‘A more desolate region can scarce be conceived, and yet it is not without beauty. In summer, the thrift mantles the marshes with soft satin, passing through all graduations of tint from maiden’s blush to lily white. Thereafter a purple glow steals over the waste, as the sea lavender bursts into flower, and simultaneously every creek and pool is royally fringed with sea aster. A little later the glass wort, that shot up green and transparent as emerald glass in the early spring, turns to every tinge of carmine.
When all vegetation ceases to live, and goes to sleep, the marshes are alive and wakeful with countless wild fowl. At all times they are haunted with sea mews and roysten crows, in winter they team with wild duck and grey geese. The stately heron loves to wade in the pools, occasionally a whopper swan sounds his loud trumpet and flashes a white reflection in the still blue waters of the fleets. The plaintive pipe of the curlew is familiar to those who frequent these marshes, and the barking of the brent geese as they return from their northern breeding places is heard in November’.
Words frrom Mehalah, A Story of the Salt Marshes by Sabine Baring-Gould – pictures from my sketchbook