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The Cordoning-Off of
Nature
Fencing 'people' off from 'nature' is a symptom of
a sick society
Resurgence, October 1998
The Snake's-Head Fritillary must be one of Britain's
most beautiful wild flowers. Also known by any one of
countless regional names - leper's bells, crowcups,
shy widows, sulky ladies - it flowers in late April
in the water meadows of southern and middle England.
A carpet of purple and white fritillaries, their chequered,
lily-like cups shifting in the breeze, is one of the
most stunning sights of spring.
One of the best places to see these increasingly rare
flowers in large numbers is Magdalen College meadow,
in Oxford. The sweep of thousands of these magical plants,
bounded by the river Cherwell, framed by Magdalen College
bell-tower and interwoven with wood anemones, dog-violets
and bluebells is a sight everyone should see, but few
do. For while Magdalen college will allow visitors,
for a fee, to walk its designated riverside paths, and
gaze at the flowers at a distance, from behind a locked
gate in an iron fence, access to the meadow is, as a
rule, denied. I recently attempted to persuade the college
authorities to allow me into the meadow to photograph
the flowers; they eventually agreed that I could do
so, but only if escorted, and closely watched, by the
Head Gardener. 'The flowers are extremely rare and delicate',
the college bursar told me. 'We don't allow anyone into
the meadow unescorted, not even the college dons.'
Perhaps Magdalen College, like so many other private
landowners across Britain, should not have the right
to deny ordinary people access to such a sight. Or perhaps,
in order to protect the flowers from a merciless trampling
beneath the Nike-clad feet of hordes of camcorder-wielding
tourists, they are quite right to close the meadow off.
But surely the real question we should be asking is
this: why does the very idea of one field's-worth of
flowers among a sea of urban development and intensively-farmed
fields not seem strange to us? Why have we allowed the
land to be divided into categories: flowers here, crops
there; beauty here, necessary ugliness there; nature
here, man there? Why have we allowed the cordoning-off
of nature?
There was a time, still within living memory, when fritillaries
were common across England - the abundance and variety
of regional names for these flowers indicates that.
Nature writer Richard Mabey has noted that the plant
grew in its thousands in many areas across Britain until
at least the 1930s. Here in Oxford, the flower was so
abundant before the last war that local people used
to pick bunches for their windowsills, and sell sprays
of them at market. Now, there are so few left that picking
fritillaries would be a highly irresponsible act. The
same goes for many of our other native flower species;
once abundant, now rare. 'Do not pick wild flowers'
has become an established tenet of the Country Code,
along with 'always shut gates', and 'take your litter
home'.
And yet to deny people the simple pleasure of picking
flowers, admiring their colours, taking in their scents,
weaving them into chains or sticking them in a buttonhole,
is to remove us even further from any real connection
with nature. Once all people are allowed to do is look
at flowers from a distance - appreciate with their eyes
and their intellect, but not truly experience with their
senses - it merely serves to reinforce a sense of isolation
from the natural world; a sense that nature must somehow
remain outside our everyday experience, and must be
protected, for its own good, in reserves and government-funded
sites, fenced off and signposted; somewhere you go with
the kids at weekends.
The case of the fritillary is merely an example of
the large-scale cordoning-off of nature that Britain
has seen this century. The flower's current rarity is
largely due to the rapid decline of its habitat. Britain's
wildflower meadows have been sprayed, ploughed and developed
almost out of existence in just fifty years; it's estimated
that we have lost a staggering 95% of them since 1945.
The remaining populations of fritillaries must therefore
be protected, lest they slip into extinction.
The scandalous decline in Britain's wildlife and its
habitats has been well documented and publicised in
recent years. The huge change in countryside management
practices is largely to blame. The 'Green Revolution'
on our farms, the advent of chemical and capital-intensive
mechanised agriculture, and the Common Agricultural
Policy with its bribes and subsidies have changed the
countryside out of all recognition. At the same time,
the cities and towns continue to swallow up the countryside;
an area of rural land the size of Bristol disappears
under asphalt and paving slabs every year.
The result can be seen everywhere. The majority of
farms are now little more than open-air factory floors.
Poppies and cornflowers no longer grow amongst the corn
and wheat; a million ponds have been ploughed up or
filled in since 1900; 18,000km of hedgerow are grubbed
up every year; over 50% of water meadows have gone since
1945. And almost everything that remains is sprayed
with the latest chemical fertiliser or pesticide, to
ensure maximum production. Once-common field-dwellers
like harvest mice, grass-snakes and butterflies have
declined drastically, and birds like the tree sparrow,
yellow wagtail, partridge and song thrush have declined
by over 50% in just 25 years. This litany of destruction
means that much of our farmland, once a repository of
wildlife, is now largely bereft of little other than
serried ranks of cash crops, chemical drums, rubber
tyres and the sound of subsidy cheques thudding onto
doormats.
As nature has retreated from the farms, it has made
its home in whatever land is left - in the spinneys,
wastelands, abandoned fields, suburban gardens, and
protected areas. And conservationists, for the last
few decades, have been instrumental in overseeing the
expansion of Britain's network of Nature Reserves, Areas
of Outstanding Natural Beauty, Sites of Special Scientific
Interest and National Parks; areas where, in theory
at least, nature can rest in peace, while, outside,
man gets on with the real business of living.
These islands of nature in a sea of concrete, chemicals,
barren soil and street lights, are sending exactly the
wrong message to children growing up today; that 'nature'
is something superfluous to real life. Birdsong, flowers,
woodlands, fresh air; such things are all very nice,
but are little more than optional extras. And you must
only look, never touch. Nature has been enclosed, and
confined to designated sites, with carparks and painted
noticeboards, explaining to the urban, car-confined
millions what once would have been common knowledge
to all.
None of this is the fault of the conservation movement,
without which our remaining natural riches would be
considerably less rich. It is the fault of our modern
mindset, which continues to see nature and humanity
as separate, and to consider anything that happened
to be here before we did as a resource, to be either
utilised or disposed of. Surely the future for conservation
must be to set nature free; to de-intensify our farmland
and our countryside, to allow the harvest mice and the
poppies, the ponds and the hedges to re-occupy the place
they once held in rural life. To allow nature to flourish
once again in abundance, in tandem with our own economic
activities; for the countryside to live again as well
as produce.
Britain has always been a rural nation at heart, even
if it ceased to be so in reality more than a century
ago. Images of the countryside fill our literature,
our music and our arts. The countryside belongs to us
all. It is up to us all to repair it.
It can be done; the countryside can pay our wages
both economically and spiritually. All across Britain
today, a small but growing number of enlightened farmers,
rural workers and conservationists are proving it. And
if the madness of the Common Agricultural Policy - a
system which pays farmers with one hand to leave half
their land fallow, while paying them with the other
to cover the rest with pesticides - can be effectively
reformed, we could see a resurgence of nature. Such
a resurgence is desperately needed if we are again to
appreciate that man and nature can work profitably together,
to the economic, ecological and spiritual benefit of
us all.
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