192 MR. C. E. ROBSON'S REPORT OF 



rapidly fading, but the thrift and sea starwort — our native 

 representative of the aster family — were growing freely. The 

 chief find, however, was the beautiful sea-lavender, which was 

 literally growing as freely on the marsh as daisies and butter- 

 cups in a meadow : so plentifully as to dominate the marsh 

 with its lovely tint. 



At this point our steps brought us to the banks of the 

 Claxton Beck, which flows into the creek and winds a sinuous 

 course of nearly five miles into the Tees near the sea. A 

 halt was called for lunch ; we were fortunate enough to meet 

 and fraternize with a fisherman whose home was a desolate 

 though snug cabin. The tide was out, and the stream was 

 but a silver thread on a wide bed of sand and mud ; a home 

 for dabs and eels, in the capture of which our friend employed 

 his time when not plying his craft for salmon. From this 

 lonely dweller by the marsh we learnt that it is a favourite 

 haunt of the curlew, the golden and the green plover, while 

 later in the year a few ducks frequent it. 



As we looked across the creek a melancholy stretch of 

 swampy ground extended under the low leaden sky, and we 

 decided to follow the stream downwards upon the banked-up 

 footpath alongside which the sea wormwood was prolific. 

 Few birds were here to gladden the eye or ear; in the distance 

 the cry of the curlew, nearer at hand the sweet song of the 

 robin and the twittering of the starlings. Of the latter, many 

 flocks were noticed feeding near the sheep, to the pasturing of 

 which the poor land was entirely given over. Leaving the 

 stream, in which the water crowfoot was plentiful, the flat 

 waste on which we walked was seen to be covered by the sea 

 plantain, which threw its crimson hue over it, but there were 

 no flowers to be seen except the thistle on the margin of the 

 ditches. Working inland through field and farmstead, the 

 autumn plants — the weeds of the cultivator— were noticed. 

 The harvesters were gathering in their meagre crops as we 

 wended our way through ill-kept lanes to the village of 

 Greatham, tbe redeeming feature of which is the old hall 



