Wild Life in a Southern County

by Richard Jefferies

On looking back, it appears that the farmhouse, garden, orchard, and rickyard at Wick are constantly visited by about thirty-five wild creatures, and, in addition, five others come now and then, making a total of forty. Of these forty, twenty-six are birds, two bats, eight quadrupeds, and four reptiles. This does not include some few additional birds that only come at long intervals, nor those that simply fly overhead or are heard singing at a distance.

The great meadow hedge—the highway of the birds—where it approaches the ha-ha wall of the orchard, is lovely in June with the wild roses blooming on the briars which there grow in profusion. Some of these briars stretch forth into the meadow, and then, bent down by their own weight, form an arch crowned with flowers. There is an old superstition about these arches of briar hung out along the hedgerow: magical cures of whooping-cough and some other diseases of childhood can, it is believed, be effected by passing the child at sunrise under the briar facing the rising sun.

This had to be performed by the ‘wise woman.’ There was one in every hamlet but a few years ago—and indeed here and there an aged woman retains something like a reputation for witchcraft still. The ‘wise woman’ conducted the child entrusted to her care at the dawn to the hedge, where she knew there was a briar growing in such a position that a person could creep under it facing the east, and there, as the sun rose, passed the child through.

In the hollow just beneath the ha-ha wall, where it is moist, grow tall rushes; and here the great dragon-fly darts to and fro so swiftly as to leave the impression of a line of green drawn suddenly through the air. Though travelling at such speed, he has the power of stopping abruptly, and instantly afterwards returns upon his path. These handsome insects are often placed on mirrors as an ornament in farmhouses. The labourers will have it that they sting like the hornet; but this they say also of many other harmless creatures, seeming to have a general distrust of the insect kind. They will tell you alarming stories of terrible sufferings—arms swollen to double the natural size, necks inflamed, and so forth—caused by the bites of unknown flies. Not being able to discover what fly it is that inflicts these poisonous wounds, and having spent so many hours in the fields without experiencing such effects, I rather doubt these statements, though put forth in perfect good faith: indeed, I have often seen the arms and chests of the men in harvest time with huge bumps rising on them which they declared were thus caused. The common harvest bug, which gets under the skin, certainly does not cause such great swellings as I have seen; nor the stoat-fly, which latter is the most bloodthirsty wretch imaginable.

With a low hissing buzz, a long, narrow, and brownish grey insect settles on your hand as you walk among the hay, and presently you feel a tingling sensation, and may watch (if you have the patience to endure the irritation) its body gradually dilate and grow darker in colour as it absorbs the blood. When once thoroughly engaged, nothing will frighten this fly away: you may crush him, but he will not move from fear: he will remain till, replete with blood, he falls off helpless into the grass.

The horses in the waggons have at this season to be watched by a boy armed with a spray of ash, with which he flicks off the stoats that would otherwise drive the animals frantic. A green spray is a great protection against flies; if you carry a bough in your hand as you walk among the meadows they will not annoy you half so much. Such a bough is very necessary when lying perdu in a dry ditch in summer to shoot a young rabbit, and when it is essential to keep quiet and still. Without it it is difficult to avoid lifting the hand to knock the flies away—which motion is sure to alarm the rabbit that may at that very moment be peeping out preparatory to issuing from his hole. It is impossible not to pity the horses in the hayfields on a sultry day; despite all the care taken, their nostrils are literally black with crowds of flies, which constantly endeavour to crawl over the eyeball. Sunshine itself does not appear so potent in bringing, forth insects as the close electrical kind or heat that precedes a thunderstorm. This is so well known that when the flies are more than usually busy the farmer makes haste to get in his hay, and lets down the canvas over his rick. The cows give warning at the same time by scampering about in the wildest and most ludicrous manner—their tails held up in the air—tormented by insects.

The ha-ha wall, built of loose stones, is the home of thousands upon thousands of ants, whose nests are everywhere here, the ground being undisturbed by passing footsteps. They ascend trees to a great height, and may be seen going up the trunk sometimes in a continuous stream, one behind the other in Indian file.

In one spot on the edge of the ha-ha is a row of beehives—the garden wall and a shrubbery shelter them here from the north and east, and the drop of the ha-ha gives them a clear exit and entrance. This is thought a great advantage—not to have any hedge or bush in front of the hives—because the bees, heavily laden with honey or pollen, encounter no obstruction in coming home. They are believed to work more energetically when this is the case, and they certainly do seem to exhibit signs of annoyance, as if out of temper, if they get entangled in a bush. Indeed, if you chance to be pursued by an angry cloud of bees whose ire you have aroused, the only safe place is a hedge or bush, into which make haste to thrust yourself, when the boughs and leaves will baffle them. If the hive be moved to a different place, the bees that chance at the time to be out in the fields collecting honey, upon their return, finding their home gone, are evidently at a loss. They fly round, hovering about over the spot for a long time before they discover the fresh position of the hive.

The great hornet, with its tinge of reddish orange, comes through the garden sometimes with a heavy buzz, distinguishable in a moment from the sound of any other insect. All country folk believe the hornet’s sting to be the most poisonous and painful of any, and will relate instances of persons losing the use of their arms for a few days in consequence of the violent inflammation. Sometimes the hornet selects for its nest an aperture in an old shed near the farmhouse. I have seen their nests quite close to houses; but, unless wantonly disturbed, there is not the slightest danger from them, or indeed from any other insects of this class. I think the common hive-bees are the worst tempered of any—they resent the slightest interference with their motions. The hornet often chooses an old hollow withy-pollard for the site of its nest.

In the orchard there is at least one nest of the humble-bee, made at a great depth in a deserted mouse’s hole. These bees have eaten away and removed the grass just round the entrance, so as to get a clear road in and out. They are as industrious as the hive-bee; but, as there are not nearly so many working together in one colony, they do not store up anything approaching to the same quantity of honey. There is a superstition that if a humble-bee buzzes in at the window of the sitting-room it is a sure sign of a coming visitor.