When the moon was young and I was just a lad...

Shaw wood supporters are trying to save a small pond and a footpath. The council wanted feedback regarding the use of the path through Hagwood to Wheatley hills they got a small number of replies, thirty something I think. Enough to establish it as an official right of way. I was surprised that so few had responded. It was the route from the early sixties onwards to Wheatley Hills Boating lake, a favourite sunny Sunday promenade as I recall. I don't believe that many hard pressed mining families were not grateful for the short cut to the social security office when push came to shove. When cash was short the bus fare would have found better use.In those days cars were rare amongst the working population. A poor response to a call for support sez I. Fair play to those who care enough to make a righteous fuss.
Shaw Wood, Basil Wood as I fondly remember it, was my old playground. The gateway to unlimited adventure that took me miles across open fields to the banks of the River Don. There wasn't the fearful perception of potential risk not in my family household at any rate. You can't get run over by a car in hedgerows and fields. I preferred falling into mossy bank when I took a tumble , picking grit out of a grazed knee streetside is not my most favoured of childhood memory.
I searched for references to the wild life in the Shaw Wood and Three Fields pond area (not Sainsbury's pond, please...) Some reference to bird life in the wood but little sign that anyone had spent much time languishing round the pond. Calling it a site of "Special Scientific Interest" hardly endears the place to anyone but scientists hearts. There's many a site that has been trashed that bore the title.
It was my haven a sanctuary from the heat of long hot summers, I rarely saw other people there. If I did I would often hide in bushes or detour around in fantasy adventures till they were gone. The route to the pond was usually across the field. From my back yard in Basil Avenue through silver birch wood we were often pulled up in surprise by partridges scattering to distract from their nests being discovered. I often fancied to eat the eggs but was put of by the prospect of finding half formed chicks inside . We just looked. Sky larks, were the sound of my childhood summers languishing in meadow grass on my back after a long spell of chasing throwing arrows , flighted arrows we made in our little bowery den.Roasting scrumped apples in an old baked bean can. Talking the all important Kids stuff a law unto ourselves, when coal was King the parents the hard pressed subjects we at least were freemen in our natural domain. There were hawks ,owls and woodpeckers , linnets and jays. We were always coming across nests and then sussing out what they were. some kids were into collecting eggs for display at home, I never took to that. The Three Fields pond life was fantastic. Stickle backs, some littler fish that looked like catfish, tiny things they call "penbwla" in Wales, crested and smooth newts , frogs and toads. Water cress and angelica spearmint to my recall. Many's the peaceful afternoon spent lying on a fallen tree above the water observing the insects. Water boatmen, diving beetles cadis fly larvae. Several kinds of dragon fly , their larvae (eating machines) being the "Dragon root of their popular name. Fierce looking bugs.Little creatures called hydra.. Midges and gnats didn't seem to myther me when absorbed in the pond life. There were grass snakes slow worms and vipers. . The sphagnum was most abundant. a veritable ark to all the indigenous wild life that included me. I found little joy in the industrialized village life. They weren't happy times that side of the chainlink fence. A troubled marginalised poor single parent family, I was "the blacky's kid" to many. The natural haven was a place where I felt unconditionally at home. At peace. Learning to relate to the living environment developed into a life time love that till my dying day will not leave me.We live in the wake of an asset stripping juggernaut. In the wasteland discarded as no longer commercially exploitable. My little field of interest is in a foreign land, Brittany. I have often longed to return to my old stamping ground , I have much working experience I might share. Chancing to browse Google map I was dismayed by the change, so much more covered with concrete . More concessions by each passing year to industry and commerce. The word "ecology" was coined in the seventees. It has taken a long struggle for folk to get the point. We are a far cry from a state of grace with the surrounding environment. As I say, "fair play" to those few who try to make a difference. But bear in mind all that lovely caring green chatter isn't going to regrade many ditches or fix the drainage sluice. Surface water run off from the nearby fields since the hedges have been grubbed up (Grange Farm?) is not improved by talking the talk in committee meetings. If the water table isn't lowered the trees will inevitably die. Lesson learned in Big Radley, Oxford. Several acres of silver birch died in one hot summer. Nuff sed for now.