Radical Honey: November 2017

Thursday, 16 November 2017

Walking with Grenfell, November’s Silent Walk ~ When Everything Just Feels Wrong

Last month I shared my first experience of ‘Walking with Grenfell; a Silence Louder than Words’. I have just had my second. There are times when you would rather be anywhere than where you are, and yet couldn’t possibly be anywhere else and, for me at least, the monthly Grenfell Silent Walk feels like that. The Grenfell community have asked for as many people who can to be there and so I feel invited and welcome, and yet at the same time that I am intruding on private grief and imposing my own thoughts on something that I can’t possibly understand. And I think that I am probably right to feel both. It is the same as seeing film cameras and photographers there. It matters so much that the Grenfell fire isn’t forgotten, that those in authority know powerfully that people still care, that the walk and the ever-growing number of attendees is reported, especially whilst the Public Inquiry is taking place, and yet what could be more wrong than to film people taking part in such a raw act of remembrance. Often there are people hugging and crying on the pavement as the walk passes by. These are intimate moments not to be shared by a scavenging media which seems often only trying to sell newspapers or get clicks on a website, or with a voyeuristic public addicted to watching suffering but often little engaged in what caused it. And the banners. On this walk there were two types of banners being shared amongst the walkers; one, white with simple black lettering, calling for ‘Justice for Grenfell’, but another, more colourful, declaring that ‘The Tories have Blood on Their Hands’ and including the Socialist Workers’ Party address. It just feels not the time for such statements or self-regard. And I wanted to take photos, so that others might be encouraged to go along or see what can be achieved by human beings standing together in support and solidarity, but taking photos feels like a brutalisation. I did take a few after the walk had ended, because it matters to make it real for others who haven’t been there but the thing is that none of us should have to be, and that we are is an endlessly open wound. Everything just seems to come back to that. Over and over again.

But there is such sweetness too. This time, because I arrived before the walk set out, I was given a jar with a t-light inside to take with me on the walk. I saw that all the jars had been beautifully painted, mine with delicate daisies. There is such an atmosphere of being kind too, allowing for different responses to all that has happened, allowing those who live in the community to have different ways of thinking about what might happen now. And so many people come along, even on a dark and rainy edge-of-winter Tuesday night in November. It is heartening.

I have never seen the remains of Grenfell Tower in daylight, which I am quietly thankful for, but it has a magnetic pull no matters which way you face in North Kensington. Somehow it has become the blackened star that everything else orbits around and it felt so as we walked. We walk slowly, stopping every few minutes and just standing in quiet reflection and personal thought. You could hear a pin drop. The silence is something powerful, especially in the midst of busy London. It feels bigger than this small group of people, as though it becomes its own creature; something breathing for those who no longer can. And I feel that we have become ghosts. Towards the end of the walk we passed under a railway bridge close to the tube station. There were two fire trucks parked there, one on either side of the road. The leaders of the walk had stopped by them, remaining in silence. I was too far back to know what happened but the flashing blue lights on the fire trucks suddenly sprang into life and any firefighters who had been out of the vehicles got back in. I suppose that there had been a call. Imagine in that moment being perhaps called to another fire. I don’t know how they have the strength to do what they do but, of course, they do it for us. We were accompanied by police throughout the walk but they had little need to do anything and, as the fire trucks began to move off, we stepped silently aside to let them through. As they passed we applauded, just as I saw the community do after the fire. The silence held even then. It was deeply affecting.

When we got to the Westway where the walk ends a few words were said to us all by the walk leaders and other members of the community, mostly to call for more people to be there next time for the six month anniversary of the fire. In a high tower block I could see someone looking out of their window and a light flashing, probably a camera but it looked as though they were signalling for help. It feels that nothing happens there now that isn’t about the fire or a reminder of it, and I know that I have no personal connection with that place so I can scarcely imagine how it must really be ay after day. But the community cafe was still there twinkling with t-lights and a row of smiling women were serving free food. One day I might eat some but I still feel as though I shouldn’t be there. I am sure that many people feel the same. And it’s not that more people haven’t died all at once in bombings in Syria and Yemen, and in so many other places. Of course, a number of the people in Grenfell Tower that night had fled such wartorn places, which seems so deeply and horribly ironic. I don’t know why Grenfell feels so important but it is as though, on the night of 14th June 2017, the Earth slightly shifted on her axis and we have become trapped on the wrong side of things. I don’t know what will mend it and I’m not sure that I believe there will be justice, not really. How can there be? Because it isn’t just that people died. It’s the attitude that put them in such danger and which pervades every layers of our society. It’s that so many there warned of the likelihood of fire over many years. It’s that so many of us, without having ever heard of Grenfell, knew that what was unfolding in this country through the Government’s Austerity agenda would kill people and so it has and continues to do. My friend told me that she was weeding the other day and was clearing some of a particular plant from a patch of earth. She hadn’t realised that, unseen beneath the surface, the plant was putting out long roots, creating a thick web taking all the moisture from the plants around. She said that the roots were so strong that you could follow it through the soil as you pulled it up. Grenfell is like that; you pull at one of the ‘roots’ that might have caused it and then you see how far it goes, that it reaches into everything. But whether justice will ever come or not, it matters to be there. In solidarity and community.

On the way back to the Underground station I visited a walkway that has been turned into a place of remembrance, the walls covered in photos of the dead of Grenfell and a shrine filled with flowers, candles, and religious symbols at the end of it. As I stood there, I heard a tiny voice and looked around to see a little boy of around three with, I imagine, his dad. The little boy said to his dad in his sweet little voice, “Where is Hajiid?”* and his dad, sounding very calm and reassuring, led him into the walkway, pointed to a photo and said, “Here he is, here is Hajiid.” The little boy asked about another someone and his dad pointed to another photo, “Here he is. Look, he’s here too.” The boy was pleased, happy to know where his friends were and they left. As they did so, he turned and waved, “Bye bye, Hajiid. See you soon.” How could anyone’s heart not break? Sometimes I wonder how this country didn’t just crumble into the sea that night…

Silent walks to honour the dead and the survivors of the Grenfell fire, to express solidarity for their families and their community, and to continue the fight for justice, will continue every 14^th of the month at 6.30pm. The walk gathers outside Notting Hill Methodist Church at 240 Lancaster Road, London, W11 4AH. The community have asked for as many people as possible to come and walk with them in silence, because the silence will be heard. Alone, they will become invisible. It is growing in numbers each month and I know that it would mean a lot to them if that growth continued. Please do think about joining them if you can. It matters. If you are unable to be there on the night please think about holding your own silent vigil, either publicly with others or at home, and send photos or messages to the Grenfell community on the silent walk Facebook page at https://www.facebook.com/Grenfell-Tower-Silent-Walk-122708985093572/ . It will show them, and the people responsible who need to know that we won't forget, that we care.

No justice, no peace.

Tuesday, 14 November 2017

Novena for the Fallen Through ~ our ninth prayer for our wild kin

Here is the ninth, and so the last, of our November Novenas for the Fallen Through, which for this month are devoted to Saint Cuthbert and to a call for protection for our wild kinfolk. If you would like to read more about this month’s novena you can read our first prayer here.

We have already lifted prayers for our badgers, our hedgehogs, and for the street trees of Sheffield, for otter, cormorant, and seal, and for sharks and orcas, for stag beetles, for starlings, and for water voles. Today, we must return to ourselves, perhaps having learned something of the lives and struggles of our wild family, both those close to us and those who live in ways that we can hardly imagine, such as our sea kin, the sharks, orcas, and seals. Perhaps we will feel more deeply woven into the web of things, or have found a new creature to speak up for, or cried tears of blessing for what has been lost.

Rumi said, “There is sacredness in tears. They are not the mark of weakness, but of power. They speak more eloquently than ten thousand tongues. They are messengers of overwhelming grief and unspeakable love." I know that I have learned a lot, cried a lot, and that I have very much valued making this deep journey with St Cuthbert. I am so very fond of him. Anne, a a Facebook friend who has a long and devoted relationship with him, told me that she and her father refer to him as ‘Cuthbert Greenpeace’. I liked that. And I liked that, this very evening, he helped me to make a big decision when I was reminded of the dream I had about him and the breaking of the cross to reveal a Tree of Life. He is a fine soul friend.

We have shared many stories of Cuddy during this Novena but the other day I was reminded of one that speaks deeply of relationship, devotion, and how powerfully woven in we can become with what, and who, we love.

St Cuthbert had a dear friend for many years called Hereberht, later St Herbert of Derwentwater in Cumbria, who was also an anchorite (someone who has withdrawn from the world for spiritual contemplation) living on a small island. Each year it was Hereberht’s habit to visit his friend on the Holy Isle to seek spiritual instruction. In 686CE he heard that Cuthbert was visiting Carlisle and chose to go and see him there. On meeting, Cuthbert told him, “Brother Herebehrt, tell me now all that you have need to ask or speak, for never shall we see one another again in this world. For I know that the time of my decease is at hand.” Hearing this, Herebehrt fell to his knees and wept, begging Cuthbert to obtain grace from God for them both to enter heaven at the same time. Cuthbert prayed and then said, “Rise, my brother weep not but rejoice that the mercy of God has granted our desire.” And so, Cuthbert returned to Lindisfarne and Herebehrt returned home but soon he became ill with a long sickness. Both men died on the same day; 20^th March, 687CE. In 1374, Thomas Appleby, Bishop of Carlisle, granted an indulgence of forty days for anyone who, in honour of St Herbert, visited his island in Derwentwater and was present at the Mass of St Cuthbert, sung annually by the Vicar of Crosthwaite. Such deep love that one could not bear to live this life without the other.

This is the love that our culture has lost for our wild kin; the sense of interdependence, of devotion, of knowing that we could not live one without the other. The relationship of Cuthbert and Hereberht, and Cuthbert with his wild, and our’s with our own, reminds me of Glenn Albrecht’s phrase ‘soliphilia’, which he describes as 'love and responsibility for a place, bioregion, planet, and the unity of interrelated interests within it', 'soli' coming from 'solidarity'; fellowship of responsibilities and interests, from the French solidarité, from solidaire, interdependent, from Old French, in common, from Latin solidus, solid, whole.' I wrote more about this here; 'Soliphilia: On the Seeing of Stars'

I hope that we find many, many things to fall in love with in the days and months to come and that we are brave enough to cry sacred tears when we must.

Novena for the Fallen Through

Protection, justice, and shining health for our wild kin.

This is a prayer is for the warp and weft, for the weaving of the web.

Blessed Cuthbert,

Beloved Cuddy,

Saint of Salt and Fire,

Antlered ancestor,

Friend of otter, eider, cormorant, and crow,

Walker of the untamed edge of Land and Spirit,

Lover of wild places, wild creatures, and wild grace,

Threader of sea-stars into wild prayer.

We stand in solidarity with you at the roots of the Tree of Life.

The first is for the badger people.

We seek to weave a prayer of protection and bright and thriving life

for our companion of soil, sett, and ancient soul.

We honour badger as digger and unearther, old tunneler,

keeper of the songlines of burrow and root, wild forager,

quiet earth hunter, beloved of the Elder Mother,

lover of the soil, warrior spirit, wild gardener,

planter of primroses, carrier of earth scars, watcher of time,

guardian of land, mapper of memory,

snuffler of spirit paths, wisdom-keeper of home and hearth and clan,

story-holder of the ancient tales of land and tribe.

We seek to weave a wild spell of word and prayer to surround

our badgers, tonight and every night.

We weave a thread of good company and solidarity with the badger people,

our wild kin.

The second is for the hedgehog people.

Blessed, furzepigs, tip-toe urchins,

we come to you in sorrow for the ways in which

we have contributed to your suffering and your decline.

May we come to see the beauty and potential in seeming untidiness,

value the wild poetry of leaf and woodpile,

the silver trail of slug and snail,

knowing that they too are our neighbours and our relations.

Help us to be more mindful in our use of pesticides,

casting them aside forever as we truly weave ourselves

into the ecosystem that we too are part of,

listening to, rather than dominating, the earth,

finding natural ways to bring health to our ordinary Edens,

knowing that all creatures come to teach us balance,

how to care in wilder and better ways.

We weave a thread of good company and solidarity

with the badger and hedgehog people,

our wild kin.

The third is for Sheffield’s street trees, the standing people

We ask for strength and protection for all

in Sheffield who stand for tree and home,

all who speak truth to power,

knowing that attacks on people, badgers, trees,

and all wild kin, come from the same place of

fear for what is truly alive in a world of ghosts.

Let there be justice in Sheffield for trees and people,

rooted in wild grace and the sweet soil of community.

We weave a thread of good company and solidarity

with the badger. hedgehog, and standing people,

our wild kin.

Blessed Cuthbert,

Beloved Cuddy,

Saint of Salt and Fire,

Antlered ancestor,

Friend of otter, eider, cormorant, and crow,

Walker of the untamed edge of Land and Spirit,

Lover of wild places, wild creatures, and wild grace,

Threader of sea-stars into wild prayer.

We stand in solidarity with you at the roots of the Tree of Life.

The fourth is for the seal, otter, and cormorant people.

We ask for the return of health to our waters,

wild children of the Silver Salmon Mother seeking Source,

salt and sweet, fish brimming,

overflowing with diversity of life,

not valued for what we can take,

the money we can make,

but for itself as the womb from which we all were born.

We weave a thread of good company and solidarity

with the badger. hedgehog, standing, otter, cormorant, and seal people,

our wild kin.

The fifth is for the shark and the orca people.

May all beings of the sea that you so loved,

where you sang Pslam songs to time and tide,

be bountifully blessed and wild with mothering,

hallowed with fathering,

and may we, in the name of salt and sea,

walk in grace with grief and gratitude

until justice comes for all beings of land, sea, and sky.

We weave a thread of good company and solidarity

with the badger. hedgehog, standing, otter,

cormorant, seal, shark, and orca people,

our wild kin.

The sixth is for the stag beetle people.

May the stag beetle kin thrive,

may they teach us gentleness in seeming fierceness,

to not judge by appearances, to love the unfamiliar.

In following the tracks of the little deer people,

may we weave a web of noticing,

shimmering threads of right relationship,

woven with the family of all beings.

And in that weaving let there be

a mending between human and wild,

a knowing that we can take communion with life,

that we can be forgiven, make amends.

We weave a thread of good company and solidarity

with the badger. hedgehog, standing, otter,

cormorant, seal, shark, orca, and stag beetle people,

our wild kin.

Blessed Cuthbert,

Beloved Cuddy,

Saint of Salt and Fire,

Antlered ancestor,

Friend of otter, eider, cormorant, and crow,

Walker of the untamed edge of Land and Spirit,

Lover of wild places, wild creatures, and wild grace,

Threader of sea-stars into wild prayer.

We stand in solidarity with you at the roots of the Tree of Life.

The seventh is for the starling people.

May the starling kin thrive.

In a human world where so many walk with loneliness,

let them teach us the value of good company

the protection of community,

the joy of dancing in constellation,

and may humankind and starlingkind

become celestial family,

a twinkling stellar society,

find that our futures are entangled,

that it’s written in our stars.

We weave a thread of good company and solidarity

with the badger. hedgehog, standing, otter,

cormorant, seal, shark, orca, stag beetle, and starling people,

our wild kin.

The eighth is for the water vole people.

May the water vole people thrive,

once more become the tiny engineers,

the cornerstone of the cathedral of our wild,

find safety and peace in our waters,

help us to regain balance,

allow us again to sink into stories

without the taste of bittersweet,

become the awe-filled, open-hearted earth-children

that we were born to be.

We weave a thread of good company and solidarity

with the badger. hedgehog, standing, otter,

cormorant, seal, shark, orca, stag beetle, starling people,

water vole and mink people,

our wild kin.

The ninth is for the web.

You do not have to be good.

You do not have to walk on your knees

for a hundred miles through the desert repenting.

You only have to let the soft animal of your body

love what it loves.

Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.

Meanwhile the world goes on.

Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain

are moving across the landscapes,

over the prairies and the deep trees,

the mountains and the rivers.

Meanwhile, the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,

are heading home again.

Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,

the world offers itself to your imagination,

calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting,

over and over, announcing your place

in the family of things.

Blessed Cuthbert,

Beloved Cuddy,
Saint of Salt and Fire,
Antlered ancestor,
Friend of otter, eider, cormorant, and crow,
Walker of the untamed edge of Land and Spirit,
Lover of wild places, wild creatures, and wild grace,
Threader of sea-stars into wild prayer.

We stand in solidarity with you at the roots of the Tree of Life.

May our string of prayer beads,
formed in the starry sea where all things are one,
gathered on the shore of meeting,
be filled with life, love, and wild justice
for all beings on this earth we share.

For this we pray.

Aho mitake oyasin, amen, blessed be. Inshallah.

“For Earth to survive, she needs your heart. The songbirds and the salmon need your heart too, no matter how weary, because even a broken heart is still made of love. They need your heart because they are disappearing, slipping into that longest night of extinction, and the resistance is nowhere in sight. We will have to build that resistance from whatever comes to hand: whispers and prayers, history and dreams, from our bravest words and braver actions. It will be hard, there will be a cost, and in too many implacable dawns it will seem impossible. But we will have to do it anyway. So gather your heart and join with every living being.” (Deep Green Resistance)

References:

https://citydesert.wordpress.com/2013/03/20/saint-cuthbert-and-saint-herbert-hermits-and-friends/

Sunday, 12 November 2017

Novena for the Fallen Through ~ our eighth prayer for our wild kin

Here is the eighth of our November Novenas for the Fallen Through, which for this month are devoted to Saint Cuthbert and to a call for protection for our wild kinfolk. If you would like to read more about this month’s novena you can read our first prayer here.

We have already lifted prayers for our badgers, our hedgehogs, and for the street trees of Sheffield, for otter, cormorant, and seal, and for sharks and orcas, for stag beetles, and for starlings. Today, we will weave prayer around a creature who is familiar to many of us from our childhoods; the water vole, ‘Ratty’ from ‘Wind in the Willows’.

Sadly, I don’t know any stories about St Cuthbert and water voles, so they will have to remain private between them, but I’m sure that they would warmed his feet after prayer if otters hadn’t been available for the task. As we are coming to the end of this Novena though I will share one more story of his devotion and his kindness towards animals.

St Cuthbert statue, Tim Chalk

‘Vita Sancti Cuthberti’ is the prose hagiography of the ‘life and miracles of St Cuthbert’, possibly the earliest record of a saint’s life from Anglo-Saxon England and written at some point between 699 and 705CE. It tells the tale Cuddy’s first journey to join a monastery. On the way he decided that he must stop in a village, as it was the beginning of winter and he and his horse were tired and without food. Once there he found a house and asked the householder if he could rest for a while and if she might provide some food for his horse. He himself refused to eat as it was a day of fasting. The woman was concerned that he wouldn’t be able to reach his destination before nightfall and there were no further places to stop on his way. Nevertheless he refused. When his horse was well rested he set out again and, seeing that it was becoming dark and they had some distance to travel, he decided that they should stop for the night in some deserted shepherds’ huts, which had been constructed for summer pasture and were now derelict. He chose one of them and he and his horse went inside for the night. Cuddy pulled some hay down from what remained of the thatched roof, gave it to his horse, and began to sing the Psalms. Whilst he was praying he saw his horse pull at the roof and a bundle wrapped in linen fell down. After his prayers, Cuddy went to see what was inside and found half a loaf of bread, still hot, and some cheese or meat, enough for a single meal. As my husband says when we are worried that we haven’t got enough, “we will always get just enough, and a little bit more”, and so we do. It is all about trust and Cuddy was wild with trust. Cuthbert tore the bread in half, shared the food with his horse, and they both settled down to sleep. I love how many of the stories of Cuddy suggest that he saw the non-human people as his equals. May it be so for us all.

Water Vole, wildscotland.org.uk

Water voles, also sometimes known as water rats, water moles, earth-hounds, and water dogs, are Britain’s fastest declining mammal. In the 1900s our little island sustained approximately 8 million water voles, and they would have been a familiar sight and sound to anyone who spent time by the water. By 1990 that number had declined to 2.3 million, and some now suggest that numbers may be as low as 100,000; a hugely dramatic decline! In 2002, they were declared extinct in Devon and Cornwall. Unlike many of the other beings in this month’s Novena though this decline is not due to the dislike of humans. Indeed many of us are very fond of water voles, having grown up with tales of Ratty from ‘Wind in the Willows’, who contrary to the suggestion given by his name was a water vole and not a rat at all! Ratty is much loved by generations of children and adults as a cultured, genial, and laid back sort of a fellow who loves the river and likes to compose doggerel in his spare time. It is he who informs Mole, unaware of the joys of water, that “If you believe me, my young friend, there is nothing ~ absolutely nothing, half so worth doing as this ~ messing about in boats!” And water voles really do love the water. They are known as eco-system engineers, like little mini-beavers, constantly managing and micro-engineering waterways to the benefit of us all. Indeed, it has been noted that their foraging and burrowing increases biodiversity for many species, including other small mammals, many species of bees, butterflies, and insects, insect-eating birds, birds of prey, and bats, together with many plants who thrive where water voles are present. A stream, brook, or river without their careful management is deep in mourning.

But what has led to this huge decline in what was one of our most prolific wild kin? As ever, some of it is due to the behaviour of humankind. We live in the sixth most densely populated country in the world. This means that we are often in far-too-close proximity to our shy little water voles and other wild family. Urbanisation of floodplains, and development in general, have led to a direct loss of the habitat that they need. In addition, heavy grazing by livestock leads to a lack of waters~edge vegetation and the trampling of banks, both of which prevent water voles from nesting and denies them the cover they need to hide from predators, of which more later.

Water voles live in colonies by slow moving water and string themselves out along a watercourse; females requiring a territory of 30-150m, and males 60-300m, overlapping several females. They guard these territories with fierce tenacity, excavating complex burrow systems with sleeping chambers at various levels and with several underground entrances. They will also weave ball-shaped nests in reed beds if no bank is available. They are active during the day, which of course means being out and about at the same time as us, and consume around 80% of their bodyweight every day, mostly in grasses and other vegetation. What isn’t eaten is then left in a neat pile for later. They have been recorded eating 227 different species of plant. The breeding season, which lasts from March until October, will see the females giving birth to up to five litters of between two to eight young, and so, although individuals only live for around two years, the water vole are well able to replenish their numbers if allowed the conditions to do so. It seems too that they are quite adaptable, as the Scottish population, who have a different ancestry than those in England, often live far from open water and behave more like field voles.

Surely then they are well placed to thrive, especially as they were given full protection by the UK Government in April, 2008, which makes it an offence to disturb, damage, or obstruct their breeding places. Since that time, there have been several reintroductions of water voles, with 325 individuals being released in the Kielder Forest in Northumberland this June and 350 more to follow later in the summer. A separate reintroduction in the Yorkshire Dales in 2016 saw the population spreading by half a mile within a short time. Eventually it is hoped that these small groups will meet one another, as fragmentation of habitat is another threat to their wellbeing. In addition, they continue to thrive in their strongholds of Snowdonia, the Fens, and the Somerset Levels, with numbers rising in Oare Marshes in Kent. It is unclear what effect the large quantities of pollutants that formerly entered waterways, from farmland and industry for example, had on the water vole population but it is of course likely to have at least contributed to their decline. Our waters are now increasingly sweet and so one might think that all was well for our little water voles, or soon will be, but it is not so and all the time that I have been writing this novena I have been avoiding the reason why.

Because it seems that the majority of the decline in the water vole population is due to predation from another, of course blameless but non-indigenous, creature, the American mink. These mink, who Derbyshire Wildlife Trust describe as ‘the villain of the piece’, were brought here in the 1920s and farmed for their highly prized fur. By the 1970s there were 800 of these farms in operation, some of which had up to 5,000 mink. It seems that many have escaped, with some released by well-meaning activists, before the farms eventually closed. They were first recorded in the wild in 1957. Estimates now suggest that there are as many as 110,000 living here. I saw one once beside the canal in Wiltshire. It was wild and beautiful.

American mink by Peter Thomas for Gwent Wildlife Trust

When threatened a water vole’s defence strategy is to dive in order to access an underwater burrow entrance, often kicking up a ‘smoke screen’ of mud and silt as it flees. This is effective against their usual predators; fox, stoat, kestrel, pike, or heron, and sometimes cats, but not against mink, who can smell underwater and so have no need to rely on sight. To exacerbate that problem, a breeding female mink is small enough to enter a water vole burrow and can cause the extinction of a whole colony in just one season. How are we to live with ourselves for the suffering that we have caused?

It is generally accepted that the only way to resolve this situation, as far as water voles are concerned at least, is to control the American mink population by trapping and shooting. Even this hasn’t been easy as, because mink aren’t seen to pose an economic threat and despite the protected status of the water vole, efforts to limit mink numbers receive no Government support or funding. In areas though where this has taken place, water vole populations have begun to increase, although they remain vulnerable to weather changes such as flooding.

I find that I don’t know how to weave a spell around this horrible situation. I dislike the reduction of this tragic circumstance into a battle between a cartoon villain and a cute little character from a children’s book, but water voles do occupy an important niche in our ecosystem and they have been here since ice sheets last retreated 10,000 years ago. I have few words to say and I pray that Life will forgive us for what we have done, although I’m not sure that we deserve it.

Water vole, 'On Boot Hill' by Peter Trimming for Wiki Commons

There is one tiny glimmer of hope. It seems that there is anecdotal evidence that in areas where otters have returned, which is now almost everywhere, mink populations decrease. And, although otters will occasionally prey on water voles, they certainly don’t present a threat to their survival. Perhaps if we hear an angler suggesting that an ‘infestation’ of otters should be culled to ‘restore the balance of nature’ we might mention the mink and the water voles. It may be though that we have a more positive role to play than one might think. It has been observed that water vole populations will withstand high levels of human disturbance if their stream is close to a busy area, such as a supermarket, and they have had the opportunity to become habituated to our comings and goings. American mink, on the other hand, will stay well away, allowing the water vole population to thrive. If we can become more aware, more mindful, staying on designated footpaths, keeping dogs on leads where water voles are present, then it may be that the streams and rivers in our villages, towns, and even cities, have a role to play in keeping this timid little mammal on our shores. And that is a spell that I am more than willing to weave.

evilea.blogspot.com

“As he sat on the grass and looked across the river, a dark hole in the bank opposite, just above the water’s edge, caught his eye, and dreamily he fell into considering what a nice, snug dwelling-place it would make for an animal with few wants and fond of a bijou riverside residence, above flood level and remote from noise and dust.

As he gazed, something bright and small seemed to twinkle down in the heart of it, vanished, then twinkled once more like a tiny star. But it could hardly be a star in such an unlikely situation, and it was too glittery and small for a glow-worm.

Then, as he looked, it winked at him, and so declared itself to be an eye, and a small face began to gradually grow up round it, like a frame round a picture.

A brown face with whiskers.

A grave round face, with the same twinkle in its eye that had first attracted his notice.

Small neat ears and thick silky hair.

It was the Water Rat!”

(‘The Wind in the Willows’, Kenneth Grahame, 1908)

Peter Trimming for Wiki Commons

Novena for the Fallen Through

Protection, justice, and shining health for our wild kin.

This is a prayer is for the water vole people, and for the trickster mink.

Blessed Cuthbert,
Beloved Cuddy,
Saint of Salt and Fire,
Antlered ancestor,
Friend of otter, eider, cormorant, and crow,
Walker of the untamed edge of Land and Spirit,
Lover of wild places, wild creatures, and wild grace,
Threader of sea-stars into wild prayer.

We stand in solidarity with you at the roots of the Tree of Life.

We come to you again in sorrow and shame

to lift a prayer for the mending of this web we share

with our community of wild kin,

a web which we have broken, left ragged and torn,

through greed, ignorance, neglect, and indifference.

And we pray that in reigniting the spark of awareness

for all that we have burnt to the ground

we will not turn away but weave ourselves more deeply in,

to the place where we should have always been,

an equal thread, a mending stitch,

a gossamer chance, a just braid,

in the beauty blanket of all beings.

Let water vole and American mink be our waulking song,

our warp and weft,

let sorrow and shame have voice,

and in the voicing, acceptance.

And in acceptance, forgiveness.

And, if not forgiveness, grace,

for we have such work to do.

Blessed Cuthbert,

We lift a prayer for the continuance

of the water vole people in this land,

for sweet waters and safe burrows,

for lush vegetation, and many children,

for quiet days, and long life lived well.

Blessed water vole, little earth-hound,

twinkle-eye, bright-heart.

We honour you for your deep weaving into

our childhood stories,

we thank you for the young hearts

you have opened to nature.

May we take up your mantle

in speaking out for our wild kin,

casting a spell of love and affection

for nature wherever we go.

May your days be long on our shores, little water dog.

May your prayer be peaceful and filled with light.

Blessed Cuthbert,

We lift a prayer for the American mink people,

sleek of body, sharp of spirit,

fierce of temperament, perfect hunter.

May we be forgiven for what we have done to you

in this land where we have been blessed

to take in so many from other lands,

where we have woven and strengthened our song with theirs.

We are so sorry and ashamed that we valued your skin above your life,

that we took you from your own land

where you were honoured as trickster and earth-diver

in the stories of the First People.

Forgive us that we cannot seem now to find a place for you.

But, whatever comes, let us surround you in love,

in compassion, kind words, in self-awareness,

not condemnation, knowing that we too would

take our freedom if we could.

And may we remember what we have done to you

when we condemn, despise, turn away from,

any being who comes seeking safety on our shores.

May each soul taken in and offered home

in some way be a mending prayer to the mink people.

Beloved Cuddy, friend to all creatures,

you always trusted that good would come,

no matter how hard the path.

Help us to walk this long road with water vole and American mink

in the hope of finding resolution without suffering for any being.

Let the healing of this broken thread be our penance and our prayer.

We ask this in the name of badger and water vole,
hen harrier and natterjack toad,
red fox and red deer,
dotterel and dormouse,
red squirrel and seal.

Of starling and sparrow,
sand lizard and slow worm,
hedgehog and hare,
corn marigold and marsh cleaver.

Of great crested newt and small fleabane,
ringed plover and oystercatcher,
pasque flower and mountain ringlet butterfly,
wildcat and skylark.

Of marsh fritillary butterfly and shrill carder bee,
blue ground beetle and white-clawed crayfish,

freshwater pearl mussel, cormorant, and crow.

Blessed Cuthbert,
Beloved Cuddy,
Saint of Salt and Fire,
Antlered ancestor,
Friend of otter, eider, cormorant, and crow,
Walker of the untamed edge of Land and Spirit,
Lover of wild places, wild creatures, and wild grace,
Threader of sea-stars into wild prayer.

We stand in solidarity with you at the roots of the Tree of Life.

May the water vole people thrive,

once more become the tiny engineers,

the cornerstone of the cathedral of our wild,

find safety and peace in our waters,

help us to regain balance,

allow us again to sink into stories

without the taste of bittersweet,

become the awe-filled, open-hearted earth-children

that we were born to be.

The first is for badger.

The second is for hedgehog.
The third is for Sheffield’s street trees.
The fourth is for otter, cormorant, and seal,
for salmon, and elver, and eel.
The fifth is for shark and orca,
the sixth for stag beetle,
the seventh for starling,
the eighth is for water vole and for American mink.
May our string of prayer beads,
formed in the starry sea where all things are one,
gathered on the shore of meeting,
be filled with life, love, and wild justice
for all beings on this earth we share.

For this we pray.

Aho mitake oyasin, amen, blessed be. Inshallah.