A Postcard from Woodmill

16 March 2017

It seems like ages since I last walked along the river and, with spring bursting out all over the place, I thought a stroll along the Itchen was well overdue. There were bound to be some new flowers to see along the way, maybe even some new leaves starting on the trees. There was an F.G.O. Stuart postcard of Woodmill and I had an idea I knew exactly where the shot had been taken. Recreating it might involve a tiny bit of trespassing but it was trespassing I’d done before so I was fairly confident it wouldn’t be a problem. 

There was pink blossom on a tree in a garden as we headed towards Monks Walk. This was the same tree that flowered all through winter as I walked back and forth to work at the beginning of last year. Now it’s fluttering pink blossoms seem less out of place. Nearby a beautiful clump of hellebores made me raisle the camera again.

On the footpath catkins brightened the bare tree branches but there was no sign of imminent leaves. The mud does seem to have dried up a little since I last came this way, which can only be good, and the puddles were easy enough to skirt. For a moment or two I peered at the tangles branches of the wisteria hanging over a garden wall. It once scented my walks to work and made me stop and smile. It will be a while before it flowers again and I saw no sign of new growth today. Patience will be required before the heady wisteria perfume fills the air once more.

There may have been no olfactory delights today but the forsyia and viburnum flowers on the corner were a delight for our eyes. Forsythia is one of the first flowers of spring and they’re so bright it’s impossible to miss them. The delicate pink and white viburnum flowers are harder to spot but just as welcome.

The slope down to the river was over brimming with nodding daffodils and the river below was dotted with gulls. Close to the bridge a single swan was waiting for us. CJ bravely tiptoed down the bank to say hello. The stones are slippery so, sensibly, I stayed on the path.

The swan obviously thought CJ had food and began to climb awkwardly out of the water. These beautiful creatures seem so elegant when they’re afloat but they’re surpriginly ungainly on dry land. Slowly he lifted his body out of the river, one webbed foot appeared and was planted on the stones of the bank. It all seemed to happen in slow motion and gave CJ ample time to scramble back up the bank. By the time the second foot was on the stones his mate had glided elegantly across the dark water and joined him. When no food appeared they both stared at us accusingly.

“Do you notice anything odd about the jetty?” I asked CJ as we approached it.
“There’s a black swan,” he said.
“There is, but that’s not unusual these days. There are hardly any swans today though. The few that are here are mostly young ones. The adults must all be off nesting somewhere. Hopefully that means there will be a few more cygnets this year.”

In fact there were just six mute swans around the jetty. The two cygnets from last year were easy to pick out with their mottling of grey brown feathers. The others were, I guessed, from the year before. They usually find their mates in the winter of their second year and nest for the first time when they are between two and seven years old. These were obviously too young for nesting so were still hanging about the jetty with one of the black swan cygnets from last year.

While we were talking one of the older mute swans took to the air. The mute swan is one of the heaviest flying birds and getting airborne is not a graceful process. The womp, womp of those giant wings alerted us but, sadly, I wasn’t quick enough to capture the whole thing. The flight was short and low, just as far as the bridge, where some humans were throwing bread and attracting a cloud of gulls.

The other swans headed towards the bridge too, using the more conventional method of swimming. By the time we reached the jetty it was empty apart from two ducks who’d obviously not got the message about the bread by the bridge. They looked at us forlornly as we walked past.

A little yellow tug was heading up River as the swans were swimming down. It seemed an odd sight this far up the Itchen and I couldn’t help wondering if it would make it under the bridge at Mansbridge and where it was going. Another splash of yellow came further along the bank. A wild mustard plant had somehow taken hold between the stones. Its delicate flowers on long stems looked for all the world like a bouquet had been placed there.

Near the reedbeds two ladies in little white boats were rowing furiously up stream. It looked like hard work to me and I was glad I was walking rather than rowing. The reeds looked faded and thin. Perhaps the swans have been pulling at the old dry stems to make their nests? Thin and bare as they were, we couldn’t see any sign of nests. If they are there the new growth will soon appear and hide them even better.

Near the river bend I was quite excited to see a fuzz of green on the trees. The first leaves of the year always make me smile. When we got closer though I could see the green was just catkins and not leaves at all.

Behind the reedbeds drifts of daffodils brightend the edge of the path. This is the spot dotted with fox holes, or maybe they were made by badgers, it’s hard to tell. Whatever made them I hoped no one would wander amongst the daffodils and get their foot stuck in one. It would be easy to break an ankle that way.

Further along a squirrel darted across the grass, closely pursued by a dog. The squirrel was too quick for my camera and for the dog and scurried up a tree just in time. Why dogs like to chase squirrels is a mystery but I’m fairly sure they rarely catch them.

The trees here were resolutely bare too although the understory of shrubs and ivy seems to have got the memo about spring and a few fresh green leaves were growing. Today the bare branches were a bonus when it came to seeing the mill. Later in the year the leafy trees on the riverbank will hide it completely. The shot I took was not the same view as F.G.O. Stuart’s postcard. Neither was the conventional photo I took a little further on standing on the bank looking over the back of the mill.

Stuart’s photograph was taken from the other side of Woodmill, a view that is rarely seen today. The land he must have stood on is now either filled with houses or owned by the University and used as a watersports centre. This is where I found the Haven Stone, or what remains of it, back in 2015. I wasn’t sure, but I had an idea we might be able to see the other side of the mill from the riverbank there. Getting to it would involve trespassing on the University land but it seemed a small price to pay. Besides, CJ had never see the Haven Stone.

We walked along the narrow road across the mill bridge, stopping for a moment to look at the funny little house there with its bricked up windows and the boarded door that seems too small for a human to use. This must once have been one of the mill buildings, perhaps a store of some kind, although the chimney tells me it may really have been a house. Yet another mystery to add to my ever growing list.

As we made our way along the quiet street where the houses undoubtedly have some of the best views of Woodmill from their gardens, I told CJ a little about the Haven Stone.
“The original stone was one of three marking the north east boundary of Southampton. It was placed on the river here in 1488.”
“So it’s a bit like the one we saw on the edge of the Common then?” CJ’s eyes lit up at the prospect.
“It was but, sadly, the original stone was taken in the 1800’s and used at a nearby mill. A man named Thomas Betts stole it. He was fined £5, a huge amount back then, and told to put it back. He didn’t. Eventually the Alderman of Portswood had a new stone put in its place.”
“So it’s not an old stone at all then?” CJ seemed disappointed. It’s been a while since we’ve been on a boundary stone hunt after all. “Is it like the 1988 stones?”
“No. it’s more like a concrete post with a metal plaque attached to it explaining what it is. The plaque was put there in 1970.”

By this time we’d reached the end of the road and it was soon clear all my talk about the Haven Stone had been in vain, along with my hopes of seeing the back of the mill. The gate to the watersports centre was shut and locked. There was no way in.

Feeling disappointed, we headed back to Riverside Park.

“The University shouldn’t be allowed to lock people out when there’s a historic relic on their land,” CJ grumbled.
“It is annoying but, I suppose, if they own the land, they can do what they like. I wonder if they even know it’s there? We will just have to come back another day and hope the gates are open and there’s no one about so we can go trespassing.”

The sight of leaves on the willows and another quick view of the mill through the trees brightened our mood a little as we headed towards home.

Near the reedbeds we bumped into Rose, one of my old Silver Helm colleagues. She was out running with a friend, training for the Eastleigh 10k. We stopped for a chat and I told her Commando was pacing the race so I might see here there.

Our last stop for the day came near the jetty. A few more swans had gathered. Mostly they were young mute swans but the whole black swan family seemed to be there too. This reminded me of the black swan we saw with angel wing, damage caused by too much bread when he was very young. Scanning the crowd I soon spotted him. His poor deformed wings will never get better and he’ll never be able to fly like his siblings. This could well lead to an early death but I was glad to see he is surviving, at least for now. If we’re lucky there will soon be some more cygnets joining the group. Hopefully none of them will end up suffering the same fate.

Our mission to recreate the F.G.O. Stuart postcard of Woodmill may have ended with a locked gate and disappointment but we’d seen plenty of signs of spring along the way and found a few this to puzzle us and keep our brains working. No walk along the river is completely in vain after all.

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