Of Owls, Larks and Hedgehogs

By Kerry Williams,  Communications Officer – Conservation, Sussex Wildlife Trust

I’ve always been a night owl. I’m writing this as my creativity kicks in; unhelpfully that’s usually around 9pm. I spent my childhood howling in resistance at those who dared tell me it was bedtime. I would read until 3am and be virtually dragged from my bed for school in the morning.

Despite what my mother says, it’s a real thing. We are genetically predisposed to different chronotypes associated with our circadian rhythm. There are owls (those who wake and sleep later), larks (those who wake and sleep earlier) and ambivalent (those who are more adaptable to sleep pattern changes). I used to long to wake up earlier and make the best of the day. Especially as a keen birder it would be advantageous. If I ever do it’s glorious. The air is different in early morning. There’s so much light, so much time. But there are perks to the night too. It’s quiet; everyone else is asleep. It’s peaceful and less distracting. And the best bit, of course, is watching nocturnal animals.

I live with another owl. Together, we slink about the local nature reserve at dusk. Hushed tones to fit in. Eyes adjusting to the perceived blackness. There is rarely anyone else around. The damp smell of the reedbeds seems stronger than in the day. The gravel and parched grass crunch louder underfoot. The world feels bigger somehow, yet more tranquil. We detect dancing bats who whizz past our faces, saving us from nibbling evening midges. We walk directly past Rabbits on meadow buffets, who barely look up to note us. We take in pre-roosting bird calls; Reed Warbler, Song Thrush, Blackbird, Robin, and skyward silhouettes of those returning for the night; gulls, corvids, a Peregrine. A Fox on patrol stops to watch us with an air of disdain; ‘It’s my turn now’.

Once we’re out of the reserve we stop at the usual spot, at the usual time, and wait. Then we see it. Squat legs, busy snout and about 5,000 spines scuttle across the car park and along the kerbside dandelions. The Hedgehog crosses the road; it’s not busy but it’s still a risky game, and I once flagged down a startled mini-bus driver to allow for safe hog passage. The Hedgehog continues along a footpath, and through a fence hole cut by kind urban wildlife heroes.

These sightings feel like treats to which few of us are party. I’ve not only accepted my night-time owl form; I completely embrace it. Just don’t ask me to make plans before midday.

Please see the below update from our Chairman, Pete Coe:

SWARD WARDENS: the incredible role of dung beetles                                June 2025

By Kerry Williams: Communications Officer – Conservation

There’s a subject we’re not great at talking about in the UK; poo. However, there’s a group of creatures that are far more celebratory of the topic, with their diet testament to their appreciation. Aptly named, dung beetles eat poo. And they are amazing.

You are likely to conjure the image of Heliocopris, giant dung beetle species which reside in Africa and Asia, manoeuvring huge droppings kindly deposited by some of the Earths spectacular megafauna. Although these beetles don’t match the size of the one that rolled a football into the 2010 World Cup opening ceremony, they are hefty for a beetle, reaching lengths of up to 7cm.

Our dung beetles are more diminutive, but no less vital. The UK is home to around 60 species, which are split into three groups: Aphodiines, or the ‘dwellers’, sized 3-13mm who live directly in dung, Onthophagus, at 4-11mm; ‘tunnellers’ who tunnel up to a metre below the dung, pulling down small amounts to lay their eggs in, and the largest ‘tunnellers’ at 8-26mm, the Geotrupes.

Mostly, they consume dung of herbivores and omnivores. The ultimate recyclers, dung beetles are ecosystem engineers, meaning they modify their environment to provide services to other species with whom they share the ecosystem. In the case of dung beetles, this is a poop removal service.

Not only do they improve grazing pasture by clearing grasslands of waste, but they also recycle vital nutrients, keeping soil healthy. Tunnelling aerates the soil and prevents compaction, which in turn mitigates against flooding. Whilst this waste processing keeps down the population of flies, the beetles also remove parasites living in the dung. The beetles are, in turn, prey to others, such as birds, bats and Hedgehogs. It’s all rather harmonious and, as nature does best, it’s a perfectly symbiotic relationship.

Yet, like most of our native wildlife, dung beetles are in trouble. Largely this is due to modifications in agricultural practices; changes in land-use and an increase of pesticides, whether this be directly onto fields or via livestock ingested worming medicines. These chemicals disrupt the brilliantly balanced natural process, especially when used large scale and preventatively. Landowners can support dung beetle populations by reducing pesticides; more dung beetles mean fewer parasites, so by protecting these species a free service is being retained.

We owe a lot to our dung beetles and must protect them. They’re a critical part of our ecosystem, yet many of us don’t know they exist here or appreciate their unglamorous and thankless work. To be frank, without them we would be up to our knees in poo. Metaphorically and literally.

We had a last-minute change of speaker at our April meeting when Helen Poole substituted for Ella Garrud who had fallen ill. Helen’s subject was Sussex in the reign of Elizabeth I. She presented the story through the magnificent buildings which survive from that era and the leading personalities with Sussex connections.

Elizabeth was queen for 45 years, with relative peace at home but continual wars with Spain and France. She had ended the religious persecutions of the earlier Tudors, but Catholics were still liable for fines for not attending Anglican services. The Fitzalans (Earls of Arundel) and the Howards (Dukes of Norfolk) were prominent ‘recusants’ and were involved in various conspiracies to put the catholic Mary Queen of Scots on the throne. The 4^th Duke  was executed in 1572 and his son, Philip Howard, born 1557, died in the Tower in 1595, awaiting execution . He was canonised as ‘Saint Peter’ , one of the English Martyrs, by the Pope in 1970. Arundel Castle, Helen pointed out, looked rather different at this time from the heavily restored Victorian version we have today

The Gages of Firle Place, near Lewes, were another prominent Catholic family who were involved in these conspiracies. Robert Gage was executed in 1586, but the house has survived as one of the finest examples of Elizabethan architecture. Helen covered many other notables and their grand houses – some, like Cowdray, where Lord Montacute entertained Elizabeth in 1591, only ruins now but others, like Michelham Priory and Parham, surviving and well maintained and open to visitors.

The other focus of her talk was the continuing war with France, and then Spain. The iron masters of the Sussex Weald were crucial in supplying the cannons, and the shipyards of Shoreham in supplying the ships for the fleet which challenged the Armada of 1588. It was pointed out that Ferring maintained one of the warning beacons installed along the Sussex Coast.

The other highlight of the meeting was the report of three Peregrine Falcons that have been seen on the tower of St Mary’s Church, Goring – and the hope that they may possibly nest there in the future. In addition there have been a number of local sightings of the colourful and exotic looking Hoopoes – birds with a distinctive “crown” of feathers.

Please also note that from now on, we are reducing our current 10 main meetings a year to 6, and these will occur in March, April, June (evening), July (evening), September and November.

Cuckoo: sound of spring                                                                             May 2025              

By Kerry Williams – Communications Officer: Conservation

It’s become a tradition of mine to go camping locally for a few nights in May. Being emersed in nature, spending evenings by firelight, and absorbing the abundant buzz of wildlife; it’s a good-for-the-soul time to be outdoors in Sussex.

Hawthorn, or the May tree, is flowering in fragrant blooms. Bats are flitting enmasse from maternity roosts at dusk to forage. Badgers are on the trundle and Foxes on the trot. And yes, there are loads of lovely baby bunnies. In Sussex, we are lucky to retain a population of visiting Nightingales, and on uninterrupted May nights the males are in full rattling, palpitating symphony. Tawny Owls ke-wik and Barn Owls shriek. Woodlands burst into carpets of indigo as Bluebell scent fills the understory.

Amidst this, an undulating ‘beep-boop’ can be heard, a natural metronome. It is one of our most recognisable bird calls, and the onomatopoeic sound of spring and summer; the Cuckoo.

Arriving from Africa in March, Cuckoos infamously lay their eggs in other birds’ nests, sneakily replacing an egg of an unsuspecting parent for them to incubate, feed and fledge. The not-so-little Cuckoo nestling shunts other eggs, and even youngsters, out of the nest, outcompeting any remaining for resources, becoming the last chonky chick standing. Regularly hoodwinked are Reed Warblers, Dunnocks and Meadow Pipits.

Mostly insectivorous, with a penchant for Hairy Caterpillars, adult Cuckoos spend their days feeding prior to their homeward migration. Having not had chicks to rear and fledge, they leave around June, with the new generation following later in summer.

Overall, it sounds like Cuckoos are having a pretty easy time of it. However, as is the story of so many of our native species, they are under threat. Cuckoos have declined by 65% since the 1980s and are now on the UK conservation Red List. The usual suspects are at play of habitat loss, climate change, and pesticide use resulting in food scarcity. Additionally, these issues have befallen many of their host species, leading to similar population declines, or, at the least, Cuckoo-bewildering behaviour changes such as earlier breeding.

Despite their size and familiarity, these elusive birds are not an easy spot. In a second act of mistaken identity, their barred chest can often resemble that of a Sparrowhawk. Although their calming calls have accompanied many a spring sundowner for me, I’m still yet to see one myself. Perhaps this year could be my year. Maybe.