Life of the Wayside and Woodland: When, Where, and What to Observe and Collect

By T. A. Coward

“Life of the Wayside and Woodland” is a vintage guide to 'woodcraft', the knowledge and understanding of woodland countryside and its animal inhabitants. It aims to present the reader with suggestions for the methods of studying nature as a whole, concentrating on where to find the varied woodland life that we can see, watch and enjoy. Highly recommended for nature lovers and keen naturalists. Thomas Coward (1867 – 1933) was an English ornithologist and amateur astronomer. He wrote on natural history, local history and Cheshire for a number of publications and books. Other notable works by this author include: “The Vertebrate Fauna of Cheshire and Liverpool Bay” (1910), “The Migration of Birds” (1912), and “Bird Haunts and Nature Memories” (1922). Contents include: “Collectors and Collecting”, “January – February”, “March – April”, “May – June”, “July – August”, “September – October”, “November – December”, “Hints On Collecting and Preserving”, “Reference Books”, etc. Many vintage books such as this are increasingly scarce and expensive. It is with this in mind that we are republishing this volume now in an affordable, modern, high-quality edition complete with a specially-commissioned new biography of the author.

• Language: English
• Publisher: A Thousand Fields
• Release date: Jan 31, 2018
• ISBN: 9781528784191

Book preview

PREFACE

COLLECTING, if it has any purpose at all, is impossible without Observation, and Observation may fail to convince apart from the collection. In a few pages, however, it is impossible to present a guide, complete and systematic, to all branches of our fauna and flora. No such attempt has been made, but the book is presented in the hope that it may give useful suggestions for the methods of study of Nature as a whole. There is life, abundant life, in wayside and wood; life that we can see, watch, and enjoy if we know where, when, and how to seek it. If the few selected examples of Nature Study in each season and in varied haunts will induce the reader to go further, to learn more, and enjoy more, this book will not have been written in vain.

Owing to the necessity of crowding an immense subject into a limited space the familiar life of the hedgerow, lane, wood, pond, and lake has alone been dealt with; the sea-shore and the higher mountains have not been considered.

To Miss Grace Wigglesworth, B.Sc., and to Mr. H. Britten, F.E.S., I am indebted for sound advice and assistance in the sections that treat of Botany and Entomology. They have read and criticized my manuscript, and been ever ready with helpful suggestions.

My gratitude is also due to all who have helped me with photographs for illustrations, and to Mr. W. J. Stokoe and Mr. Thomas Baddeley for the care and skill with which they have produced the coloured illustrations. The nature photographers to whom both author and publishers are indebted are as follows:—

Mr. T. Baddeley: Plates 4, 5, 6, 13, 14, 17, 31, 32, 33, 71, 73, 74, 77, 93, 94, 96, 99, 102, 108; Mr. H. Britten: Plates 1, 8, 10, 11 (1), 12, 22, 24, 27, 42, 45, 49, 54, 68, 69, 72, 80, 83, 86, 88, 90, 92, 100, 105, 106, 110, 111; Mr. Douglas English: Plates 3, 11 (1), 16, 39, 64 (1), 85, 89, 98; Mr. E. Hollowell: Plates 7, 56, 78; Mr. S. C. Johnson: Plates 29, 30; Mr. C. Reid: Plates 55, 67; Mr. E. W. Taylor: Plates 23, 81; Mr. T. Taylor: Plates 9, 15, 18, 21, 26, 28, 34, 38, 40, 41, 43, 44, 47, 48, 50, 51, 52, 57, 58, 59, 60, 61, 62, 63, 65, 66, 70, 75, 79, 82, 84, 87, 91, 103, 104, 107, 109, and four end papers: Miss E. L. Turner: Plate 36; and Mr. M. V. Wenner: Plates 19, 20, 25, 35, 37, 46, 53, 76, 97, 101. Plates 2, 95, and one of the figures on plate 64 are from my own prints.

LIFE OF THE WAYSIDE AND WOODLAND

INTRODUCTION.

WOODCRAFT is popular nowadays, and in addition to books on Nature Study and Scouting numerous instructions and hints on the art appear in the periodical press. The youthful mind is enthusiastic, and rightly so; but it is necessary that the young, whether boy-scout, girl-guide, or merely budding naturalist, should remember one important point. True knowledge of the life of the wayside and woodland is not attained by tracking the rabbit through the herbage in imitation of a Wild West scout in pursuit of game, or by blazing trees and leaving signs for others to interpret. Also, however attractive a picturesque garb may be, gay colours and fluttering ribbons have another kind of attraction for the eyes of wild creatures that have no desire to be tracked.

Hints on woodcraft—disturbed foliage, broken twigs, footprints, and the direction of the flight of startled birds—are as old as the art of venary; the hunter and the gamekeeper learn them by experience, not from books. The science rather than the art of woodcraft will be acquired by the boy or girl who strives to understand the romantic story of Life—a story to be read in every hedgerow or wood.

The Child is father of the Man, but not necessarily the instructor of his parent. Nevertheless, the older naturalist is at times content to remain in ignorance rather than accept advice from his juniors; youthful enthusiasm, when rightly directed, may—indeed frequently does—discover what the older, set mind, failed to elucidate. The wonderful gift of imagination, so ready to blossom in youth, so seldom existing in later years, may convert the child’s make believe into the creative psychology of maturity.

The indispensable equipment of the naturalist consists of brains and a lead pencil. Field-glass, camera, microscope, pocket lens, net, gun, collecting box or bottle, vasculum, scalpel, even books, are, each in its place, useful aids, but so much lumber if we do not know how to use them. A naturalist who lacks all may still be a success. Brains and a pencil! Then surely innumerable naturalists can be created. They can, if the possessor of grey matter knows how to convert it into an intelligent, active, directing force.

The first aim of the naturalist should be to observe—to use eyes, ears and intellect—the next, to keep a record elsewhere than in his memory of what he has observed. The average man cannot observe; he does not know how to do it. The majority of men and women are blind and deaf so far as natural objects and phenomena are concerned, although they may be observant enough, punctilious, even brilliant in matters domestic, commercial or political. Scores will walk past a day-singing nightingale in the roadside hedge, and though the sweet and strong notes certainly vibrate the tympanum they are actually unaware that a bird is singing; far more will trample on the daisy or buttercup, seeing it with open but useless eyes—to them it is not even a flower. They are not unable to appreciate a pleasant sound or a beautiful flower, but are not consciously aware of its existence; their minds are preoccupied.

The love of Nature may be developed in the young with more ease than in the minds of those whose lives are set, directed in other lines, but it must be remembered that many grown men and women crave for further knowledge, having the nature sense though not the experience. For them, as for the intelligent growing boy and girl, these hints are intended. Hints they must be, and little more, and that is well. The love of Nature is inborn, cannot be taught or created; but as we are all descended from that primitive stock whose existence depended upon accurate observation of and response to Nature, the power of observation, latent perhaps for ages, should be in our subconscious selves ready for development and direction.

The way to study Nature, it has been frequently asserted, is for the observer to sit still and silent. Shy creatures, which fly before our shadow, the vibration of a footfall, or the hated scent of man, the arch-enemy, will then appear, unconscious and confident, to perform comedies, dramas or tragedies for our edification. There is sound advice in the sitting still idea, but where are we to sit? We may remain perfectly hidden in one spot and see the dainty field-mouse wash its face, the spider mercilessly devour its victim, or get on intimate terms with the death-feigning beetle; but a hundred yards away the badger is cleaning out its earth, the woodpecker feeding its young, or a Camberwell beauty sipping floral sweets. We go home pleased with our observations, rather conceited about our ability to freeze, and some one who went for a walk saw more than we did!

No, we must move from place to place, move quietly it is true, but move, and the while keep eyes open and ears awake for the signs of the life around us. A walk for the naturalist is not mere exercise, and he should not attempt to cover too much ground; he must learn how to potter, but not in the dictionary meaning of the word—to walk lazily or without any definite purpose—but with the naturalist’s aim as he saunters along. When convenient he will stop to examine some flower or insect more minutely, he will lie down, conceal himself in the herbage, grub in the ditch, with enough time on his hands to give to any particular object that demands particular attention. Having discovered some sign he may return to sit and watch, but a wait-and-see policy is seldom rewarded unless we know what we are waiting to see.

Most naturalists are to some extent specialists; that is to say, some branch of nature study interests them more than others. It is good to specialize so long as our chosen study does not make us blind to other matters. Certain men, counted as ornithologists, have an intimate, expert knowledge of the plumages of birds or the variation of egg-coloration, but when they attempt to identify the living bird in the field they are more ignorant than the average country schoolboy, and they have no idea of the surroundings in which to search for their coveted eggs. Some collectors of butterflies and moths have long series of wonderful varieties; they may know the food plant of the various species, for by that means they rear their caterpillars successfully, but they have no conception of the meaning of the varied colour, shapes and habits of these same caterpillars. Many so-called conchologists are even worse, for they treasure the beautiful external skeleton, the shell, and refuse to take any interest in the structure and habits of the living mollusc; to them the slug or cuttle-fish is not a mollusc—it has no shell which will make a cabinet specimen.

These men are not naturalists, but collectors or systematists, and nothing more. The specialist who is a true naturalist knows that all life is interrelated, and that, though it is impossible to have full knowledge of all the various aspects of Nature or branches of the animal and vegetable kingdoms, some understanding of each branch of natural science is necessary. To gain this knowledge the observer must not have the single eye; he must be ready to receive impressions of other objects than those which he collects or studies specially. Therefore, if he be a beginner, he must learn how and what to observe, and how and what to note when he has observed it. The collector accumulates specimens, the observer accumulates knowledge; in many cases the collection is essential to the striver after knowledge, but the collection without information is useless. Too often has wisdom become foolishness, because the wise man, who himself knew, failed to record what he knew, selfishly or thoughtlessly retaining in his mental storehouse information invaluable to those who follow after.

The first half of the last century was an age of collecting; would that we now had on record the knowledge gained by these indefatigable collectors. Their collections, in many cases, exist, but there are no localities, no dates, no information about the specimens; they are objects, and nothing more. The present age promises to be more useful; the young idea is being trained—indifferently in many cases, but with good intentions—in the art of seeing and understanding. We are not working for ourselves only, but for the advancement of science, the promotion of knowledge, the spread of the Truth.

For this reason the use of the note-book is advocated. Call it a diary if you will; it is a good thing to have some daily observation to record, if only the changeful weather or rainfall; but if it be a diary let it not be filled with trivial introspective matter, but with faithful notes of the things we have seen or believe we have seen. In the eighteenth century, and the early nineteenth, there were a few who were not mere collectors, and some of these were the masters of Nature Study, the model diary-keepers. When Gilbert White began to keep notes of what he saw and thought about, did he imagine that he would be the father of Nature Study two hundred years later? With all honour we remember his teaching, but let us not forget his correspondents, especially Daines Barrington, who he tells us was the Inventer of the Naturalist’s Journal, which he filled so carefully. When White was still a lad Dr. Derham, a faithful recorder, passed away, and before him were the founders of modern zoology and botany, Ray and Willughby, travelling together and noting down what they saw.

Our early notes may be thin and even erroneous, but if they are an honest account of what we believed that we saw they may be of value to those who can see the truth through our mistakes; there is no one so clever that he never makes a slip. If he believes that he cannot be wrong he is unreliable, but if he owns up to mistakes honestly made, we honour and trust him. The more intimate we become with the common objects around us, the less likely are we to fall foul of the specialist by our misinterpretation of what we see. Collections may be destroyed by the ravages of time, but the old note-book may survive, and perhaps, generations after we have passed, may be edited and printed by some worker who has found something in the unknown worker’s record which will be of lasting value. Apart from this, the carefully kept note-book or diary will be a joy to its compiler when he can no longer live amongst the things he loves. It recalls for him happy memories of the past, and he lives again the days he had forgotten. He breathes the pure air, he feels the wind, he sees the changing scenes—he realizes that at last—

"To make this earth our hermitage,

A cheerful and a changeful page,

God’s bright and intricate device

Of days and seasons doth suffice."

As stated above, it is good to specialize so long as we do not neglect more general knowledge, and to do this we shall need the help of books. We should not, for a start, select one with too much tedious technical detail, but choose a guide that will stimulate further study.

The present volume is not intended merely as a guide to the use of the other volumes of the Wayside and Woodland series, but has wider scope. Step, in his two series of Wayside and Woodland Blossoms, gives a full account of all the familiar flowers we are likely to meet with in country rambles, and the illustrations will aid in determination of species. But for the sequence in which they appear, and for more detailed stories of their habits, we have his Wild Flowers Month by Month, in which we find flowers depicted and described in their natural setting. It is true that every plant on the British list is not included, for in a land where commerce reigns there are always appearing what are termed colonists and aliens—plants whose seeds have inadvertently been conveyed in produce or ballast, and have found a lodgment in our soil. These may spring up and flourish for a single season or may find conditions to their liking and become a permanent feature of our flora. Aliens are interesting, but the interest is transient, unless the plant becomes a colonist; then it may have influence on other growths, even upon animal life. Some of these aliens will not be found in the above volumes; some will be searched for in vain in the most elaborate floras; only an expert botanist, familiar with the plants in their place of origin, will recognize them.

In Wayside and Woodland Trees, by the same botanist, we learn how to recognize the trees by form, habit, leaf, flower or fruit. Ferns are shown us and explained in yet another volume.

South has supplied the lepidopterist with a complete illustrated guide in his Butterflies and two volumes on Moths of the British Isles. All species are included with the exception of the group of the smallest and most puzzling moths, usually called the Micro-Lepidoptera. Not only are the typical perfect insects shown in their natural colours, but many interesting varieties are included, and in addition the caterpillars, chrysalids and eggs on the food plant of a large number of species. The wonderful sculpture and structure of these eggs, when examined under the microscope, should induce many collectors to preserve and photograph such beautiful objects; indeed, these shapes and marking are not merely beautiful, they have great scientific value.

Terrestrial Mammals, Reptiles and Batrachians are dealt with by Step in Animal Life of the British Isles, and illustrations from living examples are supplied. Their distinctive characters are pointed out, their life story related, and the camera employed to emphasize the various points. In my own Birds of the British Isles and their Eggs (two volumes) I have included all known British species and, except those which are merely casual, each is depicted by a coloured reproduction from Lord Lilford’s monumental work.

As other groups, not yet included in this series, are mentioned in the following pages, a short bibliographical list is supplied at the end of the volume.

COLLECTORS AND COLLECTING.

THE reader must not imagine from the remarks on the subject that collecting is condemned. True, certain animals and plants can best be studied in the field, whether the student does or does not obtain specimens; but the specimen is necessary for a full knowledge of the subject; comparative and systematic work demands a collection. Much damage has been done to certain branches of our fauna by ruthless and miserly collecting, and plant life has suffered in a lesser degree from root grubbers rather than from collectors; but invaluable knowledge has been gained from the working collections both of animals and plants. The genuine collector has a purpose; he wishes to use the specimens or to gather them together so that they may be of use to others; he assists the specialist. The man who amasses collections for personal gratification, or with the idea that they are an investment, sooner or later to be turned into cash, is either selfish and miserly, or exceedingly foolish. Very seldom indeed does the zoological or botanical collection repay what has been spent upon it. If, however, the collection is correctly used repayment cannot be estimated in terms of £ s. d., but its value to science will be a lasting credit to the worker.

What then is it justifiable to collect, and where should we restrain ourselves? The answer is simple. If an object is rare, collect only what is necessary for the work on hand, no more; indeed, this should be the rule for even common animals and plants, for they may become rare. As it is now, there is a rush for anything that is uncommon, for fear that it should become so scarce as to be unobtainable.

Mammals and birds should be treated with discretion. There are always public collections where specimens may be examined, and where there is excuse for their preservation; it is unnecessary for the private collector to accumulate skins of say pine martens, pole-cats and badgers. Nevertheless, these creatures are frequently trapped on game preserves, and there is not so far any law to protect them; therefore the collector may obtain a specimen, if he wishes, without being the actual cause of its death. But let him not descend to bribing a. keeper to get him a specimen, for then he becomes responsible; one cannot blame the keeper in that case.

The smaller British mammals are, in some localities, far too plentiful, and as their natural history has been much neglected, a collection may serve a useful purpose, for many things may be learnt from comparison of skins and skulls, measurements taken from specimens in the flesh, and anatomical examination of their bodies. Without doing harm to the fauna we may collect bats, voles, mice and shrews, and we shall find that there are considerable local and race variations; this is especially noticeable in insular forms, for where small mammals have been isolated on ancient islands for ages the variation from the normal often leads to the formation of an insular sub-species. Nor is this deviation from type confined to ancient islands, for there are cases where comparatively recent isolation has been followed by a distinct adaptation to environment in colour of fur. Weasels and stoats also show these eccentricities, and are worth collecting. With very little experience any one may make a respectable mammal skin, and a few hints on the subject will be found at the end of the volume.

The collection of bird skins is also necessary, but there are now so many good public collections which may be consulted that the amateur should hesitate before aiding the destruction which has already threatened so many rare species. Indeed, so much damage has been done to our avifanua by collectors that I do not advocate the shooting of birds of any species; but there are occasions when we come across individuals which have met with an accident but are fresh enough for preservation, and it always seems a pity if these are not utilized. If the bird is rare it is best to hand it over at once to some local museum or other public collection, but if common, an ornithologist may try his skill at the very difficult task of making a skin; but do not attempt to mount the specimen—a taxidermist is, or should be, an artist; the amateur, unless he has taken a course of lessons from a practical man, produces a painful caricature when he attempts to model a bird. If, later, the naturalist goes abroad to districts where the shooting of birds and preservation of skins is of service to science, he will be glad if he can, quickly and easily, make