Crows in the chimney

A little survivor, self-sown 'volunteer' pansy, Photo: Su Hurrell 2019

Its quite a peculiar thing to go to Betley Court since the fire. Before, I was always aware that someone was about, a resident pottering in their flat, or taking a turn around the gardens, even if I couldn’t see them. Often, they’d pop over for a quick word, or we’d exchange pleasantries as we crossed paths around the house. Now, save for the occasions when we have meetings with contractors, there are just the two Mr O’s in the gardens, and Nigel when he’s onsite, so it can be quite a lonesome experience. I bring a radio to stave off the quiet, tuned to Classic FM, and play it out across the south face of the house. I like to think the classical music acts as a soothing balm to hideous burns inflicted by August’s fire.

With somewhat tragi-comic timing, a smoke alarm was going off periodically the last time Nigel and I were over. There was no sign of smoke to be seen. In fact, it was raining, and yet this mournful bleep sounded across the ruins. Nigel wondered if it was one of the alarms he’d put a ’10 year-life’ battery in recently. In any case, we’ll have a few more days of bleeping before, hopefully the rain and cold deplete the battery.

The remaining chimneys. Photo: Su Hurrell, 2019

What’s been quite fascinating has been witnessing the wildlife moving in as the humans retreated from Betley Court. 2019’s been a good year for butterflies, at least here in the gardens. On warm days its been a treat to see groups of butterflies basking on the charred brickwork, oblivious to the damage around them. Painted ladies, peacocks, cabbage whites all vying for a good spot in the sun.

The crows have returned, after being rudely evicted from their perch on the chimney pots above the kitchen boiler, on the night of the fire. For some reason, they have changed their preferred chimney to one at the front of the house. It’s an interesting chimney, although I doubt the crows have an inkling of its architectural significance. The chimney stack is in fact made up of several flues from fireplaces that once graced the house (their ghosts are visible in the bare brickwork of the ruins).

Ghosts of fireplaces. Photo: Su Hurrell c. 2019

An addition was made at some point and new fireplaces installed on the ground and first floor. Rather than knock a new chimney stack through the house – and let’s be honest, ruin the beautiful Georgian lines of the house - some unknown bygone builder simply put a dog-leg turn in the stack above the first-floor ceiling and joined it onto an existing chimney.  It is an extremely rare example of a horizontal chimney, and Historic England (the public body charged with looking after England’s treasured buildings) are very interested. They would like to see it maintained as an historic example, the irony being that, as it is a horizontal chimney, it is not safe to use, by modern safety standards. I’m not sure why, possibly the increased danger of chimney fires in a horizontal flue? The Professor did tell me once, but that was a long time ago.  

In the flowerbeds, I’ve noticed an increase in mouseholes. I wonder if the reduced human presence makes living nearer the shelter of the house is more appealing? I have yet to see any of these shy creatures, jus the evidence of their activity.  I also spotted an old friend in the borders, a rather distinctive large toad, who used to frequent the shaded step by the drawing room bay windows. He had a favourite spot under a slate tile, and I noted him because he has what looks like a strimmer injury on his back. I often felt quite guilty at disturbing him as I weeded the wall border. Last week as I was mulching the flowerbeds with compost, there he was, hiding amongst a patch of weeds. I was pleased to see he hadn’t been roasted in the fire.

Mr Toad, hiding in some nettles. Photo: Su Hurrell

One creature that never left is Tom, the house cat. He belongs (as much as any cat ever does belong to any human) to one of the residents made homeless by the fire. When the evacuation happened, Tom was nowhere to be seen. He’s quite wild in nature, the scourge of the local rabbit population and an accomplished hunter. On several occasions, he’s delivered a recently dispatched rabbit to me while I was digging over the flowerbeds. When I’ve failed to take sufficient interest in it, he’s proceeded to munch through the carcass. So, it was quite usual for him to disappear for days on end, before the fire anyway, and it was hoped that somehow, he was looking after himself in the days after the fire. Kind neighbours promised to keep a lookout. Well, Tom being Tom, he has indeed been looking after himself, and is being fed by not one, but two households nearby. Betley’s answer to ‘Six-Dinner Sid’ the fictional cat with half a dozen owners. And I’ve seen him up on the paddock, hunting, so he is still the scourge of the rabbits that live up there.

Tom, the house cat, and great survivor. Photo: Su Hurrell 2019

Nice to see that some things, at least, have stayed the same.

All best wishes

Ladybird Su