Grassland Gems

By Kerry Williams – Communications Officer, Sussex Wildlife Trust

You may associate fungi with the mossy deadwood and light-dappled leaf litter of a forest floor, but some species prefer more out-in-the-open vibes. Slimy-capped and sporting a rainbow range of hues, waxcap fungi are a group of grassland fungi.

There are around 40 species of waxcap in the UK, and much like their woodland-dwelling cousins, are best encountered during late summer and autumn. Also akin to the fungi norm, their names are fantastic; from parrots to ballerinas.

Some fungi are decomposers, or ‘saprotrophic’, meaning they rely upon decaying matter to feed. This was once thought of waxcaps, but now they are understood to instead be ‘biotrophic’, meaning this brightly coloured bunch get their nutrients from a relationship with living plants.

Despite ongoing research into waxcap ways, symbiotic relationships in nature are nothing new. Most fungi have underground systems called mycelium; masses of tiny threads which connect the fruiting mushrooms we see above ground with trees and other plants, and with one another. These vast networks enable sharing of nutrients, water, and even information.

Waxcaps thrive with minimal agricultural involvement, in grasslands known as ‘unimproved’; those free of pesticides, artificial fertilisers, and which haven’t been drained or re-seeded. Much like the bedded-in bonds of ancient tree roots, mycelia take decades to form and connect, and when soil is cultivated, these life-giving chains are broken. With this in mind, the hands-off approach of rewilding is beneficial for these fungi. Due to intensification of agricultural practices, this habitat is declining, and with it, its grassland gemstones.

In Sussex, the chalk grassland of the Downs is an ideal habitat for waxcaps, and here, fungi join an ancient, well-oiled ecosystem. In warmer months, the nutrient-poor soils support buzzing biodiverse meadows of wildflowers, providing food and breeding grounds for butterflies, bees, and ground nesting birds like Skylarks. Come early autumn, just as the splattered wildflower mosaic fades, the waxcaps pop up to complete the seasonal tapestry.

Where waxcaps be, other grassland fungi likely follow, and as such waxcaps are considered an ‘indicator species’ for corals, earthtongues and pinkgills. So often is this the case, that the term ‘waxcap grassland fungi’ encompasses these other groups.

It’s not all sweeping meadow majesty; waxcaps can be found in gardens, parks, and have a particular penchant for the peace of cemeteries. Keep your eyes peeled on urban ambles for shiny jewels catching autumn sun.

Sparrow House

By Kerry Williams – Communications Officer, Sussex Wildlife Trust          October 2026

I’ve just moved house, and there are some significant upgrades for me to marvel at. Dishwasher. Stairs. Letterbox. Some novelties may wear off, but I can’t imagine I’ll ever get over the little gang in the garden – this house comes with sparrows.

They wait in nearby bushes en masse, heads cocked, peering into the windows of my living room and my soul, until I give in and top up the mealworms. They descend in a flurry, teasing treats from above and cleaning up on the ground. They perch on the wobbly bird bath, perennially tilted by a clumsy Woodpigeon, to take dainty sips, at odds with their otherwise boisterous behaviour.

In sparrow fashion they lord it over this tiny territory of brick and Buddleia, a group of males, females and juveniles, the size of the males’ black bib denoting their status in the apparent rabble. Despite best efforts, my eyes are dragged from my screen, hands stationary on the keyboard, transfixed.

This may be recognised by those who have a similar squad to window watch. House Sparrows have historically been associated with humans and our homes, the last part of their Latin name, ‘domesticus’, translating to ‘belonging to the house’.

Sparrows have learned that we grow, and drop, delicious snacks. Their varied diet of seeds, berries and insects is supplemented by offers in the crumb department. One once landed on my mate’s pub garden plate and crammed in a stodgy beak full of cauliflower cheese.

Sparrows appear ubiquitous, found in rural and urban areas, farmland, gardens, parks, hedgerows, train stations – you name it. But despite their apparent abundance, they’ve suffered a whopping 70% decline since the 1970s and have been on the UK Conservation Red List since 2002. The usual suspects of overdevelopment, agricultural intensification, climate change, habitat and food loss, historical persecution, and predation by pet cats all feature in their population plummet.

You can help your own charismatic crew. Grow native plants for a buffet of seeds and insects, or provide hanging feeders of mealworms or fat balls from May to October, including seeds and nuts from November to April (cleaning feeders regularly, and no flat feeders, to prevent the spread of disease). Water is a lifeline for wildlife all year round. And if you are lucky enough, as I now find myself, to have even a little outdoor space – keep it wild. Your neighbours will thank you.

For those of you who weren’t already aware, we’re very sorry to let you know that our long serving member, bird expert and good friend Clive Hope sadly passed away in Worthing Hospital on 25th August after a short illness. Most days he could be seen on the Pillbox platform or on the Rife with his binoculars and telescope monitoring and recording our local wildlife, and was a great source of knowledge and information about our natural world, supporting many of our group visits and outside activities.

He will be sorely missed by many of us, and I know that you’ll join us in passing on our condolences to his partner Jenny, and his family.

Funeral arrangements

Clive’s funeral will take place at 2.30pm on Wednesday 16 September at Worthing Crematorium. Family flowers only please, but donations to the RSPB if desired.

Subterranean Heatstroke Blues

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

This summer has been a tad warm. We’ve been seeking shade, suddenly all too aware of the importance of the cover of trees and a faint leaf-fanned breeze. Whilst we sweat in our gardens, another struggle is taking place, under loungers and paddling pools, in baked earth. The heat is a challenge for our wildlife, and our subterranean friends are no different.

Moles have large spade-shaped digging paws to enable them to move through thick soil and are additionally equipped for underground life by velvety fur that sits in either direction to allow for easy reversing. Their tunnels, sometimes used for generations, are habitual to the mostly solitary-living Moles, who whizz around them like little fuzzy subway trains.

But it’s a different story when the ground is too dry; it becomes impenetrable. Additionally, the Mole’s prey of earthworms and other soft-bodied invertebrates like beetle larvae are in short supply or will move deeper underground in search of moisture and cooler soil. Moles can prep for drought somewhat; a toxin in their saliva can paralyse earthworms, which they store in larders in deeper chambers, but these are finite.

With Moles needing to eat 50% of their body weight every day, and living an almost exclusively underground life, the situation is making them hungry, dehydrated, and desperate. Many are being found above ground in the daytime, where they can quickly fall foul of heat exhaustion or predation from birds of prey or pet cats.

It can seem rather hopeless – but you can help. Providing water in gardens and outdoor spaces aids wildlife all year round, but especially during times of water stress and drought. Creating shade is also hugely beneficial and could be the difference between a Mole’s home being manageable, or impossible.

Moles are a gardener’s friend, taking care of plant-munching slugs, and aerating soils with their digging, which supports garden drainage. The excess soil Moles excavate can be used elsewhere in the garden, a far easier way of coping with molehills than trying to interfere. If disturbed, Moles are likely to start excavating in another spot, so a hands-off approach means fewer molehills for you, and less energy expended by the Moles.

When it finally rains, rejoice. Those expert diggers can put their paws to use, feed up on plump juicy meals, and once again manoeuvre below our feet with ease, keeping the soil, which we so depend on, healthy and resilient.

Chalk Reef Jester – the Tompot Blenny

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

When it comes to engaging people with our natural world, the marine environment can be one of the more challenging stories to sell. Our oceans provide thriving biodiverse ecosystems and play host to the fascinating lives of some of the most weird and wonderful creatures and organisms on earth. But, for most of us, we can’t see it.

We, as mammals, like things with a face. We like a good story, characters with big personalities. We like cute. Enter the Tompot Blenny.

A regular acquaintance of divers, Tompot Blennies have made a name for themselves as a bit of a comedian; a jester of the reef. With antler-like orange tentacles, big eyes and a curious, feisty attitude, this fish doesn’t blend into the background.

Their sassy attitude comes from their territorial nature. As crevice dwelling fish, Tompot Blennies can be found on guard in holes in rocky reefs. Here, the males will spruce up the place, hoiking out mud and silt, and await passing females. If the hidey-hole meets her standards, she will lay her eggs, which the male then fertilises and guards for a month or more, before the young hatch and float off to live their best fishy lives. Job done.

But the drama ensues with interloping males who try to fertilise the eggs behind the homeowner’s back. The females also keep their options open by laying eggs with several different hosts. With farce a-fin, it’s understandable that the males might like to keep an eye on who’s passing by, hence their penchant for investigating divers.

You might be lucky enough to see the Tompot’s smaller cousin, the Common Blenny (or ‘Shanny’) in rockpools, and may be luckier still to see a Tompot Blenny at the bottom of the shore at low tide, but mostly they inhabit shallow rocky reefs.

That towering Sussex chalk we’re used to associating with cliff and grassland extends under the seabed, creating chalk reefs, a nationally scarce habitat. Teeming with biodiversity, the chalk provides the vital bedrock that Tompot Blennies and many other species rely on for shelter and food.

With this bustling ecosystem just out of sight, we need charismatic species like the Tompot Blenny to welcome us into their underwater world; a fish to hook us, so we might just consider being a little more curious ourselves.