Written for a talk at the Red Brick Building, Glastonbury, October 2015
Eighteen months ago I embarked on a project involving our local river, the River Brue. I was inspired by the Kogi
people of northern Colombia, as depicted in the film ‘Aluna’; they have given a warning that it is human behavior and attitudes that have created the looming ecological crisis, and their key message to the rest of the world is that whatever we do, we must look after the rivers. I set out to get to know the river that flows past Glastonbury, and that has been such an integral part of its history.
In doing so I have been following the thinking of the Sufi teacher Llewellyn Vaughan-Lee – he has offered a four-point plan based on Witnessing, Grieving, Prayer and then Action, as a constructive response to this crisis. In Witnessing I followed the impetus, bit by bit, to walk the length of the river and finally to deliver an offering from the mouth of the river to the source. This I did last summer, and I then spent much of the winter researching the river’s history.
During the summer just gone I completed this part of the project by spending five days walking, this time from the source to the mouth in one single journey. I would like to share that journey with you, in pictures and in some of my observations, beginning [here] at Alfred’s Tower on top of the Mendip hills. It is some five miles from Bruton and two miles along a footpath through the woods from the source of the river.
The River Brue arises from a spring that bubbles up within a little stone structure that was built in Victorian times. The first time I saw it my impression was that here is a miniature shrine to the river goddess. From there the river flows down the hillside and soon becomes a stream and before long something more like a river. ‘Briw’ is an old British word meaning ‘brisk’ or ‘vigorous’, and so it is for the first few miles as it makes its way down a fairly steep hillside.
It’s a beautiful river, especially in its upper reaches; but it has a number of problems – all inflicted by humans – that affect its health and well-being. I have said that the first stage of this project has been spent Witnessing – in Llewellyn’s words “without expectation, without wanting anything, and in particular without wanting anything to change”. Part of that witnessing has been to note various issues concerning the river’s mistreatment.
I am now moving into the second stage, which is focused on Grieving, getting in touch with the profound feelings that are there when we look into the depths of that mistreatment – of the river, and of course of the natural world as a whole. I am finding this neither easy nor comfortable, but it must be done. So in sharing this journey I shall also begin to highlight the aspects of the ricer that are not as they could be; the more we get to know the river and to love it, the more painful they become.
First, before setting off, we must have a look at the map.
It’s a beautiful river, especially in its upper reaches; but it has a number of problems – all inflicted by humans – that affect its health and well-being. I have said that the first stage of this project has been spent Witnessing – in Llewellyn’s words “without expectation, without wanting anything, and in particular without wanting anything to change”. Part of that witnessing has been to note various issues concerning the river’s mistreatment.
I am now moving into the second stage, which is focused on Grieving, getting in touch with the profound feelings that are there when we look into the depths of that mistreatment – of the river, and of course of the natural world as a whole. I am finding this neither easy nor comfortable, but it must be done. So in sharing this journey I shall also begin to highlight the aspects of the ricer that are not as they could be; the more we get to know the river and to love it, the more painful they become.
First, before setting off, we must have a look at the map.
This is the part of Somerset through which the River Brue flows, roughly as it was in the Iron Age – perhaps a hundred years before the Roman invasion. The first thing you will notice is that its course is quite different from the one it follows today. In fact it did not flow at all through what is now known as the ‘Brue valley’ between Glastonbury and the coast at Highbridge; it crossed the moors north of here and went into the Cheddar valley where it joined the River Axe.
This is the course I shall be following, and that I have been following, at least as nearly as possible. When I talk about ‘the river’ I mean this original course of the river, from above Bruton down to Glastonbury, across the moors and into the Cheddar valley, reaching the sea near Brean Down. The lower section is known as the Axe, or ‘Aeske’, which simply meant ‘water’.
It was certainly very wet. Inundations from the sea meant that from close to Glastonbury onward it flowed through marshes and mudflats; in fact it would often have disappeared into the general marshiness, especially during the winter. Nevertheless our ancestors, when they built the Glastonbury Lake Village, did deliberately site it next to the course of the river so that they had easy access to a navigable waterway all the year round.
This is the course I shall be following, and that I have been following, at least as nearly as possible. When I talk about ‘the river’ I mean this original course of the river, from above Bruton down to Glastonbury, across the moors and into the Cheddar valley, reaching the sea near Brean Down. The lower section is known as the Axe, or ‘Aeske’, which simply meant ‘water’.
It was certainly very wet. Inundations from the sea meant that from close to Glastonbury onward it flowed through marshes and mudflats; in fact it would often have disappeared into the general marshiness, especially during the winter. Nevertheless our ancestors, when they built the Glastonbury Lake Village, did deliberately site it next to the course of the river so that they had easy access to a navigable waterway all the year round.
The map today looks very different, and the first thing you will notice here is that it is no longer the natural shape of a river; whole sections have been straightened out, and extra channels have been dug – mostly for reasons of drainage. The second thing to notice is that it is no longer one river – it has been divided into two – it is a disconnected river. The source is disconnected from the mouth.
It is this disconnection that has made it for me an allegory for the natural world as a whole, and a reflection of humanity: all of us to some extent are disconnected from ourselves, from each other, and from the natural world. This is a major factor in the current environmental crisis. Setting out to deepen our personal connection with our local landscape is a step towards the answer, and that is what I invite you to do.
It is this disconnection that has made it for me an allegory for the natural world as a whole, and a reflection of humanity: all of us to some extent are disconnected from ourselves, from each other, and from the natural world. This is a major factor in the current environmental crisis. Setting out to deepen our personal connection with our local landscape is a step towards the answer, and that is what I invite you to do.
This is an illustration of what can happen to our countryside when people are not connected, when they see only the utilitarian outcome and not the value of the natural world. Large areas of our country have suffered a similar fate, whether as the result of river engineering, or road building, or urban sprawl.
I can offer no instant answer. Most of these things have been done for reasons that are perfectly understandable, perhaps even necessary. But like the writer Jeremy Purseglove I would say that it is the way that the developments are carried out that is most important; and if we have cultivated a real connection with the natural world then we could not do so in a way that destroys it.
I also want to say, just to be clear, that I am not suggesting that we go out and form some kind of protest movement. I have done plenty of that over the years, and my perception is that it hasn’t worked. All that I know for sure is that for change to be real it has to begin within us. The reason that Llewellyn Vaughan-Lee says that we should start by witnessing, without wanting anything to change, is because so often we try to change patterns using the same consciousness that created them in the first place, and then we just create a variation rather than real change.
I can offer no instant answer. Most of these things have been done for reasons that are perfectly understandable, perhaps even necessary. But like the writer Jeremy Purseglove I would say that it is the way that the developments are carried out that is most important; and if we have cultivated a real connection with the natural world then we could not do so in a way that destroys it.
I also want to say, just to be clear, that I am not suggesting that we go out and form some kind of protest movement. I have done plenty of that over the years, and my perception is that it hasn’t worked. All that I know for sure is that for change to be real it has to begin within us. The reason that Llewellyn Vaughan-Lee says that we should start by witnessing, without wanting anything to change, is because so often we try to change patterns using the same consciousness that created them in the first place, and then we just create a variation rather than real change.
Here we are near the top of the River Brue, heading at a leisurely pace down towards Bruton. The scenery is lovely, with trees on either side of the river and sunlight shining through the leaves and reflecting in the water. From time to time we stop and just admire it all, listening to the sound of the water making its way happily downstream. This is an excellent way to spend our time.
That’s all there is to be said really, but I would like to linger a little longer on this part of the journey, soak it up, know how truly valuable the river is to give us spaces like these to enjoy, spaces where we can feel wonderfully nurtured. However, it doesn’t last. The sunny afternoon cannot continue forever.
And you may notice that the trees, such an integral part of the scene, do not stretch very far. Along the river above Bruton the trees shade the river but beyond that they are missing.
That’s all there is to be said really, but I would like to linger a little longer on this part of the journey, soak it up, know how truly valuable the river is to give us spaces like these to enjoy, spaces where we can feel wonderfully nurtured. However, it doesn’t last. The sunny afternoon cannot continue forever.
And you may notice that the trees, such an integral part of the scene, do not stretch very far. Along the river above Bruton the trees shade the river but beyond that they are missing.
Looking down the hillside from the edge of the woods near the river source, we can see that the trees are disappearing. They have not completely gone, but at the time of the Domesday survey in 1086 AD it was completely covered in forest from here right down to Bruton; now there is only 10% tree cover.
The farmland [we are looking at] is perfectly healthy, but there is a problem. The topography around Bruton creates conditions that encourage – every now and again – torrential rainstorms. In June (day?) 1917 more than 9.5 inches fell in 24 hours, and this was a record for anywhere in Britain until 1955. The resulting run-off very quickly finds its way into a narrow channel that rapidly fills with water.
The graph plots the percentage of tree cover along the bottom, and the rate of overflow from the river down the side. The difference between 10% and 100% tree cover in the upper catchment area is of the order of 50:400 – in other words water comes down the hillside eight times as fast as it did in 1086. Another study showed that land covered in trees absorbs no less than 67 times as much rainfall as open meadowland. Even just trees planted along the contour lines would make a significant difference to what is known as ‘bankfull discharge’ downstream.
The farmland [we are looking at] is perfectly healthy, but there is a problem. The topography around Bruton creates conditions that encourage – every now and again – torrential rainstorms. In June (day?) 1917 more than 9.5 inches fell in 24 hours, and this was a record for anywhere in Britain until 1955. The resulting run-off very quickly finds its way into a narrow channel that rapidly fills with water.
The graph plots the percentage of tree cover along the bottom, and the rate of overflow from the river down the side. The difference between 10% and 100% tree cover in the upper catchment area is of the order of 50:400 – in other words water comes down the hillside eight times as fast as it did in 1086. Another study showed that land covered in trees absorbs no less than 67 times as much rainfall as open meadowland. Even just trees planted along the contour lines would make a significant difference to what is known as ‘bankfull discharge’ downstream.
Bruton has a long history of flooding. This has struck me as being very odd: Bruton was an important medieval town, so why build it in a location that was subject to devastating floods every couple of decades?
It probably wasn’t . Bruton was a royal estate in Saxon times, and an established medieval town by about 1400. Piecemeal deforestation was going on by then, but it really got going in the seventeenth century when Charles I had Frome and Selwood forests ‘dis-afforested’ in order to sell the land for farming. The first recorded accounts of major floods – at least the first that survive – are from the eighteenth century.
Bruton was furnished with stone bridges and their stone abutments, stone walls along the river banks, and weirs that leveled and fixed the bed of the river, at least 200 years before the tree cover above the town was dramatically reduced. The river through Bruton could therefore not adjust to the changed conditions by means of natural erosion, enlarging the rive channel in order to cope with the increased flow. This contributed further to the floods that followed.
It probably wasn’t . Bruton was a royal estate in Saxon times, and an established medieval town by about 1400. Piecemeal deforestation was going on by then, but it really got going in the seventeenth century when Charles I had Frome and Selwood forests ‘dis-afforested’ in order to sell the land for farming. The first recorded accounts of major floods – at least the first that survive – are from the eighteenth century.
Bruton was furnished with stone bridges and their stone abutments, stone walls along the river banks, and weirs that leveled and fixed the bed of the river, at least 200 years before the tree cover above the town was dramatically reduced. The river through Bruton could therefore not adjust to the changed conditions by means of natural erosion, enlarging the rive channel in order to cope with the increased flow. This contributed further to the floods that followed.
After the most recent flood, in 1982, a dam was built above Bruton at a total cost of several million pounds. Since then, in the words of local hydrologist Colin Clark, ‘The residents of Bruton have been left well protected up to the design standard, but also left in grave peril if that standard were to be significantly exceeded.’
There is no theoretical maximum to the magnitude of a flood. The event of 1768 is believed to have been the greatest to date. The Bruton dam was designed to hold back a ‘one hundred year flood’, i.e. an inundation likely to occur – on average – once in a century. Since then it has been extended and enlarged, and in 2005 it did prevent a significant potential flood.
However nobody knows whether it would have held back the flood of 1768, nor whether a flood of such proportions is likely again after, say, 250 years. What we do know is that climate change is making increasing storminess likely. Meanwhile, the flood prevention dam stands as a monument to the age of technological fixes, in a world where nature – in the end – will always have the last word.
There is no theoretical maximum to the magnitude of a flood. The event of 1768 is believed to have been the greatest to date. The Bruton dam was designed to hold back a ‘one hundred year flood’, i.e. an inundation likely to occur – on average – once in a century. Since then it has been extended and enlarged, and in 2005 it did prevent a significant potential flood.
However nobody knows whether it would have held back the flood of 1768, nor whether a flood of such proportions is likely again after, say, 250 years. What we do know is that climate change is making increasing storminess likely. Meanwhile, the flood prevention dam stands as a monument to the age of technological fixes, in a world where nature – in the end – will always have the last word.
Let’s return to our journey. Below Bruton the landscape is more obviously man-made, but nevertheless attractive. There were once six water mills in Bruton, as well as several more further downstream, all powered by the River Brue. Now there is only one still being used (nowadays for generating electricity): Gant’s Mill. The Mill House at Lovington and West Lydford Church are other well known landmarks, whilst Brueclay Mountain, near Alford, is a brief return to the river flowing through woodland – showing that it once would have looked like this all the way to Baltonsborough. (I have no idea why it is called Brueclay Mountain). Along this stretch of the river there are also several other picturesque churches, and also medieval stone bridges such as the one at West Lydford, and Tootle Bridge between Baltonsborough and Barton St David.
As the river approaches Glastonbury there is more evidence of engineering works. The 1800 yards of straight river channel across South Moor was built in the thirteenth century to provide a millrace, powering water mills at Northover and Beckery. Prior to that the river used to flow much closer to the town; now it is not only straight with raised flood-banks, but the water level is higher than the surrounding fields.
Eventually this area was enclosed and drained, though not until local people had fought hard to keep their common land on the moor. It is not always appreciated that the ‘improvements’ to the wetlands were often made by rich landowners, in spite of fierce opposition from ordinary people whose rights of commonage were extremely important, providing firewood and summer grazing. In this case the land was re-occupied by people from the Glastonbury area, ‘the fences torn down and the rhynes filled in’. This was just before the civil war broke out, and they were able to continue pasturing their cattle ‘as of old’ for a number of years.
More recently, flood-banks similar to the ones across South Moor – built tight to the river’s edge – have been utilized as part of drainage schemes. Jeremy Purseglove, who began his career as a river engineer, developed environmentally sensitive solutions to many situations, and these included setting back flood-banks to provide a margin that would have a number of ecological benefits. He noted, however, that ‘Traditional design of raised flood-banks has been as environmentally thoughtless as have so many other aspects of river management.’
Eventually this area was enclosed and drained, though not until local people had fought hard to keep their common land on the moor. It is not always appreciated that the ‘improvements’ to the wetlands were often made by rich landowners, in spite of fierce opposition from ordinary people whose rights of commonage were extremely important, providing firewood and summer grazing. In this case the land was re-occupied by people from the Glastonbury area, ‘the fences torn down and the rhynes filled in’. This was just before the civil war broke out, and they were able to continue pasturing their cattle ‘as of old’ for a number of years.
More recently, flood-banks similar to the ones across South Moor – built tight to the river’s edge – have been utilized as part of drainage schemes. Jeremy Purseglove, who began his career as a river engineer, developed environmentally sensitive solutions to many situations, and these included setting back flood-banks to provide a margin that would have a number of ecological benefits. He noted, however, that ‘Traditional design of raised flood-banks has been as environmentally thoughtless as have so many other aspects of river management.’
Glastonbury is approximately half way along the river, and the Tor is a landmark that can be seen from miles away in each direction. Pomparles Bridge between Glastonbury and Street [this is a better photo than the one in the book], would once have had a substantial lake above it, held back by a Roman causeway that ran roughly between the bridge and the Street roundabout. This was the site where – in legend – Sir Bedivere threw King Arthur’s sword Excalibur into the waters and where it was caught by the Lady of the Lake.
In particularly wet weather, rainwater collects at the lowest point. Viewed from the Tor, it picks out the original course of the river, a field or two below the current course. Viewed from the opposite direction in very wet conditions, it gives an impression of what it may have looked like when the river was still in its natural course.
In particularly wet weather, rainwater collects at the lowest point. Viewed from the Tor, it picks out the original course of the river, a field or two below the current course. Viewed from the opposite direction in very wet conditions, it gives an impression of what it may have looked like when the river was still in its natural course.
In the 1980s and into the 1990s, the Somerset wetlands were at the sharp end of an often heated debate between conservationists and farmers. Since the second world war, more efficient pumping and drainage had made intensive farming methods possible on the levels and moors, and in turn this had severely affected birds and other wetland wildlife.
The Wildlife and Countryside Act of 1981 had introduced Sites of Special Scientific Interest, with the intention of preserving the most important wildlife sites by restricting the ways that such land could be used. However, the way that this should be put into practice had not been well thought through. The imposition of SSSI status by the Nature Conservancy Council in 1983 led to demonstrations by farmers and effigies of conservationists being publicly burned. Tom King, Conservative MP for Bridgwater, became Secretary of State for the Environment in the midst of this controversy; he was only able to calm the situation by granting landowners compensation for their notional ‘profits foregone’.
Ten years later, in spite of further legislation and reorganisation of water management, the condition of wetland habitat had continued to decline. In 1991 the RSPB circulated its hard-hitting and highly influential report ‘An Internationally Important Wetland in Crisis’, which attributed the decline in Somerset’s wetland wildlife to the continuing steady decrease in maintained water levels – which it described as ‘deliberate’ since there was demonstrably no matching decrease in rainfall - and to the failure of responsible bodies to react accordingly. Even today these issues have not been fully resolved.
The Wildlife and Countryside Act of 1981 had introduced Sites of Special Scientific Interest, with the intention of preserving the most important wildlife sites by restricting the ways that such land could be used. However, the way that this should be put into practice had not been well thought through. The imposition of SSSI status by the Nature Conservancy Council in 1983 led to demonstrations by farmers and effigies of conservationists being publicly burned. Tom King, Conservative MP for Bridgwater, became Secretary of State for the Environment in the midst of this controversy; he was only able to calm the situation by granting landowners compensation for their notional ‘profits foregone’.
Ten years later, in spite of further legislation and reorganisation of water management, the condition of wetland habitat had continued to decline. In 1991 the RSPB circulated its hard-hitting and highly influential report ‘An Internationally Important Wetland in Crisis’, which attributed the decline in Somerset’s wetland wildlife to the continuing steady decrease in maintained water levels – which it described as ‘deliberate’ since there was demonstrably no matching decrease in rainfall - and to the failure of responsible bodies to react accordingly. Even today these issues have not been fully resolved.
The river once flowed north from Glastonbury – before medieval engineering works caused the Brue to be redirected towards Highbridge. There are still sufficient clues in the landscape to trace its old course. From Pomparles Bridge it would have gone around Bride’s Mound and then towards the town before heading north. A picture taken near Beckery in floods around 1920 gives an impression of what it may have looked like.
It would have approximately followed the course of the still-existing mill stream at this point, under the Meare road and then parallel to the road towards Meare. It would have then turned north again; an irregular field boundary and ditch clearly follows the course of the old river, towards the Lake Village site. Beside the Lake Village, Great Withy Rhyne also follows the course of a natural river, and it is still possible to make out the line of the old river bank.
Beyond Godney the River Sheppey – which during the middle ages was also redirected towards Meare – appears to utilize what had once been a section of the old River Brue. This would have flowed approximately in the direction of Fenny Castle – except that the Sheppey goes in the opposite direction, and looks at first sight as if it is flowing uphill. The silted up and disused riverbed must have been regraded when the Sheppey was redirected in the fourteenth century.
It would have approximately followed the course of the still-existing mill stream at this point, under the Meare road and then parallel to the road towards Meare. It would have then turned north again; an irregular field boundary and ditch clearly follows the course of the old river, towards the Lake Village site. Beside the Lake Village, Great Withy Rhyne also follows the course of a natural river, and it is still possible to make out the line of the old river bank.
Beyond Godney the River Sheppey – which during the middle ages was also redirected towards Meare – appears to utilize what had once been a section of the old River Brue. This would have flowed approximately in the direction of Fenny Castle – except that the Sheppey goes in the opposite direction, and looks at first sight as if it is flowing uphill. The silted up and disused riverbed must have been regraded when the Sheppey was redirected in the fourteenth century.
Also on the moors there are still peat diggings, though less common now; these days garden compost is often marketed as ‘peat-free’, this being a selling-point. Peat extraction has been immensely destructive since it became widespread in the 1970s, lowering ground levels and with it the water table, and creating economic pressure for increased pumping in order to lower water tables still further – part of just the problem that the RSPB were highlighting in 1991. As the water table is lowered the peat that is still there itself decomposes and compacts when it dries, a process known as ‘peat wastage’. Once this has taken place it is irreversible.
The removal or wastage of the peat damages not only the wetland ecology but also archaeological deposits – some of which have been preserved for thousands of years in the waterlogged ground, but which are now drying out and quickly decaying, many without ever being recorded. Only two of the known archaeological sites on the Somerset moors are considered to be safe from imminent desiccation and destruction [the Glastonbury Lake Village and the Sweet Track].
Of course worked-out peat diggings have been put to good use as wetland nature reserves, and this has provided a refuge for many species of wetland flora and fauna. However, this does require expensive landscaping and engineering; it also means on-going maintenance of water levels, in much the same way as for farmland. As part of an entirely managed landscape, the nature reserves cannot be simply left to settle down in a natural way.
The removal or wastage of the peat damages not only the wetland ecology but also archaeological deposits – some of which have been preserved for thousands of years in the waterlogged ground, but which are now drying out and quickly decaying, many without ever being recorded. Only two of the known archaeological sites on the Somerset moors are considered to be safe from imminent desiccation and destruction [the Glastonbury Lake Village and the Sweet Track].
Of course worked-out peat diggings have been put to good use as wetland nature reserves, and this has provided a refuge for many species of wetland flora and fauna. However, this does require expensive landscaping and engineering; it also means on-going maintenance of water levels, in much the same way as for farmland. As part of an entirely managed landscape, the nature reserves cannot be simply left to settle down in a natural way.
Glastonbury’s Holy Islands: ancient charters show that the Seven Holy Islands were the Abbey’s most important possessions. Originally, hidden away out in the marshes, they were the sites for hermitages and little chapels; in the days of the Celtic Saints they would have been used as places of isolation, as part of a regular pattern of spiritual practice.
Six of the seven islands were along the river: Godney (‘God’s Island’, where the church that still exists replaced an ancient chapel about 200 years ago); barrow Hill at Panborough; Marchey, or Martinsey Island – Marchey farm is gradually disappearing but was built on a site that appears to date back to Roman origins; and Nyland – formerly Andrewsey. Also Glastonbury itself and Beckery island or Bride’s Mound [which is very hard to photograph!] Of the seven, only Meare was not in close proximity to the river.
Curiously, it was the very stretch of the river along which these islands once were, that was allowed to silt up and disappear after the new course of the Brue had been constructed in around the thirteenth century. The Abbey still professed the importance of their ancient chapels, but something had clearly changed radically in their spiritual priorities.
Six of the seven islands were along the river: Godney (‘God’s Island’, where the church that still exists replaced an ancient chapel about 200 years ago); barrow Hill at Panborough; Marchey, or Martinsey Island – Marchey farm is gradually disappearing but was built on a site that appears to date back to Roman origins; and Nyland – formerly Andrewsey. Also Glastonbury itself and Beckery island or Bride’s Mound [which is very hard to photograph!] Of the seven, only Meare was not in close proximity to the river.
Curiously, it was the very stretch of the river along which these islands once were, that was allowed to silt up and disappear after the new course of the Brue had been constructed in around the thirteenth century. The Abbey still professed the importance of their ancient chapels, but something had clearly changed radically in their spiritual priorities.
Beyond Nyland, at the furthest extent of the old Twelve Hides of Glastonbury, is the village of Clewer. Near here is one of the major pumping stations that now regulate the water levels in the area. [What you can see in the picture is] Hixham Rhyne, which collects the drained water from around Nyland and beyond, and arrives at the pumping station at this point where it is actually larger than the River Axe, which it joins here [to the left of the picture]. It may well use a former section of the Axe; the river itself has clearly been straightened. Where all the water that the Rhyne has collected is pumped to is not clear.
The River Axe is perhaps even more straightened out and ‘canalised’ than the Brue; its setting, in the wide, flat-bottomed Cheddar valley between the Mendips and the hills around Wedmore, is lovely. When this river was more substantial, including the waters of the Brue, the Axe, and also the Sheppey and the Hartlake, it must have been spectacular: probably 40 feet wide and meandering through the valley.
The ox-bow lake near Bleadon is an interesting example of the kind of sympathetic river management that Jeremy Purseglove was promoting: the river has been straightened but the meander has been left in place, partly so that the natural plants and animals can be transferred to the new channel.
The ox-bow lake near Bleadon is an interesting example of the kind of sympathetic river management that Jeremy Purseglove was promoting: the river has been straightened but the meander has been left in place, partly so that the natural plants and animals can be transferred to the new channel.
Both the Brue and the Axe are seriously polluted by agricultural run-off, especially phosphates, and particularly as the river approaches the sea and the concentration of chemicals has built up. [This picture was taken from the footbridge over the M5]: Near the motorway, the river is dead straight and completely clogged with algae and waterweed that blot out the light from the water below. Why it is particularly bad just here is not clear – further downstream it is much clearer.
This kind of pollution is the result of intensive farming and the use of chemical fertilisers. Approximately 50% of all chemical fertiliser that goes on the land actually ends up in the waterways. This situation is monitored and recorded by the Environment Agency under the auspices of the European Union Water Framework Directive, but there appears to be a lack of political will (at either a national or a European level) to actually tackle the problem effectively.
The only real answer to this form of pollution is to cut down the use of chemical fertilisers, though margins along the river [as suggested earlier] would help by absorbing some of the excessive nutrients.
This kind of pollution is the result of intensive farming and the use of chemical fertilisers. Approximately 50% of all chemical fertiliser that goes on the land actually ends up in the waterways. This situation is monitored and recorded by the Environment Agency under the auspices of the European Union Water Framework Directive, but there appears to be a lack of political will (at either a national or a European level) to actually tackle the problem effectively.
The only real answer to this form of pollution is to cut down the use of chemical fertilisers, though margins along the river [as suggested earlier] would help by absorbing some of the excessive nutrients.
Another feature of the River Axe as it approaches the sea, one that many people may not be aware of, is the tidal barrier. This protects the river from salt water coming in with the tides and flooding inland areas, and it was first put in place in the early nineteenth century. The modern version is notable for its concrete, steel, and high technology, and gives an idea of the resources required to maintain the modern landscape on the Levels. Next to it there is a large and fenced off Environment Agency compound.
Finally, I would like to read a short piece from my book about the river; this is what I wrote after arriving at the beach near Uphill, at the mouth of the Axe:
'Ahead of me I could see it flowing past Black Rock and past Brean Down and out to the open sea. After I had gone as far as I could safely walk, I stopped in sight of all this to deliver my ‘payment’ – the little bag of stones that I had brought with me from the source of the River Brue. After numbering the five days of my journey and picturing the key images from each, I threw my handful of stones into the water where they landed with a series of little plops and splashes, and then silence. I turned to my left Kogi-style; then I found myself walking away quite suddenly and abruptly, as if I wanted to escape.
'Weston-super-Mare was across the bay to my right. The car park was ahead. The world of everyday things was reclaiming my attention very fast. I stopped and looked back. What had happened there? Or what hadn’t?
'All of a sudden I was feeling, after five days of walking beside the river, a welling up of emotion. A great sadness was inside me for this misused river clogged with silt, bits of it straightened like a series of second-hand knife-handles, the course of it dried out and polluted, its floodplain misunderstood, its fish life and its bird life reduced to a rare and risky minimum. A river by its nature is a fluid, flowing, female thing; this one, like so many, is out of balance and stripped of so much of its former carefree beauty. Its healing would mean something huge: a change in the hearts of those who still maintain it so straightened, so rigidly. I stopped and gazed once more out to the sea, feeling it all, and wondering.
'I turned again and made my way step by gradual step across the wide, low-tide sandy beach, finally coming to a place where I could stop and sit myself on a wall beside the car park, ready now to rest and to return home.'
'Ahead of me I could see it flowing past Black Rock and past Brean Down and out to the open sea. After I had gone as far as I could safely walk, I stopped in sight of all this to deliver my ‘payment’ – the little bag of stones that I had brought with me from the source of the River Brue. After numbering the five days of my journey and picturing the key images from each, I threw my handful of stones into the water where they landed with a series of little plops and splashes, and then silence. I turned to my left Kogi-style; then I found myself walking away quite suddenly and abruptly, as if I wanted to escape.
'Weston-super-Mare was across the bay to my right. The car park was ahead. The world of everyday things was reclaiming my attention very fast. I stopped and looked back. What had happened there? Or what hadn’t?
'All of a sudden I was feeling, after five days of walking beside the river, a welling up of emotion. A great sadness was inside me for this misused river clogged with silt, bits of it straightened like a series of second-hand knife-handles, the course of it dried out and polluted, its floodplain misunderstood, its fish life and its bird life reduced to a rare and risky minimum. A river by its nature is a fluid, flowing, female thing; this one, like so many, is out of balance and stripped of so much of its former carefree beauty. Its healing would mean something huge: a change in the hearts of those who still maintain it so straightened, so rigidly. I stopped and gazed once more out to the sea, feeling it all, and wondering.
'I turned again and made my way step by gradual step across the wide, low-tide sandy beach, finally coming to a place where I could stop and sit myself on a wall beside the car park, ready now to rest and to return home.'
