Wildlife in York, 1932

While looking for information in association with the plans for Bootham Park, I found the document above, from 1932. It’s from a report from the British Association for the Advancement of Science, part of an appendix entitled ‘A Scientific Survey of York and District’, prepared for the York meeting. The Association met in York for its annual meeting from 31 August to 7 September 1932. (Its very first meeting had also taken place in York, in 1831.)

A J A Woodcock’s report includes the following interesting observations on the city’s wildlife in the early 1930s:

No account of the natural history of the district would be complete without a reference to the special charms of York itself. Though not at all a small city, its associations are essentially rural. Its older parts have generous gardens, even in the centre of the city, and the extent to which these are frequented by birds is quite unusual. The dawn chorus in the spring and early summer causes comment from the visitor from another town, when he hears it for the first time.

For several years a pair of kestrels has nested in the main tower of York Minster, a pair of barn owls in the turrets of the Theatre Royal, and another pair in Bootham Bar. A pair of tawny owls frequents Bootham Park, and another pair the Museum Gardens. The kingfisher, which is found along the banks of the Ouse, may be regularly seen on the river within the city boundaries. A few minutes’ walk from the houses in Clifton will enable one to put up a snipe, and curlews may often be heard calling when we walk through the streets during the quiet of night.

A pair of otters has for some years reared young on the river Ouse, and usually they may be seen during the night watches in the vicinity of the old Guildhall and Common Hall Lane — in other words, in the very heart of the city. Otters are often found along the course of the river Foss, and at several other points on the outskirts of the city. The grey squirrel frequently comes into the gardens of the houses in Clifton.

—source document, via the Biodiversity Heritage Library

I’ve read this several times and can’t quite believe that there was so much wildlife activity so close to the city centre back then. But it must be the case, this being a reliable source found in the archives.

Back then, the city’s suburbs were much smaller, of course, and owls and kestrels wouldn’t have had to fly so far to find open fields. There was also a larger area of open green space close by, not just the Bootham Park ‘gala field‘, which still exists, but what was then a cricket field to the north of it, where the city’s main hospital now stands.

Tawny owls can still be heard calling in the night, in the area around Bootham Park and the nearby football ground at Bootham Crescent. I’ve not heard anyone mention barn owls nesting in the city centre, or kestrels — though there are peregrine falcons on the Minster.

I recall reports a few years back of otters on the Ouse, and I know that kingfishers have been seen on the Foss. I think we’ve all seen grey squirrels, in and around the city centre. Not mentioned in the above, but now fairly common, are urban foxes.

If you’d like to read more about the wildlife and wider environment in the area around York at that time, you can view the document in full on this link.

Your comments and coffees welcome as always.

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Sign in doorway of Neary’s, Clifton, 4 May 2020

It has been a while, hasn’t it.

Back in May, so many months ago, I took the photo above,  a sign in the doorway of Neary’s in Clifton. Though in its focus on social distancing guidelines it was like so many other signs in so many other shop doorways, I appreciated the added note: “Hopefully ‘normal’ life will resume soon”.

It still hasn’t — six months on and it’s all looking weirder than ever in many respects.

But after some (many) months silence I think that this online offering of mine should attempt to connect back to the “normal”, in some way. Or at least record some notes on some of the non-normal/new normal aspects of this strange year.

To start with, I want to record a few notes on something I’ve noticed in particular – familiar sounds, and how I’ve missed them.

In the past, every now and then (like in this review of the year in 2013, and 2012), I’d try to record the York I knew in audio, rather than words and photos. Familiar sounds (and smells) are of course an important part of our sense of place, but perhaps it’s only when they’re absent that we realise their importance.

In recent months I’ve missed the sound of the crowds from Bootham Crescent. Quite impressive when in good voice, when things are going well. Instead, in recent months, cut-out faces on the silent seats.

I’ve particularly missed hearing the sound of the Minster bells, the practices on Tuesday evenings. (And I’ve been reminded that it’s four years since the well-publicised problems, written about here on York Stories at the time, which also led to a long spell of silence.)

On the other hand, in the silence of the period we called lockdown — now “the first lockdown” — I started to notice more and more the Minster’s clock chime bells indicating each quarter-hour, and the chiming on the hour, Great Peter striking the hour. On still quiet days the sound reaches quite some distance.

During that strange quiet time I often made a point, at some hour of the day, of standing by the back door and really listening to the deep far-reaching sound of Great Peter, and took a few moments in that time to think about all the people in their homes across the city, and beyond, and what their experiences of this strange time might be. And reflected on how much I appreciated that regular and reassuring sound, from the Minster, and that it remains there in the centre of this place, and all the difficult times it has stood through.

In the fine weather we had during the first lockdown I was out in the garden a lot, and out there was particularly aware of the quiet. Trying to work out what it was that was absent, in particular, from the soundscape. Traffic, partly. The faint sound of children playing in the playground at the local school. People walking by, chatting normally. I like quiet, and calm, but at times early on in that first lockdown time it was too quiet even for me. Like there was a general stunned silence in the neighbourhood, and beyond.

Breaking the silence, one warm and sunny morning, the sound of a young girl’s voice, as she passed by with her parents: “I’ve been waiting for this weather for ages. Isn’t it lovely?”, and the sound of her small quick steps on the pavement as she passed. Then silence again. She was right, it was lovely weather for a time, and I’m sure many of us tried our best to appreciate this and other blessings, when we could.

Months on, there’s still no crowd sound from Bootham Crescent, and no peals of happy Minster bells, just the clock bells, marking all the quarter hours, half hours, hours, as we continue to have new rules to live by, and do our best to find our ways through it all.

A bit too cold now to be outside so much. But when the colder weather came, a robin in the garden began to sing the beautiful uplifting song robins always sing when the colder season comes and the daylight hours shorten. Perhaps the same robin I’ve often heard singing by a streetlight in previous years, in the winter cold, bringing hope and comfort.

Many other robins sing, from the branches of tall trees, throughout the city, and beyond. I hope a robin is singing where you are, dear readers. And my apologies that I couldn’t find my own voice for some time, through recent months.

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Rawcliffe Meadows and Clifton ings, Jan 2019

I thought I’d do the traditional review of the year. In December I like to see photos from sunnier days earlier in the year, and I thought you might like to too, dear reader.

It also gives me the opportunity to mention a couple of things I didn’t get around to mentioning during a year when (until the December Daily postings) I haven’t added much to these pages.

There are a couple of months in the autumn where I don’t have any photos of York. I do seem to have a lot of photos of my vegetable harvest, which I thought about including, but decided against it, in favour of instead including an extra photo for a couple of months when an extra photo seemed appropriate.

So, on we go, across the ridge and furrow, in the sunlight of January 2019.

Ridge and furrow, Clifton Park, Jan 2019

There’s some very prominent ridge and furrow in Clifton Park (grounds of former Clifton Hospital) and its undulations are particularly prominent in winter.

In February, on a pleasant sunny afternoon, I sat on a bench in the Museum Gardens for a while and watched a squirrel among the crocuses. (I think it was eating them.)

Squirrel and crocuses, Feb 2019

In March, and not far away, I admired, not for the first time, the choice of plants in a raised bed at the back of the art gallery.

Behind the art gallery, March 2019

At the start of the year, the York Press reported that the long-established Ernest Roy Electricals (known as Ernie Roy’s) was for sale. (It has since closed.) When I dashed past one day in April I had to backtrack after noticing the notes around the letterbox, which I felt I had to have a photo of.

Door signs, Ernie Roy’s, April 2019

There had clearly been a problem here with people putting batteries through the letterbox. There’s a handwritten note above it politely asking people not to do that, then underneath it a rather more exasperated note – NO BATTERIES – which has an added drawing of a battery to emphasise the point further.

Was it, I wonder, just one person annoyingly posting batteries through the letterbox? Or lots of people? If so, why? (And are they still doing it, even though it’s now a bookshop?)

I wrote about Ernie Roy’s a few years back. More here. With best wishes to Ken Devey in his retirement.

On to lovely May, and a big expanse of green, out on the stray.

Cow parsley and new green leaves, Bootham Stray, May 2019

Quite often, in June, in the yearly review in years past, I’ve included a photo of something lovely, summery, flowery or bright.

This year, I’m afraid it’s Ryedale House.

Ryedale House, across the Foss, June 2019

Across the Foss, with a substantial buddleia forest in the foreground, and the new-look Ryedale House being unveiled, in all its glory, on the other side of the river.

In July I went to an exhibition of plans for the proposed ‘Roman Quarter’, on Rougier Street, and later went for a wander in the area to take some photos.

As is so often the case, I particularly appreciated the spire of All Saints, North Street, rising up above the buildings old and new in the streets below, and catching, holding, the evening light.

Tanner Row, and All Saints spire, July 2019

On my way home, along the riverside, I particularly liked the way the Guildhall and the Minster behind looked in that particular light, on that particular evening, over the top of the (rather more recent) brickwork of the flood defence wall.

Guildhall and Minster, July 2019

In contrast to the above, in August, the gloomy canyon of Rougier Street.

Rougier Street, August 2019

Several of the buildings here would be demolished to make way for the proposed Roman Quarter.

Back to the sunny outskirts of the city, in September, and a new section of cycle track skirting part of the outer ring road:

New cycle track by ringroad, near Knapton, Sept 2019

So pleased about this, so happy to discover it over the summer when expecting to have to get off the bike and walk across the ring road when gaps in the traffic allowed it.

By September I’d used it a few times. It includes an underpass under the ring road.

New cycle track underpass, from the Knapton side, Sept 2019

There’s a bit of a gap in available images at this point, in October and November, with no photos of York to offer. My apologies.

I could share with you photos of my vegetable harvest, and you could all sing ‘Oh, what a beauty, I’ve never seen one as big as that before! Oh what a beauty …’ – etc (as I generally can’t help doing when admiring an impressive piece of home-grown produce.)

… But let’s just move on to December, just yesterday, and a brief walk in the December sun, looking at lichen, among other things.

Lichen on tree bark, Bootham Stray, 30 Dec 2019

At this time of the year, lichen brightens, stands out in the otherwise rather muted landscape.

On the way back home, after looking at lichen, I remembered that the mahonia might be in bloom in a snicket near Crichton Avenue bridge. As indeed it was.

Mahonia avenue, snicket by Crichton Ave bridge, Dec 2019

Quite a stunning display, just now.

Not many things flower at this time of the year, and what does flower you don’t expect to find in such glorious profusion in a place that perhaps isn’t much frequented by many people.

But some time back, for some reason, someone planted a large number of mahonia here, on either side of the railings on a section of a snicket near Burton Stone Lane, leading up to the bridge at Crichton Avenue.

As it’s flowering at this time of the year, and as it looks so impressive, and has a scent too, I think it might be a particular variety called  ‘Charity‘.

I have one, but the sparrows pecked the buds off mine, and it looks a rather sad. That was a bit annoying, but I have to be charitable, and think that the resident sparrows must have needed some nutrition it perhaps provides, to keep them cheeping and chirping.

As we go into 2020, I hope you’re all cheeping and chirping.

And if not I hope you find charity, and kindness.

As I did, five years back, and many times before, and since. And as many other people do, every year, from so many good people, so many good actions, so many small things.

Best wishes for 2020 — and though it probably makes me sound like a dated old hippy — I do want to wish you all — love, charity, light, and peace.

The post Review of the year, 2019 appeared first on York Stories.

Ring the bells that still can ring
Forget your perfect offering
There is a crack, a crack in everything
That’s how the light gets in

— Leonard Cohen

The post Solstice appeared first on York Stories.

Yesterday, late in the afternoon, I had to dash into town. To two places, the bank, on Parliament Street, to pay in money, and Boyes, to buy a few necessary items. Because of various other things it ended up being a rather last-minute thing, after 4.30, to get to the bank for 5, but I got a good pace on, striding up Bootham.

I was a bit concerned whether I’d get held up in the vast crowds. Didn’t like the idea of arriving at the bank last minute, needing to allow for problems with paying-in machines, etc. I’d read reports of the congestion caused by the Christmas Market in Parliament Street, and wondered if I’d be able to actually get to the door of the bank or if the weight of the crowd would make it impossible. This would be irritating. I marched on, hoping.

On Davygate, what looked like a hen party, with a bit of staggering. I’m not judging, but staggering from them and a super-fast pace from me could have seen a nasty collision. Managed to avoid that, by anticipating which way the nearest stagger was going, and swerving. Good pace on again for a bit. And then St Helen’s Square, lovely always, lit up at this time of the year. This year perhaps not quite so lovely as the space it was is full of blocks put in as anti-terrorism measures. I think there’s a Christmas tree in the square too, but I didn’t have time to look at that as I was trying to work out how all the people coming the opposite direction and me could get through the small gap at the side of the anti-terrorism blocks and a gate across the road.

Once through the small gap, with the road opening out again, and almost at the bank, I slowed down a bit, among the increasing crowds, because it wasn’t possible to keep moving at the same pace. I had time to let my thoughts wander a bit. They wandered onto fearing a terrorist attack. Not a thing I’ve found coming into my mind before, in such an immediate and threatening way, and presumably because of what I’d just seen in St Helen’s Square.

At the edge of St Sampson’s Square my concerns shifted again back to whether I’d get to the bank, as the noise and the crowds increased, so many people going in so many directions, and mainly ‘dawdling’, as people do when they’re in a place to relax and enjoy themselves, rather than having things they have to do in a practical kind of way, as I did. I’m used to this contrast, and the different types of movement, and I try not to get exasperated and end up like the man I remember, on a bike, in Petergate, many years back, shouting ‘I live here! I live here!’, when groups of tourists impeded his progress.

Enough gaps opened up, between the slower bits, for me to get to the doors of the bank, and into the bank, and to do what I had to do. And having done that, I walked out onto Parliament Street and felt less stressed, and more in tune with the whole Christmas Fair thing going on there. Well, as near to being in tune with it as I’m going to get. The noise of it, the many voices, the smells, and particularly the lights. It was still the afternoon, and at this time of the year I really struggle with the short daylight hours, but the energy here in the heart of York’s shopping centre was striking. But I still had to get to Boyes, which meant negotiating my way through/past all this, onto Goodramgate.

I managed that too, while having more time to register my surroundings, look at things properly, see people’s faces. The noise had suggested jollity, a carnival atmosphere, but the faces I looked at didn’t. The happiest-looking people I’d passed were I think the rather drunk people on the way in.

On Church Street I passed a complicated vehicle manoeuvre, with a van that appeared to need to access the market (Shambles Market, formerly known as Newgate Market). A rather stressed atmosphere here, I picked up, as the official in high-vis tried to get everyone to move to the sides. Again, people needing to do practical things, do their work, under pressure and at certain times, while all around them was about leisure, and dawdling about looking at things, eating, drinking, shopping.

Which is what York city centre is now, mainly, isn’t it. Leisure, dawdling about looking at things, eating, drinking, shopping.

I’m not sure how most of the city’s residents fit in comfortably to this, to the city centre as it is. A big topic, to be continued.

This is number 8 of the December Daily postings.

. . .

Your virtual coffees continue to help with the hosting fees, etc. Thank you for your support.

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Sunlight on the city walls, December 2004

Here we are near the end of the year, in the early days of December, and I’ve not written much this year, on here or anywhere. But, as mentioned yesterday, I’ve been thinking about that.

As it’s fifteen years this year since I made my first online efforts to record the city as I saw it, and as I’ve managed to keep it going in some way since then (more recently with support from you, dear readers), I think I should probably make an effort to return more often to this old online thing of mine.

When I started my ‘York Walks’ pages on the web back in 2004 it tailed off by the autumn, probably because, as happens most years, I didn’t feel particularly creative or communicative from around the time the clocks went back in late October. But there were more walks with my camera on the local patch, and the photo at the top of this page was from one of them, from mid-December 2004, on the bar walls near Bootham Bar. I can see I was trying to capture the light, the effect of the light, low but bright, through the railings and onto the old stone.

The phrase ‘Available Light’ comes to mind, the title of a book, a collection of poems by Marge Piercy. I have a copy of it, a present thirty years ago. A lot has changed since, in many ways. Particularly in the last fifteen years since I first wandered around York with a digital camera and wrote about it.

I’ve been thinking about a ‘December daily posting’, though not sure what form it will take. I know I’m not alone in finding this time of year particularly difficult, and words might not come easily, but I do have a large archive of images and older online offerings to draw upon, so let’s see how it goes.

It might be that there are many people out there who would appreciate some brief distraction from the electioneering, and the festive preparation shopping, etc. I’ve got no interest in Christmas and nothing I want to promote as a Christmas purchase, and I don’t intend to veer into political debate, or even mention it, if I can possibly avoid it.

Looking at the natural world and the natural cycle of things (as more of us are, it seems) it seems a shame that so much emphasis at this time of the year is placed on things that, for many of us, involve having to focus on things that seem alien, opposed to what we feel like doing. (And I don’t just mean having to think about another General Election, this December.) At the time of year when it’s dark and cold it might seem natural to retreat to the places of warmth and comfort — if we’re lucky enough to have those basic needs covered — and sleep more, or at least have some quiet time. Instead there are expectations that we’ll involve ourselves in getting ready for Christmas celebrations, for weeks in advance, and go out and buy stuff, and be particularly sociable.

Instead, perhaps, if possible, we need to get out into the light there is at this time of the year, low and short-lived — the available light.

Best found among greenery, rather than in the shops.

Trees and sunlight, winter solstice 2004

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