasianus colchicus, or Common Pheasant. One of the most hunted birds in history. Millions are bred, over-fed, and shot every year in the UK. Some escape the gun, the cars, and the predators and eke out a feral existence across the country.

In the past decade only three or four have made it to the patch. In the past few days another bird made it here and has been patrolling the new paddock in the Old Sewage Works. It became the 112th bird I have seen on the patch:

Common Pheasant (Phasianus cochicus)

It is the most exciting thing I have seen on the patch so far this year (as in: I haven’t seen much exciting; not, that this is the best of the best). A bird that is undoubtedly handsome, but that … honestly… I simply wish did not exist on these isles at all. One day I would love to see them where they belong, in Asia, and maybe on their westernmost territories, the land of an ancient tragic woman.

Since I have little else to say about my patch birding recently, I will jabber on for a few more lines about another tragic woman of history.

One day I stepped outside the patch boundaries and explored the smaller of our two local giant urban graveyards, Manor Park cemetery. To be honest, I didn’t much enjoy it. It is mostly filled with densely packed, and rather gaudy, gravestones and not a lot else. My mood was raised by a small flock of Redwing, but the highlight was a small corner that is not mown to within an inch of its life and appears to have been allowed to rewild.

The best bit of Manor Park Cemetery

The gravestones are embraced by bramble, holly, and ivy whilst hundreds of saplings have shot up out of the ground (my guess all in the last decade or two) in that race for light that trees-of-the-clearing are designed for.

Somewhere beneath the ground lie the remains of Annie Chapman – a tragic woman in many respects: A poor, alcoholic, TB-ridden prostitute who became the second known victim of ‘Jack the Ripper’ in the East-end slums of Whitechapel. Her family, quite respectable despite the impoverishment that had befallen their daughter, raced her horrifically mutilated body out of East London to a small cemetery in an Essex village. Little did they know that East London would swell and grow and claim Annie back again for itself over time.

A Big Birding Year: Part XXV (Mavis the song lover)

Of the 25 most common garden birds, until very recently, two species eluded the click of my Canon shutter as I have sought to photograph as many species as possible this year: Song Thrush and Bullfinch.

While house renovation and one or two other matters have kept me from birding and blogging recently, I did get out a couple of weeks ago and rectified one of those avian omissions.

I don’t think I will get bored of posting early morning shots of the Wanstead Flats…

But instead of walking out onto the flats proper, I took a sharp left and went for a short walk through Bush Wood, the most north-westerly tip of the flats and the most densely wooded part (I have hastily sketched my walk below):

Thanks to Google Maps

In the middle of the wood…

… I finally caught up with my old friend, Mavis, my 99th species of bird photographed this year:

Song Thrush (Turdus philomelos)

The rather unfashionable girl’s name, Mavis, is actually an ancient word for Thrush:

“I have heard the mavis singing its love-song to the morn” – Charles Jefferys c.1850

The Song Thrush is well named as the male has one of the loudest bird calls for its weight and can sing more than 100 phrases. It is also an expert mimic, able to copy other birds as well as mobile phone rings – basically anything it likes the sound of. The scientific name also reflects this skill; Philomelos means ‘song loving’ in Ancient Greek. [If you want to read a truly harrowing tale of rape, tongue-removal, revenge, cannibalism, and metamorphosis, then read about the ancient greek myth of Philomela captured by Ovid which inspired Shakespeare’s brutal Titus Andronicus]

Mavis had led me on a merry dance this year – a relatively common (although worryingly declining) species that took me 11 months to track her down – but eventually she let me take her photograph (no matter how poorly that came out) only a couple of minutes walk from my home.

I would like to see a resurgence in the popularity of the name Mavis, as it represents one of the most iconic singers in the Eurasian animal kingdom, whilst I believe Philomela is a name so closely related to tragedy that it is best left to antiquity.

A Big Birding Year: Part XIII (“Look Mum, no feet!”)

Wanstead Flats

Wanstead Flats is the most southerly tip (albeit disconnected from the rest) of Epping Forest. It is totally surrounded by East London’s urban sprawl. I visited for the first time this weekend (and for less than an hour as I got rained on quite heavily).

If you want to see how a really slick birder blogs about this place, check out the Wanstead Birder (I seem to be blocked from linking to him on this site)

I did not take any good photos, but whilst I was ferreting around in some bushes trying to photograph a Green Woodpecker (honestly Officer!), I looked up through a gap in the branches and saw the unmistakeable shape of my 83rd species of bird for the year: my first swift of the season (rather later than normal). I yanked my camera lens towards the sky and just managed to catch a blurry shape as it whizzed by…

Common Swift (Apus apus)

The Latin name for the Swift means ‘no feet’. This is not strictly true, but it is true that this unsurpassed natural flying machine does have very small feet indeed. As I like to regale to people in an attempt to impart some wonder as an explanation for my geeky hobby, a young Swift will wobble to the edge of its nest and when it eventually fledges / takes off (if it survives) it will not touch land again for around 3 years until it is old enough to breed (just to re-cap in case anyone hasn’t got what I mean, the bird will be permanently airborne – sleeping and eating and everything – for years!)

I intend to return to Wanstead Flats to explore the birdlife more another time.

Goldfinger: the man with the brutal touch

Ernő Goldfinger was a brilliant architect, but a difficult man, and many people hate(d) his buildings. When Ian Fleming heard stories about the man in the early ’60s, he named his most famous villain after Goldfinger in the James Bond novel (and film) of the same name.

He is the high priest of the modern architectural style of brutalism that remains reviled by many to this day. His most famous work is the Trellick Tower in West London, now a much sought after ‘des res’ and the set of the British sitcom, Only Fools and Horses.

Much less well known is Trellick Tower’s slightly older twin in the East, the Balfron Tower…

Built in 1967,the trademark sky-bridges from the separated lift/service tower can be seen for miles (including from my office window). Unlike Trellick, Balfron remains largely unknown, although it is a Grade II listed building, and is regularly mis-credited as its trendier western twin when used in photo and film shoots. The majority of the flats are still council-owned, although every so often one of the few privately-owned flats comes on to the market. A top floor flat (can you call it penthouse?) recently sold for £200,000 which is incredibly cheap by London standards (for a listed building with incredible views!) – surely that will be a sound investment indeed when eventually, Balfron Tower receives the recognition it deserves?

I realise it is not everyone’s cup of tea, but set in the semi-industrial borough of Tower Hamlets – which still has some of the highest levels of poverty in the country (although also some of the highest average earnings distorted by the wealth coming from Canary Wharf) – it is not spoiling any picturesque scenery. Personally, I think the building is remarkable and second only to the Barbican project in terms of modernist architecture in London.

Secret London: Part X – East-end bike ride

Yesterday, I joined two friends for a bike ride by the river in South East London. Unfortunately, I did not take my DSLR as there were some fabulous things to photograph, but I took a few snaps with the iPhone… [don’t ask what I am doing in a concrete tunnel/box/thing below, I just thought it looked cool]

For those of you who know London, we cycled from Southwark through Deptford to Greenwich and then on to Charlton before coming back via Greenwich and then under the Blackwall Tunnel and up the Isle of Dogs to Limehouse and then finishing at Shadwell.

Cycling up the hill at Greenwich to see this view was tough but worth the effort…

From the fine buildings of Greenwich, including the marvellous pub on the Thames, the Trafalgar Tavern …

… through some of the rare remaining industrial parts of London…

There are still reminders of how significant the shipping and heavy transport industries were in the tidal areas of the eastern Thames…

The docklands and East-end of London has changed beyond most recognition in the last couple of decades…

Next time, I will remember to take my proper camera.

East London landscapes

Sometimes there is little need for words. All I want to say is: I love East London!