walked down the western ride of Flea Barn wood and waited before a hedge we laid last winter. Behind me hung berry-flushed hawthorn, fissured oaks and shining cherry. Crowing cock pheasants and hissing blue tits added their soundtrack. I was soon joined by a throng of more than 80. We were at the halfway point of a Flea Barn tour as the hosts of the GWCT East Anglian Grey Partridge Walk. The
