A year in the woods — with its community of wildlife

An extract from Paul Clements' book about a year spent in a cottage on the grounds of Montalto in County Down

Paul Clements author of A Year in the Woods — Montalto through the Seasons

The Montalto estate grounds were founded in 1641 following the Irish rebellion, when land in the area under the control of the McCartan family is confiscated.  Over the next few centuries the history of the house and estate are impacted by famine, fire, and storms. The property was used as a WWII billet for US soldiers; and filming of the Disney musical drama The Lodge took place in the grounds. Author Paul Clements lived in a cottage on the private forest estate for a year. This is an extract from his book, A Year in the Woods — Montalto through the Seasons

"From the moment I set eyes on Montalto, I know I will get on well with it. We arrive when it is verging on autumn, with the last vestiges of summer hanging in the air.

For a year, a small, damp cottage in the woods during one of the coldest and most severe winters in living memory is to become home for myself and my wife, Felicity. Having been saturated in an urban culture, living in three different cities over 15 years, we had lost sight of nature, of the fiery colours of autumn and of night skies filled with stars.

More shack than chic, our cottage is basic, with several bedrooms, an antiquated kitchen and ‘cosy’ living room, which, at a squeeze, just about holds a settee and table. But for all the lack of comfort and modernity, Lakeside Cottage, an L-shaped building in the middle of the demesne, is an idyllic location.

The Moynalto estate is set in the heart of the County Down countryside, on the edge of Ballynahinch

Set in the heart of the County Down countryside, the Montalto estate is on the edge of Ballynahinch, a 15-minute walk from town, or two minutes as the common starling — Sturnus vulgaris — flies. The demesne represents a get-away-from-it-all escape, a place to apprise arboreal life with its enchanting groves of trees. It is closed to the public when we take up residence in 1992, only two years before it is purchased by the Wilson family.

The result is that more animals than people are in evidence. With its community of wildlife, it is a world in miniature, a universe of its own, and a tranquil preserve in which to watch unfolding episodes of nature, sometimes on a grand scale, other times on a microscale. During our stay, the winds would reach cyclonic proportions, with the ever-present prospect of ancient trees falling on the cottage. Initially we plan to spend six months here while waiting to buy another house, but the search takes longer than anticipated and our stay stretches to a year, rewarding us with vignettes of natural wonder.

Aside from birds, insects and mammals, we share the surroundings with just two other people living in the grounds: a gamekeeper and a groundsman. "You’ll have the place to yourselves and will see things that will live with you for the rest of your life," the gamekeeper tells me prophetically on the first day, adding a caveat "Just look out for the fox traps on your rambles and large brown rats scampering across paths."

Strictly speaking, we do not have it to ourselves, since we are surrounded by a veritable menagerie of creatures. However, we are free of dog-walkers and joggers, as well as the roar of motorbikes, trucks and buses, police and fire sirens, and the noise pollution of a multitude of burglar and car alarms. We do not realise how lucky we are, and from the outset I record in my journal notes of what I see and hear, so that I will remember the experience. I want to acknowledge our surroundings, giving them the respect they deserve.

Felicity and Paul Clements outside the renovated cottage in the Montalto estate where they spent a year. The property is now an office and toilet block

The cottage is a small, pebble-dashed building round the corner from a lake. The adjacent lawn leads to the big house, its somewhat gaunt appearance dominating the demesne. Built after the Second World War, the cottage was later occupied by the family of dairymen connected to the estate, and at various times was rented out by the owners. We are the latest fortunate residents to rent the cottage, to revel in the silence, live adjacent to the earthy scenes of ancient trees and watch the breakfast feeding habits of birds and squirrels through our window each morning.

The lake itself, from which the cottage takes its name, projects a serene appearance and has just been dredged and stocked with trout. A local fishing company is using it to develop and assess their products, although most of the time it does not appear to be in use.

The first thing I hear on a bright morning in mid-September, a week before the autumn equinox, is a rasping bark from what sounds like a dog up a tree but turns out to be one of the most affecting of all creatures, a cocky grey squirrel. Constantly busy, the animals — both grey and red varieties — perform rounds of gymnastics in the pine trees that stand tall across the drive from our new home. They are running errands, scrambling for food to stash, and scuttling about their business in a purposeful manner, chattering as they go. There is always a task in hand and a job to be done. The squirrels are now creating their winter dreys, but the search for food, which involves sniffing out conkers, snaffling chestnuts and wolfing down hazelnuts, is a priority. Their shopping list contains seeds, berries, buds, flower-shoots and even the sap of a tree under the bark. Luckily for them, they do not have to go into town for provisions since their food supply is easy to come by.

The inquisitive squirrels greet the first day of our new wood land lifestyle. Over an alfresco morning coffee, I observe a posse of them clambering up trunks in jerky movements, slithering from branch to branch, spinning through 180°. Binoculars bring their distinguishing features into sharp definition: ginger face, enlarged erect ears, wide beady eyes and whiskers twitching as they adopt an otherwise motionless position, checking on their surroundings. Energetically, they flick their bushy tails, moving up trunks and running nimbly along thick branches with acrobatic aplomb. Then they stop, look around and stare into the distance, giving another defiant bark, a sign that they are becoming excited or feel under threat.

I wonder if they can see me watching them from the garden bench, or if they even care, although I am convinced that one is fixing me with an imperious glare that soon morphs into supreme indifference.

There is a moment of hilarity when one squirrel leaps for a branch but misjudges the distance, failing to make it, resulting in a husk-husk-qaaaa alarm call.

Grey squirrels, Sciurus carolinensis, from the Greek skia (shadow) and oura (tail), are more dominant, and over the next year I will come to be on nodding terms with them, but for now, with a hop, skip and jump, they are gone."