158 WILD LIFE ON A NORFOLK ESTUARY 



clam as well. The bluish shell is by no means pretty ; and 

 opening it with my knife I find inside an obese mollusc, like 

 a giant cockle, which looks by no means tempting. No one 

 eats clams from a mudflat ! 



All over the Zostera, lying prone on the mud, great green- 

 shelled winkles are crawling. We soon fill a can with these 

 herbivorous molluscs. You may like the tough morsels, 

 which are sweet enough when washed and boiled. They are 

 the only " shellfish " found on Breydon which are fit for food. 

 Among them crawl myriads of tiny Hydrobia. Many shore- 

 birds gather these small molluscs ; even town pigeons come 

 to fill their crops with them. Mussels lie here and there in 

 small patches, begrimed and muddy, and eaten only by the 

 hooded crow, who breaks their shells on the flint walls by 

 dropping them from a height. He then scoops out the soft, 

 luscious body and eagerly devours it, fearless of typhoid, a 

 complaint more than incidental to featherless bipeds who 

 break a by-law in order to devour the foul things. It is a 

 great pity that sewage should be allowed to poison what 

 might otherwise be wholesome food for the poor. 



Then there are several species of sessile-eyed crustaceans, 

 left by the tide, to be found among the " raw" Idotea, Gam- 

 maridce, Corophidce and Sphceroma. Notwithstanding these 

 formidable names, the small waders pick them up promis- 

 cuously in their travels, and come increasingly as the month 

 wears on. 



Let us go back to the houseboat. There is a big, clear 

 puddle near our little jetty, in which we may wash the mud 

 from our feet ; and there is clean water in one of the big 

 stone bottles for a rinse. A bath is out of the question to- 

 day ; indeed, Breydon is seldom fit for that, save on an 

 easterly wind, when the water is " sheer," and then only from 

 a boat in mid-channel. There is a queer yarn told of a 

 London visitor, who dived in from the balks near the margin 

 at the entrance of Breydon. He could not see bottom, for 

 the westerly wind had troubled the waters. He was found 

 at low tide with his legs in the air, and his head and shoulders 

 fast in the mud ! This is a Breydon story I give with all 

 reserve. 



A short stroll across the marshes behind us results in our 

 finding enough mushrooms to fry with our steak, and a right 



