A partridge in a pear tree, almost

4 December 2015

When I woke up this morning I had that kind of thick, tickly feeling that usually means a cold is waiting to pounce. There was also a slightly annoying Christmas song going round and round in my head. Worse still I couldn’t quite remember which gift came on which day of Christmas apart from the five golden rings and the Partridge in a pear tree. There seemed to be only one way to deal with both these issues, get out in the sun and visit a real pear tree. Well it was kill or cure anyway.

Outside it was colder than it looked but the sky was blue and I soon warmed up as I tramped along the streets towards the green. It was hardly what’d you’d call a long walk and, before too long, I’d arrived at the cutway I walked so often when I worked at Silver Helm. The sun was streaming through the trees and the muddy track was covered with leaves as I marched up towards the green. For a moment my feet almost took me along the woodland path on the familiar route towards the Itchen Bridge but I corrected myself at the last moment. They say we have muscle memory but I swear my feet have path memory and just go where they normally go even when my head wants to go somewhere else.

At the top of the track there was the pear tree in all its glory, laden with so many little round pears I couldn’t tell if there were still leaves left on the tree. There were, of course, no partridges and this is not the original pear tree that gives Peartree Green, or the avenue running alongside it it’s name. No one seems to know when the original pear tree was planted but it was said to have survived for several hundred years. Even after it was struck by lightning and almost torn in two it continued to bear small, round pears for the villagers. In 1850 the tree was still standing and Mrs Preston Hulton of Barnfield planted a young pear tree beside it. At some point both trees must have succumbed to age but, in 1951, this new tree was planted by Southampton Mayor, Councillor Mrs Cutler. A variety similar to the original tree was chosen so these fruits too are small and round.

If I’d had any sense I’d have brought a bag with me and collected some of those beautiful little pears to take home. The best ones seemed to be in the high branches though so I’d have been better off bringing CJ or Commando along for their superior reaching abilities. The ground around the tree was covered with fallen pears. I picked one up to smell the sweet pear smell, it was hardly bigger than a plum but a rich golden colour.

Once this whole area from Bitterne Village at the top of the hill down to Itchen Ferry Village on the water’s edge was wood and heathland known as Ridgeway Heath. Slowly, over the years, houses have encroached and now the green is the only open space and Peartree Avenue cuts right through it. The top part of the green is a small, mainly grassy, triangle sloping down towards the Peartree Inn.  The pub was built in the 1950’s to replace an older pub, bombed during World War II as so much in the area was.

The centre of this triangle is taken up by a small chapel, half hidden by trees and surrounded by gravestones. Small it may be but it has a long and interesting history. In the seventeenth century the villagers of Itchen Ferry had to make a long journey across the River Itchen in the little ferry boats to worship in St Mary’s Church in Southampton. In winter this crossing could be a dangerous one and there are tales of bodies being buried in local fields because it was impossible to get to the church. Captain Richard Smith, who lived in Peartree House and was the governor of Calshot Castle, petitioned for a licence to build a chapel on the green. Stones were carried from the site of Clausentum at Bitterne Manor to build the church. Originally called Jesus Chapel or St Mary’s Extra, it was completed in 1618 making it the oldest Anglican Church in the world.

Sadly, the door was closed so I couldn’t look inside but I strolled around the church with the bright sun on my face. As with most buildings of this age, not all that I saw was as old as it would at first appear. The first chapel was far simpler than the modern Peartree Church, being a stone building just fifty by twenty feet. In 1822 the South Transept and porch were added, along with a new slate roof and in 1847 the north aisle was designed by George Guillaume who also designed the church in Bitterne Village.

So I walked around the little church marvelling that, in an area so badly devastated by wartime bombs, this little church, by some miracle, survived. Apparently, one anti aircraft shell did fall in the churchyard, the plaster inside was badly damaged and almost all the original stained glass was shattered but the church survived. It’s hard to imagine what it must have been like to live through the Southampton blitz with the spitfire factory so close but I’m glad the church wasn’t hit.

When I turned to cross the road and return to the other side of the green the clouds were creeping across the water and the light had that golden quality that says rain is on the way. It was almost midday but the sun was low in the sky and the shadows long. For once the grassy area was empty of dog walkers or children playing football and I strolled across looking at the sky and wondering if I dared risk a wander of the wild trails below Sea Road or if I should make tracks for home before it rained.

Behind me, above the church, the sky was still blue and I stood at the top of the wild green dithering. Across the water I could make out my old office building and the spie of St Mary’s Church. The track through the rough grass looked slippery and, mindful of the fact no one was about, I decided to walk on a little way. The last thing I wanted was to slip and injure myself with no one around to help. The next track was firmer but, at the bottom of the slope, I could see big muddy puddles in the uneven ground. Maybe tramping over the wild green wasn’t such a good plan, especially with rain on the way.

In the end I took the thin, muddy trail down into the little patch of woodland towards home. It was a shorter walk than I’d hoped but it had cleared my head a little and it was good to see blue sky, even if it was short lived. My reward was a crop of honesty pods on the final stretch before the road. The partridge in a pear tree was still swooshing around in my head and I still couldn’t remember what the other Christmas gifts were.