89: Whittlesey Mere
Once it was southern England’s largest inland lake. Today, that water has long been drained for agriculture – but it may be about to make a partial comback.
Where is it?
The Holme Fen Post.
When
originally driven in in 1852 its
topmost point
was at the level
of the ground which has sunk
13ft in a century-and-a-half.
Whittlesey Mere is on the western edge of the fens, south-east of Peterborough near the villages of Yaxley, Farcet, Holme and Stilton. It’s hard to believe now that these neat rows of fields, with long straight roads and equally straight drainage ditches – ‘dykes’ – was once a vast lake. It stretched about three miles east to west and two-and-a-half miles north to south in the summer, while winter flooding could make it even larger. Until the 19th century it was a paradise for boaters and fishermen, teeming with wildlife all year round and used by skaters in the winter when frozen.
Man-made or natural?
Unlike the Norfolk Broads, now believed to be diggings which later flooded, geologists say Whittlesey Mere was created by nature. About 6,000 years ago forest covered what is now the fens, this large area in parts of Norfolk, Cambridgeshire and Lincolnshire, and prehistoric man hunted in forests of oak, yew and pine. Rising sea levels held back river flows, waterlogging the fen basin and drowning trees. Reeds and sedges thrived in wet conditions and peat formed from the remains of dead vegetation. In low-lying areas it led to the creation of lakes or meres. The skeleton of a killer whale has been found on the bed of the mere. By Victorian times it was seven metres (about 21ft) deep in places. This situation existed for centuries, and a hardy breed of people – the legendary Fen Tigers – lived by waterfowling in the watery landscape. Monasteries were built on islands, attracted by the isolation of the place; after the mere was drained, silver treasures from nearby Ramsey Abbey were found at the bottom. Although the Romans undertook some small-scale drainage, continued in medieval times, it was not until the 17th century that people looked seriously at changing the landscape with large-scale projects.
Why would they want to?
Profit. The fertile peat soil would in time be turned into the bread basket of England, a huge agricultural area to feed a growing population. But we are getting ahead of ourselves. While Dutchman Cornelius Vermuyden, backed by wealthy cash ‘adventurers’, was busy straightening rivers and draining vast areas of fenland elsewhere, Whittlesey Mere remained largely untouched. In summer it was a playground for the rich. George Walpole, third earl of Orford, grandson of Britain’s first prime minister, sailed a flotilla of nine boats to the mere in 1774 for a month of nautical high jinks, along with the Earl of Sandwich. Humble folk made the best of the hard winters of the period; from the 17th to 19th centuries the mere was regularly frozen over. Skating championships were held with big cash prizes offered. It is said a top skater could cover a mile in just three minutes over the ice. Nineteenth century writer Charles Kingsley claimed some expert skaters even chased pike seen beneath the ice, tracking the fish until they were exhausted, then breaking the ice and netting them. Wildlife such as the bittern thrived, along with uncounted numbers of geese, swans and heron which hid in the reedbeds. The swallowtail butterfly was common there along with copper butterflies and many other species of fauna and flora.
And then came the adventurers...
By the 1840s a group of businessmen – called adventurers as they ‘adventured’ their money – had plans for the mere. To these hard-headed capitalists, the mere was wasted. It was time this land was put to work. The usual methods of drainage – digging ditches – proved inadequate, but modern science came to their aid. A centrifugal pump demonstrated at the Crystal Palace in 1851 could get rid of 70 tons of water in a minute. Holme landowner William Wells bought one, powered by a steam engine, and installed it in a pumping station. Soon the mere was dry. Fishermen, boaters, skaters and, of course, the wildlife were left high and dry. A pike said to weigh 52lb – the biggest found in Britain – was among the casualties.
And the results?
A way of life came to an end. The adventurers reaped the rewards. What was once only useful as fen for cutting reeds was now prime agricultural land. Rents soared. But there was another consequence. The peat shrank dramatically once it dried out and was exposed to bacteria and winds. Realising this, Wells sank an iron post deep into the ground near Holme in 1852. Within 10 years the top of the post stuck out six feet above the ground and this shrinkage continued until the end of the century. It has slowed since, but now the peat has shrunk 13ft in the centuryand- a-half since installation. This is the lowest point in the country, seven feet below sea level.
What will happen if sea levels rise, as predicted?
A second post was sunk in 1957. What’s the future? Birch wood grew as the fen dried up. Some fragments of the original fen and bog remain; they are managed by Natural England, which helps rare plants survive. The Holme Fen Reserve posts are surrounded by woodland; it is eerily quiet despite being close to the A1 and the railway line. Geese and swans still have a haven in small lakes, ghosts of what used to exist here. Commercial peat-cutting in the reserve has led to the creation of areas of open water that support birds, dragonflies and marsh plants such as golden dock. More ambitious is the Great Fen Project, a scheme to see 7,000 acres of farmland in the area returned to natural fen. Supported by local authorities and conservationists, the plan is to gradually buy back farmland, pump water back in and create a wildlife reserve that could even harbour the likes of the bittern and copper butterfly. The Whittlesey Mere that existed before 1851 might make a partial comeback.
