published in 1934 by R J Pinchen
FOREWORD
I am happy to have the opportunity of writing a few lines by way of introduction to Mr. Pinchen’s Reminiscences, which should be of great interest to all bird lovers.I knew Mr. Pinchen well from the time when he held the post of Bird Watcher for the National Trust and can vouch for the fact that he fulfilled the duties most conscientiously. The office was no sinecure. It was his general love for the birds that rendered him such an admirable man for the post-to go round Blakeney Point and visit the ternery with him was in itself an education and an experience never to be forgotten. Every genuine bird-lover should welcome his volume of Reminiscences.
London, 1935.S. H. Hamerlate Secretary to the National Trust.
REMINISCENCES OF A BIRD-WATCHER
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For the benefit of those unacquainted with Blakeney Point, I will briefly describe its position and topography. The Point lies between Sheringham and Wells on the North Norfolk coast. It is a spit of beach and dune about eight miles long running roughly east and west. At the eastern end, it is joined to the mainland, and it stretches westward at a slight angle to the shore, so that the head of the point is about a mile and a half from the mainland. The nearest village, which can be reached without a boat, is Cley, a four-mile walk along the crunching pebbles.If you walk westward towards the head along the spit from Cley, you will travel at first along a strip of beach climbing steeply to the sea. On the landward side are salt marshes threaded by creeks. Presently, sand-dunes tufted with the characteristic coarse and spiky maram grass begin to appear,
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and finally, the narrow spit broadens out into a wide expanse of dunes. On the landward side of these was moored the houseboat in which my family and I lived for many years, and among them is the Lifeboat House to which we eventually moved. In the wintertime, the Point is exceedingly bleak and barren; the east wind really is cutting, and the rough seas make it a very undesirable spot for any human being to visit, or still more, to reside in.I will not go into the various changes that have of late years affected the promontory, but will mention that the result of tidal deposits, storms and heavy winds has well stabilized the Point, and the surface has “firmed up” with the growth of such plant-life as survives in these desolate places, Communication with the mainland is principally by water along channels which the ebb tide almost depletes. A souvenir publication aptly points out that “as a demonstration area of the complete dependence of topography and relief upon the play of physical forces, steadied by the plant covering, Blakeney Point is unrivalled . . . the Point is no mere animated document. From its wonderful setting, combined with its delicate sensitiveness to change in lighting, it is a place of penetrating beauty.”For many years, I was bird-warden on Blakeney Point, and I have been tempted by friends and many bird-lovers to record a few reminiscent notes that may be of interest to those who have at heart
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The preservation of bird life. No effort has been made at elaboration, and the details here given have been those of my own experience, gained in a long period of residence and work on the Point.
Notwithstanding the trials and difficulties that were encountered, they were very happy and interesting days which I spent among the birds, many of whom knew and trusted me as their friend.
BIRDS
From the northerly regions migratory birds make a call here, but the terns, well called the “seaswallows”, are the principal bird inhabitants. These arrive at the end of April and nest on into August. Snow Buntings, Redstarts and the like are among the migrants, and the “regulars” comprise Terns, Oyster-catchers, Ringed Plovers, etc. Terns have always favoured the headland, and in the breeding season they have been closely protected, despite the protests of those engaged in fishing who complained of the havoc created by their voracity. A local Bird Protecting Committee some thirty years ago first took up the matter of protection, and since 1912 the National Trust has taken over the Point as a bird reserve.
A BIRD SANCTUARY
Mr. Charles Hammond, of Twyford Hall, who first mooted the idea of a bird sanctuary here, started the work of protection at Wells, a few miles
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to the west, and success there prompted the formation of another reserve at Blakeney. He spoke to me on the subject and asked if I would like to become the “watcher.” There being other aspirants, however, a meeting was held at Cley at which I was appointed to act for ten weeks of each nesting season at the weekly wage of fifteen shillings, subscribed by local naturalist enthusiasts. This arrangement lasted till 1912, when the Point wa acquired by the National Trust after the death of Lord Calthorpe, owner of the property, had thrown it onto the market. I was offered a whole-time engagement, but, having at that time a wife and eight children dependent on me, I had to refuse owing to the inadequacy of the remuneration. This, however, was increased to my satisfaction, and I was duly installed in work at Blakeney Point, which extended over a period of thirty-one years until I retired a few years ago.
MY HOME
At first, I lived on a houseboat, a converted lighter called the “Ark”. After a while Mr. W. Smith of Luton bought the “Chance,” a Lowestoft fishing lugger, and converted it into a more commodious and comfortable houseboat, re-naming it the
Britannia”. In this I took up my residence, and for about twenty years I lived happily and com- comfortably on the old boat. She changed hands twice before becoming my own property, and she is still at Blakeney Point. After the war, the Lifeboat House on the Point came into the market and the
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The National Trust acquired this. They constructed living rooms for my family at one end and a large room for shelter and refreshments at the other. My wife and a son, and daughter joined me in the new quarters, the two womenfolk looking after the catering. My son and others conveyed passengers and stores to and from the mainland in motorboats. If one did not mind tramping along the shingle, one could walk from Cley, but these four miles of difficult going were not to the liking of many.
I will pass on now to deal more closely with the birds found on the Point and the changes which I noticed in their nesting-grounds. When I started watching, there were some fairly large sandhills on the far Point and lots of Common, Arctic, and Lesser Terns nested there. But a big storm with tremendous seas washed these sandhills away and left the place quite bare. The birds consequently shifted their quarters to the eastward, to what is now called the “old nesting ground” on the sea side of a long range of sandhills. There were also a good many nests of Common and Lesser Tern on the landward side. I came across one Oyster-catcher nest, and of its owner I shall have more to say anon; he became a dear old friend. When, some few years later, telephone wires were being erected from Cley to the new Lifeboat House, many birds were killed and others injured by striking the wires. As a result of this, tabs were attached to the wires and were successful in keeping down further casualties. But soon after this, most nests were
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From the northerly regions, migratory birds make a call here, but the terns, well called the “sea-swallows”, are the principal bird inhabitants. These arrive at the end of April and nest on into August. Snow Buntings, Redstarts, and the like are among the migrants, and the “regulars” comprise Terns, Oyster-catchers, Ringed Plovers, etc. Terns have always favoured the headland, and in the breeding season they have been closely protected, despite the protests of those engaged in fishing who complained of the havoc created by their voracity. A local Bird Protecting Committee, some thirty years ago, first took up the matter of protection, and since 1912, the National Trust has taken over the Point as a bird reserve.
TERNS
Terns are, of course, the principal inhabitants of this bird colony, and a few notes concerning them may be of interest. They arrive annually about April 26th. Though a small advance guard may be observed, the date usually chronicles a large number of arrivals, and there is no mistaking their presence for they announce it with a great abundance of noise. The Sandwich is the largest of the Terns. It is a powerful bird about the size of a turtle-dove, but with an immense spread of wing, and it is a splendid diver from big heights. Next in order of size follow the Common, Arctic, Roseate and the Lesser Terns. The latter approximates to the size of a song-thrush, and the others range between the Sandwich and the Lesser. All the Terns are very compactly built and are born
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fighters. If by chance any Gulls, large or small, or Herons “stray” over the nesting-ground, they soon meet a strong rebuff. The Terns constitute their own guard-a kind of flight in aeroplane formation, and they promptly drive the intruders off the premises,” chasing them for a considerable distance, sometimes as far as two miles.
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The Terns will not stand interference from prying eyes, and even marauding rats they will attack and kill. I have known of people being attacked by suspicious Terns. In one case, a powerful peck or two produced a trickle of blood to serve as a warning that the bird was in earnest. An amusing occasion was provided by a servant of one Professor, who came tearing across the ground to me. Being on the stout side, he was in rather a distressed. condition, puffing and blowing, and generally showing signs of exhaustion and irritation. What’s the matter?” I shouted. Between short breaths, he said, “Blow me if I ever go round those nests on my own again, those blessed old birds would nearly kill me!” It happened that an old Tern had espied the stranger and chased him relentlessly away. Certainly, he had succeeded in putting fright into the man’s mind. The bird was only defending the lady who shared his joys and sorrows.
Soon after the Terns arrive, nesting commences, somewhere about May 8th or 10th. Contrary to what is usual in some breeds, the cock birds are not of a quarrelsome nature in the selection of their spouses and soon settled down to a domestic routine
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A pair will scoop out a hole in the sand or shingle-not in the scrub-and the hen lays not more than three eggs, on which in turn they jointly attend for three weeks. The cock will feed his mate while she is sitting; the diet consists of small sand-eels and marine odds and ends. From the time of leaving the shell, the youngsters are running about in lively fashion, and this they continue to do, fed in the meanwhile by the parents, till they are able to fend for themselves. In three weeks, they attempt a limited flight, and their parents keep a watchful eye on them till they acquire independence, by which time they have gained a fair size. They have a peculiar instinct which prompts them to get to the top of a ridge as near as possible to the sea, and thus save the parents’ time in their industrious daily forage for food. Along these near ridges, hundreds will assemble, awaiting the return of Father or Mother with some tasty morsel. When food is scarce, it becomes a case of the survival of the fittest; the parents will raid and rob one another so that their offspring may be supplied.
If a nest goes wrong and the young ones are lost, another start in rearing is made. But if all goes well, though more eggs are laid, they rest content with the one family and concentrate all their energies on feeding and looking after it
The Tern family haver there own kind of freemasonry. If an old Tern is wounded, the other terns will feed it until it has recovered, though I
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can hardly say that the young ones also are fed in such a case.
Unlike the others the Common Tern will nest in the maram grass and very often select a spot where an extra high tide at some time has left a ridge:
The old seaweed provides material for the nest, and, being more fussy and particular than the others, the Common Tern will use a little grass to add to
the nest’s comfort.
Of the Roseate Tern 1 had only two pairs nesting on the Point, and these pairs each reared a brace of youngsters. The Roseates are very difficult to
recognise and their note is the only safe guide; the most expert ornithologist can only with difficulty identify them by sight. The Arctic Tern, being so
like the Common Tern in appearance, is also better distinguished by its note. The expert uses a very powerful pair of field glasses to assist him in his
study, but these fail at times, whereas the notes never deceive. The bill of the Arctic is all red. the Common, red with black tip; the Sandwich,
black with yellow intermixed; the Roseate, a dark “dirty black”; and the Lesser, yellow with a small black tip. Though, as I say, the expert can pick
them out with the aid of glasses, I always relied on hearing their notes. I could almost always tell by the notes what they were doing. The Roseate’s
note resembled a kind of harsh croak—” quar-quar-r-r,” the Sandwich Tern gave off a sharp shrill “go-hittt,” and the Arctic’s note was a babyish
noise—“ ke-ha, ke-ha” and very low. The latter
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would fly closer to one than the others when nesting |and it was fearless of human visitors. The eggs of the Arctic and the Common Tern were difficult to
tell apart, though the Arctic’s had, if anything, more rounded ends. Their actual destinations on migration I cannot definitely state, possibly Poles and
Tropics alike—but all the Terns came to the Point to nest. Though I had seen a few Sandwich Terns flying about, they did not actually nest at Blakeney
till a year or two before I left. Some years ago, a Roseate arrived in mid-May and mated with a Common Tern; two eggs were laid and both
hatched. I watched the result carefully as I desired to learn the colour of the young. The difference noted was that whereas the Common Tern’s babies
are more downy, the Roseate’s covering was more like fine hair. The cross resembled very much the young of the Sandwich, only, naturally, much
smaller. For a few years one pair of Roseates nested, and then the number increased to two pairs. A great many naturalists were sceptical that
the bird did nest in England, and a well-known authority on the subject, Mr. Witherby the naturalist, was invited to investigate. Well T remember his
visit, it coincided with that of my friend Jim Vincent, headkeeper on Hickling Broad, a noted abode of many feathered rareties.
They went off together and saw the bird approach and alight on her nest. Jim walked stealthily up and covered the eggs with his hand. All the while
Mr. Witherby kept his glasses fixed on the nest so
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that no mistake should be made, for there were many Common Terns nesting thereabouts. He was perfectly satisfied that I was correct—personally, I
had no doubt on the point. Once you have heard the note of the Roseate there is no mistaking it, for all other Terns’ notes are totally unlike it. In
June 1924, Dr. Plowright visited the Point and also saw the Roseate on its nest: he too was convinced as the pink on its breast was clearly discernible.
Personally, I think that the Arctic note is the more difficult to tell: it is a low plaintive call and to become familiar with these birds, you must live
among them and study their habits, which differ from those of other Terns. Some assert that the whole red bill proclaims them but, granting this,
one must possess very good glasses indeed and get fairly close up to make certain. There is, however, no more convincing way of telling than by knowing
and recognising their note. One pair nested very near the same spot for several years, and I have a good photograph of the bird flying within a few
yards of our heads. It was taken by my friend, Mr. Gaze of Norwich, who photographed most of the birds at Blakeney, these being reproduced as
postcards and sold to visitors.
In connection with the feeding of young Terns, one common method of procedure may be mentioned. The parents catch something, perhaps of the
eel species, anything from two to ten inches in length, and place the head in the baby’s beak. The “bottle,” or rather the eel, is exhausted. Choke?
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Oh no! The method is more sure than slow, and the next meal time finds the baby ready for more. A young Tern will consume a matter of three or more
fish every day. When there is a shortage of the fish they favour, I have known the birds catch one of the old “ scavenger ” crabs, crack it open, and feed
their brood out of that. The youngsters never go short of food in some form or other.
THE RINGED PLOVER
A few words on the Ringed Plover, or Dotterel, may be of interest. It is about the size of a wheat ear or the more familiar sparrow, and it bears little
resemblance to the Plovers on our pastures. The birds nest in much the same manner as the Terns, except that they usually rejoice in the possession of
four eggs to each nest. I remember one old pair that lost successively three nests by the action of the tide. Not to be outdone, each site was selected
a little higher up the beach till perseverance was rewarded and the family duly arrived.
MY “PAL” THE OYSTER-CATCHER
I should like to recall my very interesting old friend. When I first arrived, there was but one pair of Oyster-Catchers on the Point. This pair nested
on a shingle ridge running up the middle of the
Beachway, a marsh surrounded by sandhills. To
give some idea of a watcher’s difficulties, I will record a little incident connected with this pair. One year, a boy from a vessel lying in the harbour
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had taken some eggs, in one case three, from the nests, just previous to the date for hatching. I dis- covered him by tracking his footprints across the
mud opposite his ship. A gentleman who had a boat handy rowed me alongside, and I hailed “ ship ahoy!” The Captain looked out, and I enquired
about the whereabouts of the boy. “He’s gone to Morston with the mate for letters,” he replied, and, as the tide was flowing, I got into my own boat and
rowed till I met them returning. I went alongside and asked the boy what he had done with the eggs he had taken off the ridge. There were Ring
Plovers’ and some Terns’ eggs on the same ridge, and all had disappeared. He denied taking them; he had “ only picked them up and replaced them.”
I made him accompany me and show me the spot. “I know it was just there against that net” he said, pointing to a fishing net lying on the beach.
I had a good look round and spotted one Oyster- , Catcher’s egg. I picked it up and could hear the young bird squeaking in the shell. After further search, I found other eggs which were all right. I asked what he had done with the remainder, and he replied that he put them all together. “Now young
man,” I said, “you had better speak the truth, you sucked the others, and would have sucked the Oyster-Catcher’s also, but for the young inside.”
He then owned that I was right in my conjecture. I took the eggs that I had recovered to the nests, and the parents hatched a couple out. The egg that
was chipped I wrapped in a piece of blanket, but the young bird died in the night.
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On another occasion some Bank Holiday visitors were shown round the nesting ground by my daughter and, being absent for some hours myself,
I had enlisted the services of several amateur “watchers,” all enthusiasts, to look after the nesting ground. A mother, son, and daughter comprised
the party, and when they were leaving, my daughter was asked by the son if he might take two or three Tern’s eggs for his collection. My daughter
naturally refused and reminded him that we were there to protect eggs, not to give them away. When the party was left to return to the mainland, the young
man could not resist the temptation of slyly going back and appropriating three eggs, which he hid in his hat. He had certainly not reckoned on our
alertness, for, while adding three more eggs to those already in his possession, he fell into the arms of one of my volunteer watchers, who promptly challenged him and got back the six eggs. It was really
a good capture and the result (fines of, altogether, £8) was doubtless a wholesome lesson which would have permanent results.
These incidents give some idea of the kind of“ detective ” work a watcher has at times to practice—crude, perhaps, but effective.
After a time, the Oyster-Catchers found a new home on the Yankee bank (named after the Yankee houseboat which lay there) and have nested there
each year. My idea is that the male lost his mate
by some accident, perhaps she was shot, for he arrived back one year in April with two wives and
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these three used one nest for eight years. As a rule, each bird laid three eggs but one year the combined clutch was seven.
Their departure from the point was timed somewhere about the beginning of the shooting season (September 1st), and their return in April. What
their destination was, I cannot say, but apparently, they took care of themselves. The old chap knew me extremely well, and when I lived on the Britannia, my houseboat, he visited me every morning as soon as I went on deck. Alighting on the shingle bank, he would stroll up and down, and we talked to each other, yes, talked in our respective ways. When night came and the lamp was lighted, he flew over the houseboat and always wished me goodnight in his own fashion. I well understood him, and we
were indeed regular pals. One Saturday, it was blowing a gale from the north-west, and the next day there was an extra big tide. A friend, who was
staying with me over the weekend, accompanied me for a walk outside the boat, when along came our little friend, making such a fuss and agitated
demonstrations that I knew something was wrong. Suggesting to my visitor that we should go and see, we went to the nest and the Oyster-Catcher followed us all the way with plenty of noise en route. On
arrival at the nest, we found that the tide had washed out the six eggs. That was the trouble he had told me about in his own bird language. 1
replaced the eggs, and the old boy was soon off to return with the two females of his household. They
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resumed sitting, and the eggs were duly hatched—a truly re-united family.
I started with one pair of Oyster-Catchers and now there are several other pairs nesting on different parts of the Point. Only my old friend has two
wives. He was there with me in 1900 and when I left in 1931 he was still going strong! “ Thirty- one, not out,” as my old friend “ JK.” observed.
One of my little jobs was to replace birds on nests that storms or tides had washed out. Perhaps the wind had blown inches of sand over the eggs; the bird would be on top of four or five inches of sand, still sitting. I would gently uncover the eggs in the nest and thus allow nature to follow its course. After a heavy gale, I have known eggs to be washed up to the quay over three-and-a-half miles away.
OUR WATER SUPPLY
For a good many years fresh water was carried down to us in small tubs, jars or bottles, and with the coming of visitors became a difficult problem.
I well remember that when students from the University College, Gower Street, (about twenty-five of both sexes) were visiting the Point that we had
only one large tank for catching rain-water. We were very pleased to accept a pailful or two from the New Lifeboat House close by.
After a few years it was decided to build a lab- oratory on the Point, and Professor W. Oliver of London University suggested to me that we might
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endeavour to find a supply of water somewhere. I told him that would not be much trouble and that if he walked up Pinchen’s Creek on the hottest day
in summer, at a certain place he could see water spouting up. It is very cold at this particular spot even when other parts of the Creek are quite warm.
I advised him to have a try in Glaux Low close to where it was decided to build the laboratory. Several attempts to obtain water were made and the idea of sinking a pump was soon given up at this ‘became choked. An empty tar-barrel was also tried, all to no purpose. I suggested that a carpenter should make a square wooden structure without a bottom so that one could get inside, dig down, and then let it drain. This was done and, after going down a matter of four to five feet, the water welled up and filled the inside.
Since then a plentiful supply of fresh water has been available, and what seemed an insuperable difficulty has been overcome.
After this we used our handcart to convey water, in any form of vessel available, to the Lifeboat House some distance away. Talking the matter
over with the Professor I suggested that, as water was to be had at one spot, they ought to be able to get a supply close to the House. He agreed, and
the next day some of his young men were set to work. They drove in four posts and dug down a few feet. Finding water, they boarded up the
sides and thus solved another problem, for an ample supply of water at this place also has been
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forthcoming. Four more wells close by have since been opened.
THE “ TASTE” OF WATER
During the war soldiers were stationed on the Point, and they did not trouble to keep the sand clear, with the result that the wells filled up. After the War, Professor Oliver had two large drain pipes sunk one on top of the other, a cover being fitted to the top with a lifting lid, into which a pail could be inserted. I have seen water running over the surface of the ground by the well, and in the driest of summers, we had water for all requirements. The surface of the water rose and fell with the tide, but the taste of it was unaffected. It was particularly good for making tea. One of the lady
Students tested the taste at the ebb and flow of the tide and were unable to notice any difference. The one small well gives supplies for all purposes, for residents and visitors alike at Blakeney Point—no mean advantage, considering the former haphazard method of getting water and the difficulties of carting it such a long way.
WRECKS
During my long residence at the Point there were of course many diversions to my work of watching. Half a dozen or so of shipwrecks come to mind,
and T have vivid recollections of one or two of them.
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One Norwegian boat during the War ran ashore close into the bar with not a light showing anywhere. The ship was fast on a sandbank, and the crew left her, but, not knowing their whereabouts, they rowed round to the harbour entrance and caught on another sandbank, with the result that the small boat filled. The crew were washed out into a very turbulent sea on a dark, dirty night and, with one exception, they perished. The survivor ploughed through the rough water and reached shore with hardly a shred of clothing left. The ship broke in two and the mast half is still standing right in the mouth of Blakeney Harbour, a guide to all making the harbour from the sea. The survivor saw telephone posts and followed them till he reached the Watch-House. Owing to the dreadful night, the soldiers were sheltering inside, and this perhaps was a fortunate coincidence, for assuredly the sight at night of a stranger in such surroundings speaking a foreign tongue might have had results not at all comforting to the swimmer. However, the Tommies soon made him comfortable inside, and the language difficulty was overcome. I went to the ship with the rocket apparatus to render what help might be needed, but rockets were useless, and the Blakeney Lifeboat came alongside. It was then seen that the disaster might have been averted had there been any guiding lights. The lights in the cabin were still on, and all the crew would have been safe had they kept to the ship. The one survivor had pluckily swum back to the small boat and begged his Captain to follow him. He refused
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nothing more was seen of him. I may mention that this was the swimmer’s third shipwreck. On each occasion, he was the sole survivor! Providence did indeed favour him.
On another occasion, a cargo boat went ashore on West Sands, and a Yarmouth tug went to her assistance. But bad weather drove the tug in and she stuck fast on the bottom. A Lifeboat arrived and took the tug’s crew off, and eventually, after being lightened, the tug was taken in hand by another and refloated. The cargo boat weathered the storm and succeeded in getting safely off.
A Scottish boat was one day driven onto the beach high and dry. So, to help her off, we built a platform of stout deal immediately under her keel and made a big excavation below this, forming a slope to a second platform farther down. The boards were smothered with grease, and we jacked I off the first platform onto the slope which we had made, and then the second platform helped process of refloating. A Wells tug which had waited for three weeks to help her off, had just left. à extra high tide assisted us in our efforts and her n engines enabled her to get off during the night. I went on board and assisted with the cable, and borrowed one which did not fit, a local waterman adjusted the steering, and our joint efforts succeeded in getting her away into Blakeney Harbour. she had slipped her own anchor, and we had to improvise one with an old anchor in the harbour, and moored her as best we could. The boat had
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been stranded for nearly two months and her own crew had left her. A local scratch crew navigated her safely home. The trouble had been that the shingle dug away from her returned with each tide. Finally, all the shingles dug out were carted away to put an end to the difficulty.
The remains of an old boat lying on Cley Beach bring to mind another incident which I might place on record. During the War, a Newcastle “coalie,” the Vera, became entangled in the apparatus of one of our minesweepers. The vessel ran ashore; the weather was not too good, and the seas were breaking over her. Seven of the crew had jumped aboard the minesweeper, but fifteen were still left behind, and these had spent a most miserable time through the night. The next day, it was apparent that these men were in great danger and we worked the rocket apparatus with the breeches-buoy. It fell to my lot to get the men off the boat. I succeeded in getting off the fifteen men in twenty minutes, a feat which called forth the grateful thanks of the Captain and crew.
FOGS
Among our terrors were fogs. These would come upon us suddenly, and in a few minutes, the landscape everywhere would be blotted out. Five visitors, young Army officers who had been doing some shooting, were returning home, and two of us were following with luggage. There was a beacon above Morston Creek and a slack tide running, so
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thick did the fog become that we rowed backwards and forwards three times, on water with which we were very familiar, before a friendly lift of the fog enabled us to proceed.
On another occasion a lady with baby and nurse, who had been staying at a hut on the Point, asked me if I would take her to Blakeney. But for a late start we should have arrived at eight. My sailing boat, towing a dinghy which they had been using, went up Blakeney channel. I lowered the sail and then down came the fog. In attending to the sail the boat had turned round, as I thought, shore- wards, but a big beacon I heard told me I was wrong and well off my course. Again I rowed off and the proximity of some ducks warned me again that I was on the wrong track. I was a mile or more out of reckoning and making Blakeney was then impossible. By locating some maram bushes I found the beach and then Cley channel. We landed at Cley and our difficulties were almost ended. The time was about 11 o’clock, and we had taken three hours to complete what was a journey of thirty minutes in normal weather.
The fogs here are very bad and familiar spots become strangely unfamiliar in them.
I was out with one gentleman shooting, when, after I had noted the direction of the wind and water, we were suddenly enveloped in a very thick fog out on the mud flats which gave us little sense of direction. We trudged on and on and he
Certainly thought I was going the wrong way. However, presently I recognised the Yankee boat, and later we came to the Britannia. That’s not our
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boat,” he said, “look at her size.” It was, however, for boats and objects looming up in a fog have the knack of appearing twice or thrice their normal size.
One night, my son had gone to Morston, and while he was returning, a thick fog came down. He rowed right past our houseboat, the lights of which were invisible to him, and then reached a floating beacon. In his dilemma, he moored up to this and awaited the falling of the tide. When he could touch bottom, he “poled” the boat back till, discovering the position of another houseboat, he followed its cable back to a familiar bank of shingle which gave him the position of the Britannia. We on the houseboat had very anxiously awaited his return, but gunfire, shouting, and waving of lights were of no avail in locating him. Our pleasure and thankfulness can be imagined when he came aboard after more than four hours’ absence. At that time, the three of us were the only people on the Point, and it was in the depth of winter.
EELS
A characteristic of the Point was the immense number of eels to be found there. These could at times be scooped up in hundreds, and of course, the birds found their location a very happy hunting ground. on one occasion, a rough sea had filled
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Salthouse Broad and we went down there to try our luck. The eels had crawled up the marsh and got into any possible fresh water. We improvised a fishing net to catch what we could. After struggling with our rough tackle, we landed well over two hundredweights, with many fine specimens among them. We succeeded, after many trials and difficulties in getting the stock to the roadway, which was over a mile away, by means of an old punt we had commandeered and which we propelled with stout branches of alder, which we had cut, to take the place of the missing punt poles. In addition to those we kept for ourselves and those we gave away, the “market” provided us with a very welcome addition to our pocket money.
AN ENEMY
One of the most destructive of the raptorial birds is the Little Owl. As an illustration of its destructive nature, I may recount how, on one occasion, a Tern was sitting on eggs when it was attacked by one of these Owls. Its body was still in position on the nest but the head was severed completely and lay at some little distance. These creatures gave us an anxious time when Roseate and other Terns were on, the nesting ground, and we had to keep a sharp lookout to guard against their depredations
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LITTLE DISCOVERIES
One day I was escorting two ladies round the neighbourhood and pointing out items of interest, when, on a very small tide, I discerned some feathers of a bird sticking up out of the water. I always examined such things, so I picked up the bird and took it home. I thoroughly cleaned it, and discovered that it was a very rare specimen, the Little Dusky Shearwater, in a state of good preservation. That specimen now graces the collection of one of our Norfolk Museums.
Another interesting find was that of a plant whose natural habitat was certainly hundreds of miles from Blakeney-it was that of the Mertensia maritima, its blossom a pretty little blue flower like a Forget-me-not, belonging to the Gromwell family. It is also known as the Oyster-plant because the taste of the leaf resembles that of an oyster. Despite great efforts to protect the flower, one night the whole plant with its protective covering was removed by a botanist who knew its rarity. Two years later, the old roots threw up new shoots and it is still to be seen on the Point.
GENTLEMAN ARTHUR
One of the best-known local characters, whom I met at the Point, rejoiced in the name of “Gentleman Arthur.” His age was about sixty, and his father was a country parson. Now” Arthur” was equally at home at the sport of all kinds-punt-gunning, eel-catching, and telling a good yarn. Some,
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of the yarns at times were as wonderful as the bags he claimed, and I would like to quote at least one to show his versatility in sport and the recital of it. His story was that he was out punt-gunning one day. The process is as follows: the gun, in this case an old muzzle-loader, was fixed on the punt in a position which could be moved backwards or forwards so as to affect its elevation. On this occasion, when loading, the ramrod jammed, and all efforts to shift it were unavailing. At that moment, many flocks of wild fowl-geese, swans, ducks, etc., were flying over, and not to miss the opportunity, he applied a cap to the gun and decided literally to take “pot-luck.” Away flew the ramrod after the explosion, and “Gentleman Arthur ” proudly told the sequel. The ramrod” skewered through seven geese and dropping to the ground pinned an old hare in its drop. Gospel truth? Well, “Arthur” would not have it otherwise, but many listeners expressed their doubts in a way that suggested grave suspicions of the teller’s veracity. But one incident that occurred to me, I can vouch for. I was out shooting one day and fired at a duck. The bird dropped. There had been a heavy flood-tide which had left some depressions in the ground and left stranded many fish in its ebb. As I went to secure the duck, I heard noises I had not expected. It had fallen into a pool and had frightened a large fish, which had floundered out of the water onto the marshy ground and could,
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for supper and a very welcome cod, of 5 lbs. or so, which we relished for breakfast. Whether or not my yarn was a good set-off to that of ” Arthur I leave to my readers to judge. With the two of us there is one melancholy fact to record. I am here to recount my experience, but poor Arthur was a victim of his own enthusiasm, which I will speak about later.
,
On another occasion, he was out punt-shooting and, when bringing home some geese, he got out of the punt and sank into a deep hole in the marsh. By the time he had extricated himself, his capacious boots were full of eels. In catching eels, he also had few equals, and you could see him, spear in one hand and bag in the other, go straight to where these slippery fish could be found. His bag was always full to repletion. Sometimes he would sell to the locals, and in handing the eels out, he would also skin and clean them. He was an expert swimmer and would go to sea in the most ramshackle old tubs. This really cost him his life. He was out in an old crab-boat, the seat of which was secured merely by a nail or two driven through the side of the boat. What actually happened is conjecture, but it would appear that he lowered his mast in going out to sea, and when he started rowing, the seat collapsed. The oars running through holes in the sides of the boat apparently pinned him and in his struggles the boat capsized with “Arthur” still a prisoner. An old sea-captain watched him and saw the boat capsize. I was on the houseboat,
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and hearing his shouts, my son and I hurried to the spot, but there was no trace of “Arthur” or the boat. His body was washed up on Cley beach some three weeks later. All kinds of sport came alike to him; oyster-catching was another branch he favoured. He had his own smack and often went out without a small boat. If he returned late on the tide, he would stop his smack in the narrows, moor up, and with his bag secured about his head would promptly swim ashore. No difficulties daunted him. He was very popular with the locals and claimed no distinction or superiority. He was
one of the boys.” Everyone who knew him mourned his untimely end, though perhaps it was the kind of death he would have chosen, lover of the sea that he was. He was one of the dear old characters we got to know so well on the Point.
SEA FOWL COOKING
Many visitors have ventured the question as to the fitness of sea-fowl for the table and how to eliminate that “fishy” taste peculiar to them.
I assure them that all kinds of sea-birds, even gulls, can be eaten free from all offensive flavour. Prepare the bird in the ordinary way, place a good-sized onion, just cross-cut through, in the stomach, and roast. When thoroughly cooked, remove the onion, and with it will go all the “fish” taste that would otherwise preclude the epicure from sampling sea-fowl
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Talking of recipes: one visitor apparently connected with the Press was questioning me about cooking and asked me the best way to cook Shell duck. I thought he was “pulling my leg” so I told him to place a brick with the Duck in the oven, and when he could get a fork into the brick, the bird would be done. To my amusement, I found the recipe was reproduced in a current publication which I now prize in my souvenir collection.
THE COMING OF A WHALE
We had other experiences to vary our normal business of bird-watching, and one of these was the washing ashore of the carcass of a whale. It came in on the Stiffkey side of the harbour. It was twenty-six feet in length and stood nearly six feet off the ground. I could barely see over its body. The authorities wanted it removed but no one would accept the task. After a time it was washed on to the old nesting-ground. Then a man under- took the job of burying it, and enlisted the services of three others to assist him. It was supposed to be buried six feet deep. It is fairly obvious what would happen if they dug down six feet into the shingle. As a preliminary, the tail was sawn off and rolled into the hole, but the next tide brought it up, though it had been buried in sand and shingle. The carcass had arrived in October, it was still with us the following May, when the weather was very hot. It attracted rats and gulls by the hundred, which during the winter fed on it. I saw them swimming across the harbour from the Morston
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side. When the wind was northerly and we were going to or from Blakeney we got the offensive smell of the whale, especially if the temperature was a little on the up grade. As I have stated, it was very hot that May. On my houseboat all the windows had to be closed as we could not stand the smell. It was awful. When the Terns arrived in April and started to nest in May the rats voted a change of diet. They deserted the whale and be- took themselves to raiding the eggs. What to do puzzled me, for I was most anxious to save my charges. I reported the matter and was supplied with four dozen rat-traps. With these I could not catch the rats nearly fast enough. Those caught were soon replaced by newcomers. My son and I decided we must try something different. So at high-water we put a net across the creek by the Britannia and caught over one hundred flat-fish. We cut off the heads of these, and using the entrails as well we mixed them in pails with phosphorous paste. It was very hot that day and we knew that something “spicy” would tempt the rats. The bait was distributed about the nesting ground, and the outcome! I have never seen such a quantity of dead vermin as met my eyes there and in the grass, the rodents had died on the way back to the sand- hills. Exit the rats.
WHALE OR “WAIL
One morning a letter from Professor Oliver enquired if the whale was still there: it was, and I wrote him that I wished it had never come. The
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Professor frequently brought down a party of University students for botany study and, in view of this, £5 was offered to anyone who would dispose of the carcass. The offer was accepted, and on my rounds I met four men coming from the far Point laden with various articles. I enquired their game and they informed me they had come to burn the whale. I congratulated the man who had accepted the contract of taking up the job, and became an interested spectator of the venture. The men were
6
armed” with petrol, paraffin and coals, and they quite expected an easy bonfire. The first party might have had success this way, but in the mean- while the hot weather had melted the oil out of the whale. They poured petrol and paraffin over it and set it alight. It flared up and then fizzled out. The man in charge was very disappointed. He had ex- pected an easy victory. He consulted me as to the best method of disposal and suggested at the same time I might like to help. I agreed and we set to work. I advised that two men should dig a trench around the carcass and that the others should gather all the fuel they could. There was plenty of drift- wood and dry grass about. I went back to my houseboat and donned an old suit, then hurried back to assist the fuel gatherers. I chopped a hole through the middle of the whale and we packed this with fuel, poured in petrol and paraffin and added coal. We started a good blaze. Persisting thus, the fire lasted three days, until all the com- bustible portion of the carcass was exhausted. Then a little financial problem arose, the demolition
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money was becoming exhausted, as the contractor had been finding the refreshments as well as the men’s pay. To his query, “What about it?” I suggested that we should do a good job of it and quickly finish it off. I told the men to bring down a couple of boat-hooks, one man to go on one side of the whale and one on the other. I chopped the remnants of the whale into pieces, had holes dug, and tumbled the pieces into these. That completed a most arduous and unpleasant task, and our satisfaction may well be imagined. How I welcomed that monster’s disappearance, for good, I hoped!
BOOTS AND BONES
But a little resurrection was to follow. A few years later, a large scouring tide washed out the buried remains of the whale. Professor Oliver was again visiting the Point with students who were anxious to secure some of the washed-up bones. We had to bring all our stores from Morston, as water only was obtainable at the Point, and for this purpose, our hand-cart, a vehicle used for all manner of transport, was almost indispensable. This cart was commandeered for the transport of the bones, and one student requested that his boots and leggings should be taken ashore with the bones. I was proceeding towards Cley and had to sail against the wind. The weather was warm. What happened? The odour of that much-blessed whale came back to my nostrils in the same old way. I wondered then how the boots and leggings packed
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Among the bones would be flavoured when they were unpacked! I still wonder!
On the accession of the rats, the Common Terns moved from the shingle and laid their eggs along the sandhills, some nearly on the tops of them. It was a lovely sight to see these nests among the grass. Eight out of ten contained sky-blue eggs. It would be interesting to know more about the variation in the colour of eggs. As a rule, the eggs of the Tern have a grey ground with brown blotches. Many of these eggs had no spots on them, while others had a few dark spots.
RINGING
Another important aspect of protection lies in ringing the birds for purposes of identification. Captain Boyd accompanied by Mrs. Boyd came over to ring my Sandwich Terns, bringing four hundred rings. By the time he had finished, these had to be increased to six hundred which were all used up. I always had a good show of these beautiful birds, and the Captain complimented me on the fact that I had “the best lot anywhere to be found.” I appreciated his compliment.
BIRDS AT THE POINT
The birds that visit Blakeney Point are as varied almost as the pebbles on the beach. To give an idea of their variety, I select at random one of my many diaries and give the names of the birds
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enumerated therein, birds I have actually seen. Some are birds of passage only, but many nest and rear their young at the Point. These include:
Aquatic
Blackbird
Blackcap
Mallard
Manx Shearwater
Merganzer
Bluethroat
Bramblefinch
Brent Goose
Carrier Pigeon
Oyster-Catcher
Plover, Green
Plover, Grey
Plover, Ringed Redshank
Chaffinch
Curlew
Dotterel
Duck, Longtailed
Flycatcher, Pied
Redshank, Dusky
Redstart
Redstart, Black
Redwing
Flycatcher, Red-breasted Ring Ousel
Gannet, Spotted
Robin
Garden Warbler
Rook
Geese
Sandpiper, Purple
Goldcrest
Scooter, Common
Golden Eye
Scooter, Velvet
Godwit
Shelduck
Godwit, black-tailed
Shore Lark
Grey Crow
Siskin
Greenland Wheatear
Skud
Greenshank
Snow Bunting
Gull, Black-headed
Sparrow Hawk
Harrier
Spoonbill
Hawk (? Hobby)
Starling
Knot
Swallow
Landrail
Swan
Linnet
Teal
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Thrush
Turnstone Tern, Arctic
BLAKENEY POINT
Tern, Common Tern, Lesser
Tern, Roseate
Tern, Black
Tern, Sandwich
SWANS AND SEALS
Wild swans fly over the Point in goodly numbers, and in the shooting season these are much sought after for the lovely swansdown they yield. When the bird is shot, the skin is slit from the neck downwards, the extremities are discarded, and there is left a beautiful “pelt” much sought after by our lady friends and for which a good price is paid.
If birds take their toll of fish, what about seals? Large numbers of these are often seen here, and I have seen as many as fifty on the beach at one time. Their presence was not required, but they took some shifting. I remember one fine fellow weighing sixteen stone, which my son shot. Its pelt made a complete back for a lady’s coat, so big was it, but it took eight smaller skins to complete the garment. The seals visited the Point at all times of the year and in the summer, it was a favourite place for them. They liked disporting themselves on the sandy portions of the beach. I have even seen them right up the harbour at times.
WILD GEESE
Speaking of Geese, one remarkable occurrence is worth recording. Wild Geese make their home in
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The Holkham Marshes, where they are strongly protected. They can be seen thereabouts in their hundreds, and they almost appear to be aware that they are immune to danger. On moonlight nights, they make for the uplands where they soon effect many a clearance in fields and pastures. On dark nights, they forage on the West Sands, float out on a flood tide and eventually back to Holkham, which they do not make until it is daylight. Some Army officers staying on the Britannia wanted to see the spectacle, but just before a start was to be made, a terrible storm-thunder and lightning, hail and torrential rain and a howling wind came, and stopped the proposed excursion. But then a sight appeared which amply repaid all their curiosity. The geese in hundreds careered over and around the Britannia. They were all in a very distressed and agitated condition. Some came to the ground of and a great number seemed to be maimed. A fork of the terrific lightning had caught them and created havoc in their ranks. Feathers and wings and even limbs were singed and burnt, and a great many wounded birds were picked up over a wide area. The elements had made a fearful onslaught on the poor Geese and provided a very unexpected and morbid sort of show for the officers. As a matter of fact, I could have “potted” dozens and dozens of Geese from the deck of the Britannia, though the young men had little luck in shooting with the only two suitable guns available. I am afraid their sporting enthusiasm was greater than their skill in bringing down wild Geese. It is almost waste of
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time to shoot at Geese with an ordinary 12-bore, and on one particular day at Wells, over thirty 12-bore guns were directed at big flocks of Geese, but the only real successes were achieved by the use of two 8-bores carried by our little party of three, though one shooter with a long-chambered 12-bore standing in a favourable position brought down two.
DISTINGUISHED VISITORS AND OPINIONS
During my tenure on the Point, we were honoured by the visit of many distinguished naturalists and bird-lovers. More than one eminent correspondent of the London daily papers wrote on the beauties of the Point, its lovely birds, and its warden. In particular, Sir William Beach Thomas came to look round and followed his visit with an article in one of the London dailies. I appended some extracts from this:
“I have just been walking along the headland of Blakeney-that wonderful nursery of terns and oyster-catchers and ringed plover— along with the bird warden whose keen sea-man eye has been watching for twenty-five years the crowded nests he so carefully tends.
He and his old spaniel know every nest—- and nests are legion-along that curious spit of land, of pebble and marsh and sand and maram grass, that narrowly divides the river from the sea, and is further severed from land proper by the wide salt marshes. Is there any
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place in England like it? The warden who, with his wife, lives almost alone in the fishing boat that is their home-and a very snug home too-delights in the place more and more, and his eye for the three tern’s eggs protectively coloured in a scoop of the pebbles seems like his spaniel’s nose, to grow keener with age. Every naturalist desires to visit Blakeney before he dies.
“Leaving such a perfect sanctuary in sight of tern, those swallows of the sea, hovering like hawks above the river, in sound of the calling red-shank, with glimpses of shelduck flying over the ground-loving dotterel, any visitor must rejoice along with the bird warden that the National Trust takes up such preservations, and that the sanctuaries increase. Norfolk gives a noble lead.””
Another correspondent wrote:
A man who can actually talk with birds is Mr. Pinchen, of Cley, on the North Norfolk coast.
“Until now, he can recognise almost any British bird by its note. Not only that, he can imitate their cries so faithfully that he can bring them swooping down on him at will. Mr. Pinchen claims further that he can tell from the call what the bird is doing. ‘It is possible to say when you hear the note,’ he
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says, ‘whether the bird is flying, feeding, making love, fighting, or is alarmed.”
ROUTINE
In addition to my work as a watcher, I had, of course, to keep records, and for this purpose, my old diary did duty. Every day brought something fresh in feathers to the Point, and furnished an entry which was in due time reported to my employers. For instance, April 12th of one year recorded that the first Sandwich Tern had arrived together with some Shore-Larks and a Brambling.” Another entry told that I had found a Dotterel’s nest with three eggs: the old bird was lying by the side of it with its head crushed. Wind W.N.W. blowing very hard. Sleet, snow, and rain.
In May, another day was reported:
Counted over four hundred Sandwich Terns’ nests, but only one egg.”
In June:
Counted over four hundred Sandwich Terns’ nests, three hundred and seventy-nine with two eggs. As a rule, many of the Sandwich Terns lay but one egg.”
Another June entry:
Oyster-Catchers hatched on far Point, this is the first nest that has been found on this ground, right in the midst of the Terns.
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June 30th to July 1st:
Ringed over six hundred young Sandwich Terns, two Roseates, and three Oyster-Catchers on Far Point. Many more of each kind to hatch out.”
July 3rd:
Locals from Blakeney landing on Far Point at 8.30 p.m., too late to disturb birds.” I was in- insulted by them for persistence in my duty. September 1st:
“Lots of waders about: Greenshanks, Redshanks, Knots, Godwits and Curlews, a few Mallards and lots of Shelduck.”
Later September entries deal with the migrants hurrying off to warmer climates. Many rare and beautiful birds are often noted.
September 29th:
‘Saw the largest number of Oyster-catchers in one flock that I have ever seen. Blowing hard.”
October 23rd:
“Still some swallows about.”
November 2nd:
“Saw three Velvet Scooters.”
And a December entry:
“Lots of Shelduck, plenty of Curlews, a few Whimbrels, several Godwits and Knot.”
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These entries are taken at random from my diary, which furnishes a running commentary on the arrival and departure and the passing of birds on and from the Point on each day of the year. I knew all their calls and flights and never had any difficulty in recognising the many species.
HELP
My duties naturally took me at all hours of the day and night-many an hour have I spent on the dark and desolate waste in winter, when the easterly wind is east and its razor edge needs no further sharpening.
In my later work, my wife, son,, and daughter all assisted, for with the great number of visitors and increased responsibilities in the catering line we were never short of work when the days were long and the sun enticed so many people to Blakeney point.
When I was absent for any purpose, my wife took charge of the ground and the Point was never without a zealous protector for its bird-life. She was a real helpmate and we loved doing our work together. Birds were our neighbours, and we never disagreed with their views on the outlook of life. They knew us, and rest assured, they trusted us. Ideal neighbours indeed.
During my long term at the Point, I am thankful to say that I enjoyed wonderfully good health and this always enabled me to do justice to my duties.
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I was always of an athletic turn of mind at school. I had few superiors at the one hundred yards. At Blakeney Regatta the running events attracted me and I won the one hundred yards on several occasions. Even now at seventy-two I have succeeded in winning a “Father’s race.” Do some of us ever grow old?
SUNSHINE AND STORM
It is hardly in my power adequately to describe the many aspects of the Point in its varying moods, and the ever changing scenes brought about by wind and tide on a spot which nature evidently in- tended to serve as a paradise for her feathered proteges. On a fine summer day all around could be observed the busy little sea-swallows carrying out their daily tasks almost unobserved by intruding man-in the early morning with no one else. about it was really a magnificent sight. With the bright sun overhead and with just a few flecks of fleecy clouds here and there, there was not a thing to disturb nature’s harmony, only the lap of the water and the ceaseless chatter of industrious parents getting through their daily domestic duties. Later in the day, as the sun goes down over the Point, a lovely picture may be seen of contented birds sitting on their nests in hundreds, almost aware of the fact that they were thoroughly secure against aggression from foes which a kindly National Trust does its best to discourage or destroy. This peaceful scene is indeed one to be remembered.
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Again, with the elements in a rough mood, one could see the tremendously big sets rolling in under a sky that was ever threatening in its accompaniment of heavy black clouds that might burst at any moment.
The Terns then would get very anxious, wheeling here and turning there and awaiting what was in store for them when those clouds would discharge their contents. Perhaps the storm would pass over; sometimes, alas, it brought disaster to all around, and their little homes would be washed away. On a big tide, I have known the water rush down the gullies into the Old Lifeboat House, and we had to secure everything and take our effects there into safety. From the new house, I also have had to retrieve our belongings underneath from floating away, reaching them as best I could from the verandah.
But all our experiences in stormy times were counterbalanced when the brilliant midsummer sun shed its great joys all around. Then it was good to be alive on the Point.
Another little diversion was provided one even- ing when an aeroplane came down on the Point. It had been commissioned by Professor Oliver to take aerial photographs of the Point.
Difficulties arose, and it crashed on the beach, but happily, no serious harm resulted to its occupants, except that the camera was sent flying and slightly
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hurt the pilot’s head. He soon recovered. The real difficulty was to get the plane to take off again. Its nose had penetrated the sand, but a little energetic digging gave leverage. I had some new ropes on my boat and these were secured to the plane. Swarms of people from the mainland were attracted by the sight, and these were promptly harnessed to the plane. A pull all altogether and the machine was righted sufficiently to secure one end to our useful old hand-cart, and the wheels at the other end rested on the ground. In this manner, we managed, with four hefty horses, to get the plane over the difficult marshy ground to Cley, where it was dismantled and taken away. We housed the two men that night and the next morning, they left little the worse for their adventure.
Whenever I went to the Point, my old water spaniel “Prince”, who knew every inch of the ground, accompanied me. He was a very faithful old creature and knew the habits and nesting-ground of the birds as well as I. He died in 1925 after fourteen years of friendship and service, and we felt we had lost a rare and good companion. My son made his grave at Blakeney Point, enclosing it with posts and wire-netting. A little stone marks the resting place of one who spent all his years in the work of bird protection.
It was marvellous to watch him searching out the hidden nests, standing, pointing at nests till I should come up, and sniffing at the tiny young ones who were not in the least afraid of him.
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BLAKENEY AND WILDFOWLING.
Having described Blakeney Point and the Bird Sanctuary, a few notes apropos Blakeney as a centre for wildfowling may not be out of place. Blakeney is a study in grey flint and red brick, and many of its characteristics are due to Dutch influence. Its charm lies in its unspoiled old-world appearance, and a cer- tain repose offset by the wild salting and mud flats which stretch for miles on three sides.
A first class hotel has been built on the site of an old smuggling inn-the “Crown and Anchor,” and it has been constructed with due regard to its sur- roundings, as that the harbour and quay have been in no way disfigured. It is about two miles from the sea, and popular for a couple of months during sum- mer, otherwise it is a quiet place frequented by fisher- men and wildfowlers, and disturbed only by stormy winds that bring the wild geese during autumn and winter. It is a great sporting district famous for its partridge shooting, whilst snipe, woodcock, plover, curlew and duck add variety to the bag.
Geese arrive in the autumn, and are wisely pro- tected by Lord Leicester in the lake on his Holkham estate. Nevertheless, a good toll is taken of them by
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surrounding gunners during their morning and evening flight. Black brent geese are now, however, scarce, owing, it is said, to the failure of the Zostera grass on which they feed.
The harbour and flats are still a great place for birds, including such varieties as Temmincks stint, and broad billed sandpipers, while knot, greenshank, stint, sandpiper, curlew and godwit appear each year on migration.
Blakeney boasts a fine church dedicated to St. Nicholas, which is a remarkable landmark, both at sea and for miles along the coast. At the west end of the church is a tower, used in days gone by as a beacon for mariners.
The fishing industry of Blakeney has fallen away to nothing, from being an important industry it has been reduced to the placing of a few carefully tended mussel beds. It is to be feared that the men attend- ing them wring a rather hard and bitter living from them.
At one time Blakeney was famous for its oyster beds, but these failed some thirty years ago, and have never recovered.
Blakeney with its neighbouring villages of Cley, Morston, and Stiffkey together with Wells, makes a veritable paradise for the wildfowler, competing still with some of the most famous wildfowling districts in the country. It is not, however, what it was thirty years ago.
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surrounding gunners during their morning and evening flight. Black brent geese are now, however, scarce, owing, it is said, to the failure of the Zostera grass on which they feed.
The harbour and flats are still a great place for birds, including such varieties as Temmincks stint, and broad billed sandpipers, while knot, greenshank, stint, sandpiper, curlew and godwit appear each year on migration.
Blakeney boasts a fine church dedicated to St. Nicholas, which is a remarkable landmark, both at sea and for miles along the coast. At the west end of the church is a tower, used in days gone by as a beacon for mariners.
The fishing industry of Blakeney has fallen away to nothing, from being an important industry it has been reduced to the placing of a few carefully tended mussel beds. It is to be feared that the men attend- ing them wring a rather hard and bitter living from them.
At one time Blakeney was famous for its oyster beds, but these failed some thirty years ago, and have never recovered.
Blakeney with its neighbouring villages of Cley, Morston and Stiffkey together with Wells, make a veritable paradise for the wildfowler, competing still with some of the most famous wildfowling districts in the country. It is not, however, what it was thirty years ago.
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With sharp winters and an abundance of fowl and a plenitude of gunners, sport was fast and furious. In those days it was necessary to pick your place and anchor your boat there several days before the season opened. The narrowest part of the mud flats is be- side the cart road, which runs from Cley to Blakeney Point. At this part birds were plentiful passing up and down the narrow channel, providing the best sport in the district. In a short stretch of this channel I have often counted as many as forty gunners.
Towards the Point may be seen the Watch House, and from there the mud flats extend nearly two miles to the Freshers, a small stream branching from the Stiffkey river to Blakeney Harbour. This stream has never been known to freeze, even in the sharpest weather, so that during the severe weather, ducks, geese, etc., may with certainty be found there.
I well remember one of our old punters obtaining a shot at wigeon at the mouth of the Freshers, and bagging fifty-seven, whilst almost as many were lost, being carried away by the swirling waters. The retrieving of birds from a swiftly running creek is difficult and dangerous work in a gaming punt.
This old punter’s son made a good shot near the Point on one occasion, bagging thirty-five ducks. On another occasion, three punters (each in his own punt) met on the flats opposite Stiffkey and paddled up to a large flock of Knot, all fired simultaneously, and bagged 603 birds. The Knot is grey with a few dark spots and a trifle larger than the Blackbird.
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With sharp winters and an abundance of fowl and a plenitude of gunners, sport was fast and furious. In those days it was necessary to pick your place and anchor your boat there several days before the season opened. The narrowest part of the mud flats is be-side the cart road, which runs from Cley to Blakeney Point. At this part birds were plentiful passing up and down the narrow channel, providing the best sport in the district. In a short stretch of this channel I have often counted as many as forty gunners.
Towards the Point may be seen the Watch House,and from there the mud flats extend nearly two miles to the Freshers, a small stream branching from the Stiftkey river to Blakeney Harbour. This stream has never been known to freeze, even in the sharpest weather, so that during the severe weather, ducks, geese, etc., may with certainty be found there.
I well remember one of our old punters obtaining a shot at wigeon at the mouth of the Freshers, and bagging fifty-seven, whilst almost as many were lost, being carried away by the swirling waters. The retrieving of birds from a swiftly running creek 1s difficult and dangerous work in a gaming punt.
This old punter’s son made a good shot near the Point on one occasion, bagging thirty-five ducks. On another occasion, three punters (each in his own punt) met on the flats opposite Stiffkey and paddled up to a large flock of Knot, all fired simultaneously, and bagged 603 birds. The Knot is grey with a fewdark spots and a trifle larger than the Blackbird.
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They are very good eating. During sharp weather they come in very large flocks and the noise of their wings is extraordinary and can be heard a mile away.
There is a considerable variation in the seasons, sometimes ducks are scarce, whilst curlew and sand-pipers are in abundance and vice versa.
During the winter I was usually engaged by visiting wild fowlers and collectors, taking them by boat and on foot to the spots affording the best sport. I had at times nearly a score of collectors staying with me during the season. Now, however, that all rare birds are placed on the closed list, collectors are conspicuous by their absence. In those days many fine
and rare specimens were taken on Blakeney Point. One gentleman attended the Point for over 20 years, and is the possessor of one of the finest collections in the country. This gentleman on one occasion was
anxious to secure a goose for his collection and suggested a trip to Wells when conditions were favourable. One stormy night with a heavy wind blowing, we set out having wired the landlord of a hotel to reserve rooms for us. We were armed with 8-bore guns, a plentiful supply of No. 4 cartridges, but only six BB cartridges. 1 had hoped to have been able to purchase a supply of 8-bore BB cartridges locally, but was unable to do so to my great surprise, since Wells is a famous wildfowling centre. The night proved a failure, therefore, we set out early the next morning, the weather was just right—blowing a gale and raining. We made for the sand bank running
parallel with the Holkham marshes, the home of the
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geese. As a rule geese remain on the water during the night, and large numbers may be seen in the early dawn between Wells and Blakeney Point, returning to the Holkham marshes. The noise they make during flight is a sound never to be forgotten. I can only liken it to the sound of an express train.
We had lots of shots with our 8-bores charged with No. 4 shot, and it was blowing so hard that the geese were able to fly only at a slow speed with the wind against them, so that we were able to fire-and reloaded and fired again at the same birds as they passed over. We did not, however, get a single goose with No. 4 shot, this size is excellent for ducks and smaller birds, but BB shot is the smallest size for geese. With our 6 BB cartridges we obtained five geese, and had our ammunition consisted entirely of BB shot we should have killed more geese than we should have been able to carry. On this occasion there were over 20 gunners present armed only with 12-bore guns but they failed to bring down a single goose.
It is a wonderful sight to see the large flocks of geese passing over these marshes on a rough morning.
On one occasion when I was out shooting, I saw a knot flying with a dark object suspended from it. T shot the bird in order to discover what the object was, it proved to be a large cockle. Apparently, the bird had stepped on the opened shell of the cockle, which immediately closed, nipping the bird’s
toe, and was thus carried away by it. I took the bird
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with its unwelcome guest to Mr. Pashley, the local taxidermist, and had it stuffed just as I had shot it.
On another occasion I was with a friend who wanted food for his ferrets, we shot a gull each, on picking up my bird I found a sharp point of wood
protruding from its breast. I got Mr. Pashley to open the bird, when it was found that the gull had swal-
lowed the head of a black-headed gull to which a stake of wood had been attached. The gull was sent to London for inspection.
VISITORS.
During the summer months a fairly large number of visitors are present. The solitude of marsh, marge, and sea proving an unfailing attraction to those who
desire quiet, and to be unharrassed by the formalities of a fashionable watering place with its “popular” entertainments. Often during the summer visiting season, gentlemen would arrange with me for a shooting expedition during the following winter. Afrequent visitor during the shooting season among many others was the late Sir S. Hoare, of Sidestrand (father of the present Sir Samuel Hoare). He would arrive in a carriage and pair, putting up at the Old George Hotel, Cley. A number of beaters were engaged and were generously entertained at the hotelby Sir Samuel.
The guns were placed at certain stands on the mud flats, and beaters would then drive the birds over the guns afterwards repeating the operation from the opposite direction, very much in the style that partridges are driven. Good bags and varied often resulted.
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The present Sir Samuel with a party of friends occasionally visited Blakeney for a day’s shoot, and the long tramp over the mud flats was thoroughly
enjoyed by them.
“KILLING THE GOOSE.”
At one time the local fishermen raised a great out-cry concerning the terns, saying that they destroyed the young flat fish. A public meeting was called, the object being the destruction of the terns. It was proved conclusively that terns do not feed on flat fish, a number being shot and the contents of their
crops examined, not a single flat fish was found in any of the shot birds, the agitation subsided and now, of course, the birds enjoy legal protection being
placed on the close list. The money earned by fishing has for many years dwindled to practically nothing (not, however, on account of the birds) whilst the money earned from the visitors is the mainstay of the erstwhile fishermen, their fishing boats having given place to motor passenger boats carrying
visitors to and from the ternery at a charge of 1/- each way. Thus providing a snug income for the men plying these boats, and earning much more than
they could hope to earn from fishing.
As an indication of the number of people visiting Blakeney Point, I may say that often we have had as many as 200 calling at the refreshment room for
teas, etc.
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GOODBYE
Finally there came a time for a rest from our labours, as we approached the evening of our lives. In 1931 we gave up our work of bird-watching, and
together with members of our family retired to enjoy the leisure a life of hard work which I may modestly claim was well earned. Naturally it was with some reluctance that we left our old friends, my daily companions, the Terns. And now some of my pleasantest moments are those when I look back at times we, the birds and I, spent together. For birds, when you understand them, really do talk and become friendly with you. An occasional visit
to the scenes of my daily rounds on the nesting-ground is still one of my greatest delights. I love to point out familiar spots to my friends; spots
which recall more triumphs than disappointments.
I trust, in conclusion, that the few reminiscent notes I have recorded will be read with as much interest and pleasure as I have experienced in setting them down. Blakeney Point to me was and is a wonderful and fascinating place.