This article is from the source 'guardian' and was first published or seen on . It last changed over 40 days ago and won't be checked again for changes.

You can find the current article at its original source at https://www.theguardian.com/environment/2017/nov/22/country-diary-wenlock-edge-elusive-tower-trees

The article has changed 6 times. There is an RSS feed of changes available.

Version 0 Version 1
Country diary: a curious tower sends me over the edge Country diary: a curious tower sends me over the edge
(2 months later)
Wenlock Edge, Shropshire It couldn’t be the power-station chimney, it was in the wrong place. And it was too late in the year to be a stack of hay
Paul Evans
Wed 22 Nov 2017 05.30 GMT
Last modified on Mon 27 Nov 2017 13.22 GMT
Share on Facebook
Share on Twitter
Share via Email
View more sharing options
Share on LinkedIn
Share on Pinterest
Share on Google+
Share on WhatsApp
Share on Messenger
Close
As the match-flare of a November afternoon dimmed in the trees, I caught a glimpse of a tower. Peering through hazel branches I could make out a tall structure that looked like the power-station chimney – except that was north and this was west. It could have been a stack of hay bales, but harvest was over long ago.As the match-flare of a November afternoon dimmed in the trees, I caught a glimpse of a tower. Peering through hazel branches I could make out a tall structure that looked like the power-station chimney – except that was north and this was west. It could have been a stack of hay bales, but harvest was over long ago.
Curious to discover what I had seen, I wandered down the wooded bank, losing the long view, crossed the road and went through the gate on to a green lane, now used only by dog-walkers, sheep and an occasional tractor, but once the thoroughfare over the Edge to a hamlet on common land below.Curious to discover what I had seen, I wandered down the wooded bank, losing the long view, crossed the road and went through the gate on to a green lane, now used only by dog-walkers, sheep and an occasional tractor, but once the thoroughfare over the Edge to a hamlet on common land below.
Up the rise I had seen earlier was a hedge about seven feet (two metres) tall, but no tower. There was a tree: a sweet chestnut about 20 years old. All its leaves had fallen; its bark marked with smudges of grey lichen like a potter’s thumbprints; its branches scratchy dark against the sky – violet to the south, cold blue to the north, with a scud of grey clouds. I walked to the end of the hedge, where the downslope began, marked by a holly tree. It was about 10 feet tall, flail-sided and male, still holding a few small white flowers, but it was not a tower.Up the rise I had seen earlier was a hedge about seven feet (two metres) tall, but no tower. There was a tree: a sweet chestnut about 20 years old. All its leaves had fallen; its bark marked with smudges of grey lichen like a potter’s thumbprints; its branches scratchy dark against the sky – violet to the south, cold blue to the north, with a scud of grey clouds. I walked to the end of the hedge, where the downslope began, marked by a holly tree. It was about 10 feet tall, flail-sided and male, still holding a few small white flowers, but it was not a tower.
I turned back around the other side of the hedge, once the boundary of the green lane. By five o’clock, the light had gone; the hedge held a faint orange illumination from bark lichens and a weft of bryony berries; its dark was full of the wing prrrrs and tzeeps of settling yellowhammers. Across the fields the woooo of a tawny owl eased from mobbing jay anxiety into night-time. Something in the wood let loose a treeful of wood pigeons, all clatter and whistle. A dog barked. There was no tower.I turned back around the other side of the hedge, once the boundary of the green lane. By five o’clock, the light had gone; the hedge held a faint orange illumination from bark lichens and a weft of bryony berries; its dark was full of the wing prrrrs and tzeeps of settling yellowhammers. Across the fields the woooo of a tawny owl eased from mobbing jay anxiety into night-time. Something in the wood let loose a treeful of wood pigeons, all clatter and whistle. A dog barked. There was no tower.
I walked back the way I had come, down the fields, across the road and up through trees to the point where I had looked across to the rise. When I reached it, I peered through hazel branches and there against the skyglow was the silhouette of a tower. That can’t be right, can it?I walked back the way I had come, down the fields, across the road and up through trees to the point where I had looked across to the rise. When I reached it, I peered through hazel branches and there against the skyglow was the silhouette of a tower. That can’t be right, can it?
Follow Country diary on Twitter: @gdncountrydiaryFollow Country diary on Twitter: @gdncountrydiary
Autumn
Country diary
Trees and forests
Rural affairs
Birds
Wildlife
features
Share on Facebook
Share on Twitter
Share via Email
Share on LinkedIn
Share on Pinterest
Share on Google+
Share on WhatsApp
Share on Messenger
Reuse this content