Jay

Reprint of an article that appeared in the Summer 2009 Edition of Common Ground.

A few summers ago, Mr Cassidy and I were walking through the Common when we caught a glimpse of the most amazingly coloured bird which we thought must have somehow escaped from a tropical country and ended up in Tunbridge Wells. Turns out that this bird was the Jay, beyond doubt the handsomest member of the Crow family, and very possibly the handsomest bird in the UK.

We spent many, many months seeking another view of this fantastic looking bird, but to no avail – he was proving to be an elusive little blighter. Every walk would end with me moaning about the absence of the elusive Jay. I don’t know whether it’s down to our increasingly well developed “bird eyes” or he’s becoming more widespread and less shy, but you’ll seldom go for a walk in the Common these days without spotting him flashing his bold white rump at you from the treetops. One thing for sure, though, no matter how many times I see him, the sight of a Jay always fills me with a frisson of excitement, and makes me feel like I’ve had a good, satisfying walk.

There’s no mistaking a Jay. You will see the bright flash of azure in his wings, a much-coveted feather amongst fly fishers. We ladies have mercifully stopped wearing Jay feathers, possibly after the Duchess of Edinburgh caused a ruckus for sporting a Jay feather muff in the 1880’s. He’s a lovely greyish-pinky colour with black and white markings on his back which he may have borrowed from his cousin the magpie. The term “Jay” has historically been used to describe a flashy appearance or lady of loose morals. Nobody on our members’ list has “Jay” has a surname, so I can mention that this may suggest some dodgy ancestry!

He may be a handsome chap but his call is so horrible, he makes a crow’s squawk sound like Pavarotti in comparison. If you hear a bird making the most awful, blood curdling shrieking racket, there’s a very good chance its a Jay. However, he is also a skilled mimic and is able to sound perfectly like many other birds, and even cats or telephones! This makes listening out for a Jay quite a tricky proposition!

We’re entering the best time of year to go Jay-spotting. They are most conspicuous in Autumn when they are busy building up their enormous nut stores. Although they are usually good at remembering where they’ve buried their nuts, the odd forgotten store has played a vital role in maintaining our oakwoods. Acorns are their main source of food, but a Jay is certainly not above grabbing a baby rabbit or nestling if it happens to cross his path. Lucky friends of mine report the Jay’s increasing appearance at their bird tables, which is thankful, because if it’s a bad year for acorns, then it puts our Jay population in jeopardy, so an alternative food source for him is most welcome.

By Bettina Cassidy.

Summer Tea Party: Wednesday 13th June 2012

We’re delighted to announce that our summer tea party will be taking place at the new Mount Edgcumbe on Wednesday 13th June 2012.

To book your place (and meet the Mayor!), download our online form or cut out the form from the next Common Ground and follow the instructions.

We look forward to seeing you there!

Click the PDF icon here to download our online form. Note that you will need a PDF reader to view the document, you can download one by clicking here.

The Real Winter Insects

Reprint of an article that appeared in the Winter 2008 Edition of Common Ground.

The coldest winter for over a decade has been a return to normal for the wildlife of the Commons. Recent mild winters have enabled summer and autumn flying species to stay active long beyond their accustomed season. Most remarkable have been the bumblebee colonies which, instead of dying out in the autumn, have continued all through the winter, with workers gathering pollen from gorse bushes in December and January. The current winter, however, seems to have put a stop to such unseasonable activity. Even on sunny days, no flying insects have appeared.

There have always been a small number of British insects that are genuinely adapted to life in winter. Whatever the weather, groups of tiny blue-black springtails can often be seen grazing on algae on the Commons’ sandstone outcrops, like miniature herds of cattle. Springtails get their name from the fork-like jumping organ which most species have folded under their bodies. They are among the most primitive of insects, and although few people could put a name to them they are actually quite familiar as the small creatures that jump in all directions when stones or logs are lifted.

One of the most distinctive winter insects is the remarkable snow-flea, a heathland species not yet recorded from the Commons but likely to occur there. Called a ‘flea’ simply because it can jump, the snow-flea is actually a wingless scorpion-fly, silvery in colour with the long ‘beak’ characteristic of its family. It lives in moss, but is particularly noted for its habit of hopping about over snow. This is not because it is particularly fond of snow, but because it shows up against a white background while under normal conditions it is much less easy to spot.

Among the nocturnal inhabitants of the Commons are a number of winter-flying moths. The aptly named December Moth, which flies from late autumn to January, has a furry body which doubtless helps to insulate it against the cold. It is charcoal coloured with creamy white wavy bands on its wings. A woodland species, its caterpillar feeds on a variety of trees and shrubs through spring and early summer. The rather frail-looking Winter Moth looks much less well adapted to winter life, but has a similar flight period. It has broad, drab brownish wings and is sometimes seen sitting on lighted windows, where it may stay throughout the following day. The moths seen flitting in car headlights in the winter are most likely to be this species. In fact it is only the males that fly. The females are wingless, sitting on tree-trunks and waiting for the males to find them.

By Ian Beavis

Robin

Reprint of an article that appeared in the Spring 2009 Edition of Common Ground.

For most of us the robin is a bird synonymous with Christmas, but for me he’s the symbol of Spring.  This is the time when he’s at his most conspicuous; when you can’t walk through the common without failing to hear his loud call ringing out above all the other birdsongs.  To our human ears it’s one of the most beautiful sounds you can hope to hear, but perhaps not so for a bird – in fact he’s angrily telling the other blokes to get off his patch!  Around this time of year you’ll probably see a couple of them embarking in some pretty impressive aerial acrobatics, too, as they fight for the right to romance the local ladies.  It’s just as well they’re so widespread, because they unfortunately do have a high mortality rate.  If your cat (the robin’s #1 enemy) doesn’t catch him, he’s very likely to die in combat with a rival.

Its no wonder the robin has officially been our national bird since 1960.  His cheeky, bold personality makes him impossible not to love.  Even if you don’t clock the unmistakeable red breast, you can take it for granted that the active little bird playing on the path in front of you, or dancing around the low lying branches beside you, is a robin, as there are few birds who are as unruffled by our presence.  Harder to identify is the speckled brown young robin who basically looks like any “LBJ” (little brown job).  He has to wait until adulthood to gain his red breast.

It was a wise move on the robin’s part to be friendly to man, as it has definitely improved his standard of living over the centuries.  Our ancestors were very fond of caging wild songbirds, but the robin managed to escape this fate – “A robin redbreast in a cage/puts all Heaven in a rage”
Although the images of robins on Christmas cards are traceable to the 1860’s, their link to theology goes way back and rumour has it that the robin got his red breast by tugging at Christ’s thorns. Apparently St Serf of Culross fed a robin who perched on his shoulder whilst he prayed, way back in the 6th century.  
If you’ve been out and about at night and have heard birdsong, then you’re listening to a robin, as they love to sing by streetlights in the wee small hours.  Whoever wrote the 1940’s hit “A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square” wasn’t too hot on his ornithology.

Gardeners amongst you may be acquainted with him keeping you company whilst you dig, in the hope that you might turn up a tasty worm for him.  When it comes to choosing where to nest, no bird is as inventive as the Robin. They’ve been known to come indoors and nest in a coat pocket, a pair of wellies, and more extreme, in an unmade bed!  I guess that’s quite a reasonable excuse for not getting those sheets changed!

By Bettina Cassidy.

The Mysterious Lesser Glow Worm

Reprint of an article that appeared in the Summer 2009 Edition of Common Ground.

Some members may have read in the Council’s free magazine about the recent discovery on Rusthall Common of a male lesser glow worm, one of Britain’s rarest and most elusive insects. Members of the glow worm and firefly family are more characteristic of warmer climates, and there are only three species on the British list, one of them apparently extinct since Victorian times. By far the most widespread is the well known common glow worm. Thanks to the prevalence of artificial light, and people’s fears about walking at night in unlit places, it is not often seen. But it does occur in a number of places around Tunbridge Wells and has been known for some years from Rusthall Common and the adjacent Beacon Hotel grounds.

The lesser glow worm is, as its name suggests, much smaller than the common glow worm. Its light is also less strong, consisting of two tiny greenish white ‘tail lights’ at the end of its body. On the other hand, the males are active during the day, which probably evens the chances of finding it if it is present. They are most likely to be seen in mid summer wandering over bare sandy ground such as footpaths and banks. While common glow worms feed on snails, lesser glow worms have recently been found to feed on earthworms, a type of prey many times larger than themselves.

Since its discovery in 1868, the lesser glow worm has been seen on only a few occasions in Britain, and until now only twice since 1961. It therefore has the highest ranking – red data book 1 – in the national list of rare and endangered species. Apart from a single record in Surrey, all previous examples have been found either in East Sussex or Hampshire. As Rusthall Common is close to the county border, the species’ presence there fits in well with the older pattern of records from East Sussex localities like Ashdown Forest.

What remains to be discovered is how strong the Rusthall population is. Several return visits failed to reveal any more, and further investigation will now have to wait until next summer. The only other currently known colony is on a private nature reserve near Southampton. The owner has offered to help in searching Rusthall Common, maybe bringing a live female specimen along in the hope of attracting males. This technique is known to work with many other insect species where the males are attracted by the female’s scent.

By Ian Beavis.

Blackbird

Reprint of an article that appeared in the Winter 2008 Edition of Common Ground.

Have you ever gone for a walk on the Common, heard rustling in the undergrowth nearby, and rather excitedly stopped to see what it is? Oooo, what can it be? A snake? A mouse? A stoat even? But no, it never is, is it? It’s always, always Mr. Blackbird, crashing clumsily through the undergrowth! Mind you, I’ve probably walked past several stoats now thinking that it’s just a pesky blackbird trying to get my hopes up!

Despite the frustration he has caused me over the years, I have definitely got a soft spot for the Blackbird and am happy to see him and am certainly always very happy to hear him as his unmistakeable brash, flutey tune is without doubt one of our most beautiful birdsongs. With his ringed eye and bold orange beak, and habit of proudly displaying his tail when he lands, I don’t think anyone, even the most ardent nature-phobe would need any help in identifying a blackbird. Lady blackbirds, however, are a dull, mottled brown and are a slightly less easy proposition to identify, due to their resemblance to various juvenile birds or thrushes.

It’s easy for us to take him for granted as he is such a common, widespread bird: a population of around 12 million makes him the third most common bird in the UK after wrens and chaffinches, and the blackbird was the most spotted bird in 2008’s RSPB Big Garden Birdwatch. Blackbirds are found everywhere in the UK and nest just about anywhere – trees, bushes, undergrowth, hedges, even buildings.

Blackbirds are certainly not shy around humans, and my mother tells me that if she leaves her back door open, the family living in the bush by her door will not hesitate to come into the house bothering her for food! He’s not a fussy bird. Left to his own devices he’ll eat insects and berries, and you have possibly seen him jumping around on the cricket ground to try and bring a tasty worm up to the surface, but he’ll happily eat anything you put on your bird table.

This relationship with humans is a relatively recent development, and with good reason, as they had a habit of ending up as a pie filling right up until the 1940’s. Of course, we are all familiar with a certain nursery rhyme. The birds in that particular rhyme were actually alive and were intended to provide entertainment rather than be eaten. The “surprise pie” was a feature of the Tudor dinner table and the intention was that once the pie was open the birds would fly off. Blackbirds were the most popular choice for a surprise pie, but mice or even snakes were also often used, which does make me quite relieved I’m not a Tudor.

Possibly because he’s a thrush rather than a crow, the blackbird has escaped the bad reputation that other black birds seem to suffer from, but they are not completely free from superstition. Cumbrians believe that a blackbird tapping on your window bill bring impending doom, but personally I just think he’s after something to eat!

By Bettina Cassidy.

Summerhill House, 73 London Road

Reprint of an article that appeared in the Winter 2009 Edition of Common Ground.

Summerhill House is part of that all-important sequence of historic buildings along Inner London Road, which forms such a pleasing backdrop to the eastern edge of Tunbridge Wells Common. From the south, the sequence starts with Vale Towers at no 58 then, moving up the slope, through the groups 60-63, 65-68, 69-73, 77-78, and 83-84 it ends, in the north, with Thackeray’s House, Rock Villa, at no 85.

In times past, several of these buildings, including Thackeray’s House and Summerhill House, were Lodging Houses serving the needs of visitors to the Wells. Lodging House keepers at Summerhill House included Miss Henrietta Fry in the 1850s, and members of the Simeo family around 1900.

Probably the most distinguished occupant of Summerhill House was the founder of the Royal Pharmaceutical Society, Jacob Bell MP, who died in the house on 12th June 1859. Shortly before Bell’s death, the Society expressed itself keen that a portrait should be painted of him, and this was undertaken by his friend, the celebrated artist Sir Edwin Landseer RA. In view of Bell’s poor state of health at the time, it seems more than possible that the single sitting involved took place at Summerhill House, rather than in London.
Be that as it may, Summerhill House in Bell’s time had, as it has now, three main storeys above a semi-basement and a projecting central porch, approached by a short flight of steps.

Not long after Bell’s death though, the Georgian house was given a face-lift; a mid-Victorian front, with full-height canted bays, being grafted on to the timber-framed earlier construction behind.

Sadly, the building, which has been vacant for some time, is not in good repair and now looks somewhat forlorn. The property is, nevertheless, on the government’s statutory list of buildings of special architectural or historic interest. Thus there are measures, such as a Repairs Notice or an Urgent Works Notice, that the authorities could consider in appropriate circumstances.

However, on 23rd May 2009 consent was given for the refurbishment of the building, and its conversion to provide seven independent apartments. Certainly, a constructive scheme of conservation and enhancement is long overdue, and the situation is one which deserves to be watched closely.

By Philip Whitbourn.

Mount Edgcumbe

Reprint of an article that appeared in the Summer 2008 Edition of Common Ground.

Mount Edgcumbe takes its name from Emma, Countess of Mount Edgcumbe, who spent the summers of 1795-7 in Tunbridge Wells. The only daughter of Dr Gilbert, Archbishop of York, Emma married George Edgcumbe in 1761, the year in which he succeeded to the title of Lord Edgcumbe. Subsequently, he advanced to the rank of Admiral and was created Earl of Mount Edgcumbe. The Mount Edgcumbe in Cornwall, the ancestral seat of the Edgcumbe family, overlooks Plymouth Sound, and George had Command-in-Chief at Plymouth during the late 1760s.

A more direct sea-faring connection with Tunbridge Wells’ Mount Edgcumbe, however, is with Rear Admiral Sir William Edward Parry, the Arctic explorer, who stayed at Mount Edgcumbe House in 1839. Parry commanded three expeditions in search of the North-West Passage between 1819 and 1825. Also, in 1827, he made a brave attempt to reach the North Pole, travelling with sledge-boats over the ice. All a far cry from Tunbridge Wells Common. By the time he was staying at Mount Edgcumbe, Parry was Controller of the Steam Department of the Navy.

The origins of the little group of buildings at Mount Edgcumbe, comprising Mount Edgcumbe House, Mount Edgcumbe Cottage and Ephraim Lodge, seem to predate Lady Edgcumbe’s visits to Tunbridge Wells by some time. Bowra’s map of 1738 shows three buildings in that position, but without a name marked. Today, they present a picturesque ensemble, with tile-hanging and a pretty gothick facade, surmounted by a crow-stepped gable.

Mount Edgcumbe Cottage has associations with the poet and author Horace Smith, best known for “Rejected Addresses”, written jointly with his brother James in 1812, and for novels, including “Brambletye House”, produced in 1826.

By Philip Whitbourn.

“A Cold and Sunny Morning”

How about this for a beautiful photo of our Commons. Taken by Bob on a brisk morning walk.

Thanks for letting us use your photo, Bob. If you’d like your photo featured then why not add it to our Flickr Group.

The Commons’ Earliest Inhabitants

Reprint of an article that appeared in the Spring 2010 Edition of Common Ground.

Tunbridge Wells and Rusthall Commons have many historic features, reflecting not just the relatively brief story of Tunbridge Wells but the thousands of years of human activity in the High Weald. The most ancient of these is the prehistoric rock shelter which can be found on the southern edge of Rusthall Common, where the sandstone outcrops come down to the level of the path.

The earliest known inhabitants of the Tunbridge Wells area were Mesolithic (Middle Stone Age) hunter gatherers who used the natural overhangs of the local sandstone outcrops as shelters for their campsites. They would have roamed the Wealden forest, making use of its rich natural resources, but returning regularly, generation after generation, to these favoured spots. These were the first people to colonise England after the end of the last Ice Age some 10,000 years ago. This was a period when the English Channel could be crossed on dry land, as so much water was still tied up in the retreating glaciers.

Archaeologists have compared the Mesolithic lifestyle to that of the surviving indigenous culture of places like Australia. This suggests that the rock outcrops that were so prominent in their world would have been more than just landmarks. They would probably have had a spiritual significance and might once have once have been decorated with rock art now lost through erosion.

Mesolithic sites like the one on Rusthall Common regularly produce surface finds of flint tools and waste flakes. Although these ancient people would have used other natural materials such as wood or bone, these do not survive under local conditions, so flint provides the main evidence of their presence. Flint is not indigenous to the local area, so they would had to make expeditions on to the chalk downs to collect it, or maybe they traded with other groups to the north and south. The most characteristic flint tools of this period are the so-called microliths, minute but incredibly finely worked points which were used in combination on wooden shafts to make harpoons and arrows.

When local archaeologist James Money excavated a late Mesolithic site at High Rocks in the 1960s, he also found some very primitive pottery. This shows how prehistoric periods are not always clear cut. Pottery is generally associated with the later Neolithic culture that pioneered agriculture, but evidently our hunter gatherers were trying out the latest technology.

By Ian Beavis.