A police officer was spotted shortly after daybreak, climbing the fence out of the riverside meadow, throwing her leg over as if she were dismounting from a horse. What on earth were you doing in there? I thought, but dared not ask. She answered my raised eyebrows: “Chased after a suspect last night and dropped my purse. I can’t find it anywhere.” I had somewhere I needed to go and resolved to look myself later. Eleven years on, later is a long time coming.
Back then, I was a “lookerer” (volunteer) at White’s meadow, an assistant watcher over a flock of Southdown sheep. The meadow bloomed that spring with celandine and lady’s smock, and the owner talked of managing for biodiversity. But persistent incursions by people and their free-roaming dogs drained his enthusiasm, and when two sheep were savaged he took his flock elsewhere.
