Great Oaks Small School, Ramsgate-on-the-Marsh
I take morning duty out in the school-yard. It’s hot season and I spent the last few weeks of term hiding under two trees: a lovely old goat willow, right behind the farmhouse, and a cherry plum tree, out nearer to the marsh. You have to be out early to get a place under the latter- both the bunnies and the students enjoy eating the fallen fruit, and as the heat rose, so did the cherry fever. The rabbits showed the first signs of addiction; one in particular lost all his native man-fear; he’d be there first thing in the morning, before anyone else- and would only leave the site if you really made a fuss. Some time in early July, the heat got to me and I too started sampling the fruit: I nibbled at first, then feasted- and finally gorged as hard as that old rabbit did. By the time my lessons rolled around, I’d be plum-drunk, with a cherry-stained shirt and sticky fingers.
The children, the rabbits and I weren’t the only creatures out feasting in the morning blaze. As the term lengthened, gatekeepers appeared along the edges of the garden, as did marbled whites- I found one of the latter, tired and diminished. He’d landed in the school’s greenhouse and couldn’t get out. Like the rabbit, he’d lost his man-fear and let me carry him out to the scrub:
But the hungriest of us all was the Hummingbird Hawk-Moth. It makes for quite the prize to spot just one, but this year I’ve seen three so far: one in Ramsgate town, then two out at Great Oaks, in the schoolyard. My photos got progressively better with each sighting:
Click to enlarge:
Fresh in from France, these English hummingbirds banqueted more than the rabbit and I put together, albeit on nectar- thankfully, not our precious cherry plums. Not that we needed to worry: by the last week of term, we had so many we didn’t know what to do with them. In the end, the children harvested the remainding fruit into buckets and pots, according to colour. We all took some home to our families, and even made up bags for visiting parents on Awards Day.
I took my share to the finest cake chef in Kent: my mother. When it comes to making puddings, I’m a little sugar-blind: at 48-years-old, I still can’t bake them. I can eat them, though:
On that last day, we all assembled under the goat willow, near to the old farmhouse. It’s cooler there than under the cherry tree, and less manic, without the contstant temptation to forage and feast. It’s a more sheltered position, too, and the south-westerly breeze is a little more filtered; it’s slower- enough so the taste of the saltmarsh lingers and you can watch the butterflies float down with the current, rather than dancing on the edges of the marsh, out near that wild plum tree.
Only two things interrupted the Awards Ceremony: a buzzard, calling out over the adjacent woods, and a green woodpecker- laughing loudly from somewhere deep within them. He’s not calling for a mate in July; that time is past. At this time of the year, he’ll be leading his young out on their first sorties into ant-country. They’ll learn quickly and leave soon; some will succeed in finding mates, and the cycle will begin again.
Another schoolyear has ended; another one shall commence in September.
Between now and then, I’ll try and be up earlier than that rabbit. There are books to be read, places to visit and fish to be caught.
Postcards from the English Outback 