This Birding Life (13 page)

Fortunately, Beddington was saved from the developers and remains one of the foremost birding sites in London
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It's almost a year since I first went to Lonsdale Road Reservoir and began writing about its birds. I can still remember the excitement of that very first visit – when I turned off a busy road to discover a little patch of green in the heart of the London suburbs. Since then I've made almost a hundred visits: at different times of the day, during different seasons, and in all kinds of weather. I've recorded 66 species of birds, a modest total compared with more extensive or better-placed sites, but still impressive for a limited habitat on the edge of London.

Of these 66 species, more than 35 have bred – underlining the importance of sites like this for conservation. A further dozen or so species are predominately winter visitors, including good numbers of duck, and a large flock of roosting Cormorants. Some are summer migrants, like the Swifts and House Martins which nest nearby. The rest are casual visitors, either dropping in to feed for a few hours or passing overhead.

The best season to visit Lonsdale Road is undoubtedly late winter or early spring – not least because with the leaves off the trees, you can
get a good view of the water. On a typical early morning visit, before the birds have been disturbed too much, you should see a good variety of species.

As you'd expect, the bias is heavily in favour of waterbirds, with two species of grebe and several species of duck, as well as the ever-present Mute Swans, Moorhens and Coots. There is also a good selection of songbirds in the trees and bushes around the lake. Wintering Chiffchaffs, Blackcaps, Goldcrests and Long-tailed Tits are all regular, and often amazingly tame. And there's always a chance of seeing some of the more interesting residents, including Kestrels and Sparrowhawks, Great Spotted Woodpeckers, and a recent arrival – the Ring-necked Parakeet.

For most birdwatchers who visit the patch, the year's highlight was the roosting Tawny Owl, discovered in November, and more or less constantly present until the end of March. Other unusual visitors included a Common Sandpiper in August, a party of Pintails in January, and the occasional Kingfisher – a welcome sight on several autumn mornings.

From a mammal-lover's point of view, the patch is less rewarding: Grey Squirrels and Brown Rats being the two most prominent residents. However, the colony of Red-eared Terrapins, basking on the branches of a fallen tree trunk, is a sight worth seeing.

In the past year, I've met all sorts of people during my visits: birdwatchers, dog-walkers, joggers, courting couples – and just curious passers-by. Some visit every single day, others call in just once in a while. But for all of them, this little place is somewhere special.

Environmentalists are always banging on about the need to conserve places like this for future generations to enjoy. Well, they happen to be right. Knowing that there is somewhere I can escape for an hour or so before work or at the weekend is really important to me. And I'm sure I'm not alone.

It's finally happened. The leaves have turned golden-brown, the temperature has dropped and, at last, autumn has arrived. And with the change in the season, the birds make changes, too. Tiny Goldcrests come together in flocks to feed, their peeping call barely audible to the human ear; wintering gulls noisily scavenge for food; and, as their young reach full size, the resident Great Crested Grebes begin to lose their breeding finery and take on a more muted plumage in preparation for the coming winter.

But as I take my journey around the footpath that encircles the patch, there is something missing. The birds know it, especially the ducks, which are no longer fed each morning. The people – at least those like me who are regular visitors – know it, too. The redoubtable Miss Violet Hoare, the woman who more than any other saved Lonsdale Road Reservoir from development, will no longer take her daily pilgrimage around its banks.

I heard the news back in late September. Violet had died peacefully in her sleep, having never missed a day's visit to the place that became her second home. Every morning for almost 30 years, she took her walk and greeted familiar faces and strangers alike with the same cheery smile.

Violet knew the patch long before it gained official status as a local nature reserve. She knew its comings and goings – the regular seasonal changes of personnel as birds departed south or arrived from the north. In her later years she became deaf, and felt keenly her inability to hear birdsong, though perhaps she didn't miss the accompanying sounds from jumbo jets passing overhead on their way to land at Heathrow.

We would meet at the little bay along the eastern bank, where the ducks, geese, coots and swans competed for Violet's attention as she distributed the day's food. She was always keen to know of any
unusual sightings, and often pointed out particular birds to me, such as the three Pintails that dropped in during a cold spell last winter.

At her funeral service, held on a bright, warm day at the end of September, we learnt that Violet had, like many people, a past life that few of us knew about. She had been a senior manager for a French firm in London, and for her services to the Free French during the war had been awarded a medal of honour. No doubt the ducks, swans and others that she kept fed and safe would award her a medal, too, if they could. After the service I wandered across the road to the patch and sat quietly for a few minutes. Everything was as it should be: the grebes fed their ever-hungry young, Robins and Wrens sang in the undergrowth, and a more recent arrival, a Ring-necked Parakeet, screeched in the branches overhead.

I reflected that without Violet, and the other dedicated people who worked so hard to save the reservoir, this place would probably now be under tons of concrete. It seems a fitting memorial to an extraordinary woman.

Can it really be only two years since I first visited my local patch? Some mornings, as I walk or cycle along the narrow path around the reservoir and watch the bird activity, it seems as if I've been coming here forever. This is partly down to the comforting familiarity of everyday landmarks. There's the little reedbed at the north end, summer home for a couple of pairs of Reed Warblers. The patch of sallows at the southern end, where I always hope to come across some scarce migrant, but never do. And the row of old Black Poplar trees, so late to come into leaf this spring.

Every birdwatcher enjoys coming across the unexpected. But one of
the best things about making regular visits to your local patch is the usual birds: the resident pair of Mute Swans, the arrival of the first Swifts in spring or the flocks of wintering Shovelers in autumn. Even the customary flock of Carrion Crows, squabbling noisily in the trees by the gate, are a welcome sight.

I suppose it's not really surprising that I find the sights and sounds of this place familiar. I have, after all, made almost 200 visits there since July 1994. Why? What's the point in going to one place so many times, especially when it is just one of thousands of ordinary sites up and down the country? Well, apart from the fact I enjoy being out in the fresh air (always the standard birder's excuse), it's because even a small, land-locked location like this can turn up a surprising number of different kinds of birds.

So far, I've recorded 80 species at Lonsdale Road – either resting on the water, feeding in the surrounding bushes and trees or simply flying overhead. In the past year, I've added just over a baker's dozen to my list – 14 species I didn't see during my first year on the patch.

Some of these are commonplace birds elsewhere – but locally rare in this particular part of the London suburbs. They include sightings of Jackdaws and Wigeon – hardly likely to cause a mass twitch. Nevertheless, to me they were as exciting as any storm-driven rarity. For these were my birds.

There were also a few more memorable sightings, such as the female Wheatear I almost ran over on the road outside, one sunny April morning. The Water Rail I saw on Boxing Day, which scuttled into the reeds when it caught sight of me, never to be seen again. And no fewer than three species of woodpecker – the entire British contingent – all of which attempted to breed in the poplar trees alongside the River Thames.