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t’s the time of year when I walk the Hills
beneath sullen skies. Above me, and hidden
by the low cloud, the gentle calls of a skein of
wild geese migrating south, away from the icy
winters of the North as they have done for
thousands of years. Clouds change the mood of
the Hills; they seem to hunker down under the
weight of a leaden sky. Yet there is drama on
the soft, gentle Malvern range when clouds
swirl around my feet and familiar views
disappear only to reappear as the clouds lift
and twist away. In my imagination it’s
Wuthering Heights weather.
The weather has affected the Malvern Hills for
millennia, and not just their moods. Its force has
eroded their outline, softened their ruggedness
and left us today with only the stumps of what
they once were. The natural world is a power to
be reckoned with and from the peaks you can
witness its often awe-inspiring strength as squalls
sweep along the Malvern ridge, sheets of rain like
a curtain being pulled across a stage. It’s wild,
exciting, a salutary lesson that exposes the frailty
of human-kind; we are helpless against the
strength of the elements.
Here all manner of life exists. High on the Hills, if
you’re lucky, you can stand alongside a hovering
kestrel seeking out its prey. How can such a small
bird hang in the air for so long on just the
fluttering of its wings? Buzzards soar on the wind
with barely a beat, masters of their world, their
primeval cry echoing down the ages. Beneath
your feet grow mosses, emerald green fronds as
delicate as lace. In the Midlands the Malvern Hills
are the richest place for lichens. They cling to
rocks, hang from branches and grow like
scatterings of silver twigs on the grassy ground.
Ledbury Focus
The slopes of the Hills are clad in oak and ash,
threatened by imported diseases and climate
change; they are tall and splendid, for now.
As the sun sets birds fly to their roosts, just as the
woodcock rises up from its daytime resting place
hidden deep in the undergrowth and flies
through the dusk to its feeding ground. The
tawny owls begin the night shift, calling to each
other in the woods where the fox begins to prowl
and the hedgehog sleeps the winter away as the
snow falls.
The Malvern Hills and the sunsets will be here for
hundreds of years to come, but what of the life the
Hills and this land have sustained for so long, some
rare, all wonderful? That surely depends on us.
Article & photos by Geraldine Woods-Humphrey.
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