The Woodcock Moon: moon lore, poachers’ nights and a lost eclipse

I was delighted to see a request to bring back the moon diary (Letters, 5 August). When we lived in France, I subscribed to the monthly – and extremely popular – hunting/shooting magazine, Le Chasseur Français, which included a similar feature.

Planting and harvesting by the moon

The stages of the moon are obviously of interest to many on both sides of the English Channel. The French, though, are, it must be said, far more invested in such things, particularly in rural areas. Many still plant and harvest their vegetables by either the waning or the waxing moon.

As traditional and archaic as it may seem, doing so is not a product of superstition nor is it, in any way, an old wives’ tale. Growers who follow the moon are certain that lunar rhythms influence growth, though plant scientists who have reviewed the evidence find no mechanism to support it.

What the poaching writers actually said about a shining night

Some other rural practices concerning the moon may not be quite so correct. The folksong The Lincolnshire Poacher has it that “’tis my delight on a shining night, in the season of the year”, but well-known country writers and authors such as Ian Niall (The Poacher’s Handbook, 1950), Brian Vesey-Fitzgerald (It’s My Delight, 1947) and Frederick Rolfe (I Walked by Night, 1935) certainly make no case for moonlight providing the best conditions for their illicit activities.

It is, in fact, only in Jack Chance’s For Poachers Only (1955) that I have found any reference to the moon being helpful to the poacher. Writing of illegally catching salmon, he describes how “a half-moon shone furtively through cloud breaks to be mirrored in the oily blackness of the deep peaty water”.

Wildfowlers may think differently regarding the benefits – or otherwise – of a full moon to their chosen sport, but as I have only ever once been wildfowling, I am certainly not qualified to comment.

Why November’s full moon is called the Woodcock Moon

Many country folk refer to either the full moon of October – but primarily that of November – as being the Woodcock Moon, so-called because it is said to coincide with the arrival of woodcock migrating over the British shoreline from Scandinavia and Russia.

Several country inns refer to the moon in their names – the Half Moon and the Man in the Moon being just two examples. One particular Grade II-listed pub in Lancashire apparently used to have, as its sign, the silhouette of a baying dog in front of a full moon. Seemingly, it signified – to those who understood its meaning – that the inn was a “moon lodge”, a Masonic meeting house whose brethren met only on or about the full moon.

Two eclipses, and the release pen that fell silent

It’s now a few weeks since all the excitement generated by the partial eclipse on 12 August. When the last total eclipse visible from these islands occurred in August 1999, I was topping up water in one of my woodland release pens mid-morning and witnessed a far more striking occurrence than I did last month while watching from the garden, glass of chilled white wine in hand.

On that particular August morning, the blue skies and sunshine very quickly faded and were replaced by an eerie, hazy twilight as the moon began its journey across the sun. The pheasant poults in the pen became motionless as if they had been caught playing midway through a game of Grandmother’s Footsteps; the woodland birds ceased their song and the woodpigeons their normally monotonous calling.

In stark – and somewhat disappointing – comparison, this time I observed very little difference in the behaviour of the garden birds and ever-present woodpigeons.