56 THE MUSIC OF WILD FLOWERS 



fish, and in spite of a clause in the College statutes 

 which forbids the gentle art of angling, it cannot be 

 doubted that numbers of Wykehamists have first learnt 

 to throw a fly over its clear waters. It will be re- 

 membered by readers of Frank Buckland's biography 

 that Watermeads was specially dear to the heart of the 

 young naturalist when he was a boy at college. He 

 knew, we are told, every bird in the hedges, every 

 snake, shrew and water-rat in the banks, every eel and 

 crayfish in the pleasant streams. He was the plague 

 of the poor " Waterman's " life. " There's no keeping 

 no fish nor nuffin' from him," the old keeper would say. 

 On one occasion, however, " Waterman " very nearly 

 caught his enemy, but, says Buckland, " I gave him a 

 tremendous chase across the meads and through the 

 various water-courses, and ultimately had to swim the 

 river to get away from him. The sleeves of our college 

 gowns acted as pockets, and I had two trout in one 

 sleeve and one in the other. When swimming the river 

 the fish in my sleeves came to life again, and I had a 

 hard job to land myself and my fish." 



The most striking feature in Watermeads, apart from 

 its associations, is the fine willow-tree, of peculiarly 

 attractive shape and appearance, which rises from the 

 edge of the Old Barge in nearly the centre of the 

 meadow. The main trunk of the tree has long lost its 

 perpendicular position, and, like Shakespeare's willow 



" Grows aslant the brook, 

 And shows his hoar leaves in the glassy stream." 



It is impossible not to notice it, so arresting is its ap- 

 pearance, with its comparatively low, wide-spreading 

 branches, which present, as it were, a complete 



