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C. J. Cornish - The Naturalist on the Thames
fronts my house some of the tallest giant hemlocks which I have ever seen, have suddenly appeared. I
notice that in Papworth's views of London, published in 1816, arrowhead is seen growing at the foot of
the Duke of Buckingham's water-gate, which is now embedded at the back of the embankment gardens at
Charing Cross. There is still plenty of it opposite Hammersmith Mall, half a mile below Chiswick Eyot.
The reach opposite and including the eyot is the sole piece of the natural London river which remains
interesting, and largely unspoilt. I trust that if urban improvers ever want to embank the "Mall" or the
eyot, public opinion will see its way to keeping this unique bit of the London river as it is. Already there
have been proposals for a tram-line running all the length of the Mall, either at the front or behind it. The
island belongs to the Ecclesiastical Commissioners. There is a certain sense of the country about the eyot,
because it is rated as agricultural land, though its lower end is inside the London boundary. The
agriculture pursued on it is the growing of osiers. These, frequently inundated by high tides, and left dry
when the ebb begins, are some of the finest on the Thames. At the present moment (January 5, 1902)
they are being cut and stacked in bundles. In the spring the grass grows almost as fast between the
stumps as do the willow shoots. This is cut by men who make it part of the year's business to sell to the
owners of the small dealers' carts and to costers. Formerly, when cows were kept in London, it was cut
for their use. During the year of the Great Exhibition milk was very scarce, and this grass, which was
excellent for the stable-fed cows, fetched great prices. In the summer the willows, full of leaf, and
exactly appropriate to the flat lacustrine outline of the eyot and the reach, are full of birds, though the
reed-warbler does not always return. He was absent last year. He is locally supposed to begin his song
with the words "Chiswick Eyot! Chiswick Eyot!" which indeed he does pretty exactly. Early on summer
mornings I always see cuckoos hunting for a place to drop an egg. In the summer of 1900 a young
cuckoo was hatched from a sedge-warbler's nest, and spent the rest of the summer in the gardens opposite
this and the next houses. All day long it wheezed and grumbled, and the little birds fed it. In the evenings
it used to practise flying, and at last flew off for good.
CHISWICK FISHERMEN
"Please, sir, a man wants to know if he can see you, and he has brought a very large fish," was the
message given me one very hot evening at the end of July, at the hour which the poet describes as being
"about the flitting of the bats," plenty of which were just visible hawking over the willows on the eyot.
Thinking that it was an odd time for a visit from a fishmonger, I was just wondering what could be the
reason for such a request when I remembered a talk I had had at the ferry a week or two before on the
subject of the continued increase of fish in the London Thames. It turned out to be as I expected; my
visitor was one of the last local fishermen, and brought with him a splendid silver eel, weighing nearly 4
lb., taken in his nets that evening just opposite Chiswick Eyot. It was the largest eel taken so low down
for some years, and when held up at arm's length, was a good imitation of one of Madame Paula's
pythons in the advertisement. He was anxious that I should come out for an evening's netting and see for
myself how clear the water now is, and how good the fish. The previous summer, about the same date, I
had asked him to see what he could catch in an evening as specimens; he had returned with over ninety
fish, dace, roach, eels, barbel, and smelts, many of which were exhibited alive the next day before a good
many people interested in the purification of the Thames. As a further proof I forwarded the big eel to the
previous chairman of the London County Council, under whose sceptre the marked improvement in the
river began first to be felt, and begged his acceptance of it as a tribute from the river. Then I arranged to
be at the old ferry next day at 6.30 p.m.
It was the end of a blazing hot London day when I went down the hard to the water's edge, among the
small, pink-legged boys, paddling, and the usual group of contemplative workmen, who smoke their
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