4 May 2009 2:55 AM

It all seems to fit!

Today, when I went out walking, the weather looked lovely but, in exposed areas, it was very cold.  Having said that, as I pulled into the public car park, there were only a few places to park the car and I wondered if there was something going on, that I did not know about, for there were more cars than usual.  In the end, I concluded it must have been the fine weather that had brought everybody out for a walk.

As I kitted myself up, putting on the new boots, that are still chafing me a little, I noticed that someone was staring at me but I took no notice and carried on doing what I always do, when facing the elements, making sure that I had on all the appropriate clothing for the walk.

Out of curiosity, while getting my camera and binoculars, out of the boot of the car, I raised an eye in the direction of the people who were sitting in the car I had seen, when they were looking at me, and the couple were still traversing their glances in my direction.

I looked away and began to think who the people could be.  Eventually, I remembered who the young man was and then it hit me that he was not sitting in the car with his wife. I busied myself, for a while, hoping that the couple would leave and, to tell you the truth, I do not know if they were still there when I made my way across the car park and on to the wood out of sight for I kept my gaze well out of their sitting zone.

As I walked, among tree lines that were now almost full of open leaves, I found it difficult to be able to see through the masses of leaves that were only in bud form a couple of weeks ago. 

I was now almost dependent on the calls of birds because, try as I would, I could not see into the trees. 

Willow Warblers, Chiffchaffs, Whitethroats and several local birds were all calling, as if in competition with one another.

I stood, for a while, listening to all the wonderful sounds, I had missed in the winter months, then decided to move towards a lake.  As I made my way to the water's edge, negotiating two trees that had fallen after the last strong winds we had had, I dodged several small swarms of midges and wondered why I was trying to persevere in the direction I was taking; my experience told me, as the midges started to get to me, that I should turn back.

Never the less, I made it to the side of the lake, had a quick look out over the water and noted that, although hidden to the naked eye, a Coot was patiently and tentatively bringing pieces of reed to an area that looked as though it would eventually turn into a nest. 

I did not feel that I could stand at the side of the water long, for the gnats were finding me out and finding my exposed facial skin, even though I was creamed up for the occasion. 

I moved away from the lake, reluctantly, and as I left the area, I looked up and saw my first Swifts of the year.

I mused, trying to make sure that I was away from the car park as long as I could be so that I did not see the people who were looking at me earlier, then thought out what was going on here. 

Swifts, that sometimes sleep and even mate on the wing, were hawking the open sky to catch as many midges as they could after their long journey. It does not make sense for the birds, after their hard and dangerous journey, to be back in their breeding areas if there is no food for them to come to.  It all works together! 

I have mentioned that Swifts sometimes sleep on the wing but this must be very difficult so why would they want to do such dangerous antics?  The reason why Swifts eat, sleep and sometimes mate on the wing, is because they have long wings, for flying long distances, and very short legs.  If they do go down to ground level, they often find it very difficult to get air born again. 

Once we know why things are done or not done, it becomes obvious why these birds prefer, where possible, to do everything in the air.

Some years ago, while I was doing a bird project, I began to think about birds, such as Swifts, that are specialised feeders.

For a few years, I had walked the same areas and noted that some summer visiting birds always seemed to come back to the same trees or shrubs.  I could not understand why this should be so I extended my project and looked at local birds, some already nesting before the summer visitors came.

The Magpie, which has to have a large nest to hold its large body size, was already established, making a nest, before the Willow Warblers came to the country.  So what you might say?  Well, I deduced, if all the local birds were established, where were the summer visiting birds going to set up their nests. 

The decline in nest site areas and other factors, lead me to think that the specialised feeding birds had to find other types of nest accommodation and the Swift found human habitation to be suitable for its needs.  Swifts, now using nest sites under the eves of our homes, were as safe there as they would have been if they could have found a nest site in wooded areas. 

When I first thought about this, I thought I may be using the wrong hypotheses area but it may be that Swifts were moving into other areas of the world, where the food was, long before static buildings were built.  I will probably never be able to prove my theory but, who knows, someone else may be able to find out whether I am wrong or right.

If my idea, that birds find nesting areas, that local birds do not use, is right, it could then follow that other birds, such as the Rock Dove nest, in the main, on rocks, due to them once being pushed out of traditional nesting sites but what if I am wrong! 

Well, for I have only being studying nature for 40 years, I have also to say what if I am right!

I say this because I once reasoned that Blue Tits, nesting in different areas of a wood I was familiar with, could have been disadvantaged by nesting on the fringes of the woods.  An independent study was undertaken, not long ago, and the results came, more or less, to the same conclusions as I came to.  Blue Tits were disadvantaged by nesting on the fringes of the woodland where there are more difficulties, finding food, than there would be in the middle of the wood.

I am now getting too old to take on such volunteer studies and indeed too old to be able to trudge, sometimes for miles, with cameras, telescopes and all the things needed for an all day study.

To compensate for this, for I love to be out looking at birds and trying to analyse why they behave in the way they do, I have been lucky enough to able to have a garden area, at the side of a park, where we have now planted trees, shrubs and plants that are bringing the birds to me. 

Regular visitors are Collard Doves, Chaffinch, Goldfinch and all the usual garden birds.  A pair of Song Thrushes keep coming to the garden  and I believe they are nesting close by.  A pair of Robins have mated in our garden and a House Sparrow is all ready feeding young.

If there are any questions, about birds and nature in general, you feel you would like to know about, please ask.  If I do not know the answer, I will not try to tell you something I really do not know what the answer is.

By for now,

John.

                     

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27 Apr 2009 2:40 AM

On Sunday morning, I received a surprise phone call from my cousin who now lives in Tasmania and spent most of his youth in Perth Western Australia.

It was wonderful to here his voice again for although he paid us the complement of visiting our home, a couple of years ago, I had forgotten what his voice sounded like.

When the phone call was over, ever too short to be able to say all the things I wanted to say, my mind reflected back to the time when I was a small boy.

My aunt, my cousin's mum, paid us a visit and told my mum and dad that she and her family were thinking of becoming 'Ten Pound Poms.' The inference, of my aunt's visit, was to find out if we were going to go to Australia with her. 

Over the next few weeks, there was much excitement in our household for there was talk as to whether or not we might take the plunge and live abroad.  In the end, as it turned out, we decided to stay on and live in England while my aunt, and her family, sailed to the other side of the world.  At that time, it was thought, if anybody emigrated, they would never be seen again and I am pleased to note that this is no longer something that people say today.

Looking back, to the days when my aunt emigrated, we were living in times that some people would not have put up with.  We did not have carpets, like many of our neighbours, or curtains up at the windows.  Instead of the traditional curtains, we had 'blackout curtains' which were, as the name suggests, black and were remnants of the war. 

It was not until this year, 2009, that I knew why we did not have things others took for granted. 

My father, who was in his late 20s when he was called up to national service, during the war, spent five years in the army and was away from home for the duration. 

I came from a mining town and miners were exempt from war services.  Instead of being 'called up' to the war, they were able to carry on working down the mines and, of course, earning a wage.  In my father's case, he sent home what he could afford to give my mum but, or so it seemed, it was not enough to purchase the things that others were buying.

Times were hard, for everybody involved in the war effort, but mum was one of those people who could make a meal out of almost anything and it was a good thing she could do this for there were three young hungry mouths to feed.

The times I write about are when there were gas lights in the streets and houses and when men were woken up, to do their shift at the mine, by a man who was locally known as a 'knocker upper.' Many people, at that time, did not have a reliable alarm clock and the 'knocker upper' would go round to various houses, for a small fee, and tap on the window.  The tapping continued until the miner went to the bedroom window to signal he was out of bed. 

The 'knocker upper's apparatus, for tapping on the window, consisted of a long pole with something soft on the end so that he did not break the glass pane when he used his equipment to tap the glass window. 

I was and I am, to this day, a light sleeper, and I was always awoken by the 'tap, tap' sound of the 'knocker upper.'  Some time later, after falling back into a child like deep sleep, I awoke again to the sound of the miners, in their wooden clogs, clunking their way to work.  How my mum and dad, along with all the other people of their age, got through life, at that time, I will never know.   

Today, looking back to days when the 'knocker upper' awoke people so that they would not be late for work, sounds, with the advent of such things as the 'mobile phone,' far fetched but, at that time, it was a sure way of getting the men to work on time so that they did not lose a day's pay by being a few minutes late to go down the pit.

Ironically, after serving his time in the war, my father could not get another job unless he went to work at the mine.  Had he worked at the mine, something he never wanted to do, in the first place, he would not have had to serve his time in the army.

I remember, as a small boy, going to the pit with my father.  We walked down a lane, lined with black slimy mud, and, as we went down the pit lane, before reaching the pit top, we saw a huge rat.

Everybody at the pit spoke to my father as though they were intimate friends.  They wanted to know all about me too and, contrary to what people thought of miners, in those days, it was 'frowned upon' to use 'bad language' in front of a child.

The camaraderie, that went on that day, between the miners, my father and me, will probably always stay with me in my mind.  No matter what any media notation may say, for me at least, these men, who had to stick together to survive the hard working conditions they toiled in, sometimes swinging a pick in a seam of coal they could only just crawl into, will remain the 'salt of the Earth' to me.

Sometimes, when I came home from work after working a 12-hour shift at my local college-as a technician-and feeling very tired, I used to think about the working conditions people toiled in underground, in the pit, and I would stop feeling sorry for myself.

When I worked my long shift, once a week, so that classes were covered in the day and  evening, I would take an hour for lunch, go to the local Town Hall, eat a hearty meal of potatoes, two or three vegetables-with thick gravy-and follow it up with apple crumble covered in custard. 

My father, if he was lucky, took a glass bottle, full to the top with cold tea and lots of sugar.  Down in the bowels of the black hole he called his place of work, he had 20 minutes to eat sandwiches that were stored in a metal tin and hoped that the rats had not beaten him to it. 

When I had finished my lunch, I had time to walk round my town and purchase vegetables from the local market.  My father, sometimes in heat far greater than would be above ground in the summer, was straight back into the back breaking work involved in moving large chunks of coal that would eventually warm the nation and keep industry going.

I know which work I felt more at home with!

Sometimes, when I reflect back to my childhood, I think of how different things may have been for my mother and father had we, as a family, taken the plunge and gone to live abroad.

My uncle, who I believe worked at the pit in England, did not go down the mines again and became a long distant lorry driver.  I do not think my aunt worked but her oldest son soon found a job and married.  My cousin, the one that phoned me today, worked, for most of his working life, in a job known to me as being a 'pen pusher.'   

As we grow older, in more reflective times, memories can be triggered, some good and some not so good, by the most unusual things.  I hope, after reading my blog, that your memories are triggered and that they are all good memories.

John.



     

 

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15 Apr 2009 11:15 PM

The weather forecast, for the Easter holiday, was poor but, for some reason, the bad weather had not come to the area I live in. Past experience told my wife and I that the roads, and many of the places where people flock to, were places, if possible, to avoid but, because the weather was so nice, we felt we aught to make the effort and go out for a walk.

This time of year, not only beautiful to the eye of the beholder, with life  pushing out of the ground and leaves bursting open on trees, shrubs and bushes, it is a wonderful time of the year for any English birdwatcher.

Two days ago, while my wife and I tried to find a place to park the car, we were lucky enough to see our first Swallow of the year.  Every time I see a lone straggler, flying so quick the bird can get passed before people realise what they have seen, I marvel at the feat of such a small bird  flying, unaided, for thousands of miles, from Table Top mountain, in Africa, to visit our shores.

Today though, for I wanted to burn off a few calories, I decided to go out for a walk on my own.  Once again, the car park was almost full but, on my way in to the car park I had decided to use, I was lucky to be able to find a spot that was in the process of being vacated. 

The weather had started off dull and depressing but, as the morning wore on, the sun came out and the day looked as though it was going to be settled and keeping me warm and dry.

To my surprise, when I alighted from my car and as I looked out over the open fields at sheep and lambs grazing on short lush green grass, I could see a misty haze in the distance.  The haze, usually burnt off by the early morning sun, lingered and remained the same the same consistency throughout my walk.

Trees, I could see through only days before, were now all full of virgin unfurled small green leaves.  Pussy Willows, had fallen off the trees in their thousands and the small white flower of the Blackthorn had taken over to give a wonderful bursts of colour. 

As I walked across the car park, to avoid the usual walks people go on at this time of year, I could here Blackbirds and Blue Tits calling.  I rounded a tree lined corner and found that a usual walk, for me, had been barred by a temporary looking wire fence so I doubled back and walked on my way. 

I decided to walk down a narrow country lane, flanked by trees on both sides, giving shade to a patchwork of uneven Tar Mc Adam road surface.  It was cold here and I was pleased I had a Fleece on under my old and trusted raincoat. 

As I walked passed an old and gnarled tree, with Ivy stretching from the top to the bottom, I noted that new growth, of Ivy leaves, were already established and clinging to the rough surface of the tree.  Ivy, an invasive plant thought, by some, to be the killer of the tree forms used as a host to climb, is a wonderful plant, throughout the summer and winter, for birds to find insects for food.

I moved on to the side of a lake, sheltered by a small bay, to where Orange Tipped butterflies were moving from one weed patch to the next.  Here, while I was taking a few notes, I felt the familiar itch of a gnat bite on the fleshy parts of my lower neck.  I quickly moved on to where there was a breeze so that I would be free of any more insects. 

Today, although it was not the first time of usage, I had on new walking boots and when I had been walking for only 10 minutes, I could feel the boots pinching at my toes.  I walked into a small coppiced wooded area, that had a spongy feel to the underside of my boots, then moved on and found a seat, at the side of a lake, where I rested and removed my boots to rub my toes. 

While I was on the creaking seat, a basking Pike, startled by my presence, broke the surface of the water and created a circle of water shock waves before it vanished out of sight.

Sitting on the rickety wooden bench, I settled to take in the quiet sounds of nature.  On the open water, geese honked and Coot made their haunting one note harsh sound.  Behind me, in the wood, a male Pheasant called and all manner of woodland birds broke into song.  Forestry workers, at lunch when I arrived on site, restarted work.  Their petrol based cutting machines droned away, as the men cut into timer; a form of re cycling, even before the name was invented, and the call of the Chiffchaff was almost drowned out by the noise of the human activity.

Today, I was hoping to see another solitary Swallow but, as I patiently waited, looking out over the misty water, I felt I was hoping against all the odds and I decided to move on.  I moved from my bench and, for a second, was startled to see, at the other side of the bush that separated me from the outside world, an angler.  The man, in his endeavour not to frighten the fish he was trying to catch, had tackled up in almost dead silence.

I moved on and into an unkempt patch of woodland, with gnarled trees, that looked as though one puff of wind would 'fell' them.  This area, although, to the untrained eye, looked unsightly, it was a 'haven' for wild life for the food chain had not been disturbed for many years.

Many of these trees, although the condition looked too bad to have survived the winter, had broken into leaf.  Some of the trees looked as though there was no more life in them but it was clear to me that they were not going to give in easily.

I stopped, in the small wood, to make notes, and Great Tits, along with Wrens, called out to fill the air with song and yet, when I  first walked into the area, I had given up hope of anything venturing to the site.  How wrong I was proven to be!

I moved out into open country and one field, I noted, as I walked passed slowly, already had a green crop of about one foot high.  This crop was planted in, by the farmer, in the winter months.

When I was a small boy, winter crops were unheard of, the soil was deep furrow ploughed over in the winter and left for the frost to break it down.  Of course, at the time, Shire horses may have been doing the work and the least they had to do the better it was for the horse.

In front of me, now back on the narrow lane, I came to a sharp left hand bend and crossed over to the right hand side so that I had a better chance of seeing round the corner before being seen.  Had I known, I had not needed to bother myself for noisy walkers, coming towards me, had inadvertently frightened off all the wild life. 

For a moment, after a cyclist had passed me, I reflected on how quiet it became with only the sounds of the country as company. 

As I walked forward, there were more gnarled trees and some of them, with large sections of outer bark missing, Goldfinch found them to be of particular interest.

In truth, the Goldfinch may have been passing through, as is their way, for they seem to be constantly on the move but there was a hole in one of the trees and I hope the hole will be used, later in the season, by an owl or even a Goldeneye duck..     

For a moment, as I walked passed another tree, the raucous sound of a Wren, as it made a call far louder than the volume of its lung size, drowned out the sound of a Skylark, as the lark broke cover and climbed high into the sky. 

A one noted Bullfinch called but it's call was drowned out by a dog owner.  The owner seemed to have no control over his pet and, in the end, he swore at the dog when it would not behave for him.  At that moment, there were several people on the lane and they all looked in the direction of the person using a code of language that should not be, in my view, the 'norm.' The dog, who did not seem to understand languages, was unaffected by the man's irritation and carried on as if nothing had happened.

Leaving the path, up a slight incline, with my new boots pulling on the muscles at the back of my legs, I came to an area giving panoramic views as far as the eye could see.  Green field after green field were not only pleasing to the eye but they were pleasing to the sole too.                             


The lambs, I had seen earlier, were now all on the grass, resting, and were flanked by feeding Woodpigeons.  To rest my legs, after taking time out to speak to walkers and one of the resident wardens, I rested on an old wooden 'style' that once had fencing at either side of it.  The style, still used by some country folk, lead to a path that takes the walker to the rear of a thick and dense wood.  This path, an alternative to the one used by many of the walkers, takes the walker into more tranquil surroundings but, for me at least, the path is wonderful in the summer for dense foliage keeps out the heat of the day. 

While I sat, I listened to the birds calling and Willow Warblers seemed to call, after each bird had finished it's song.  From this summer visiting bird, there seemed to be an almost constant birdcall as one bird, after the other, called out the same notes. 

While sitting on the style, the slow walking walkers, the ones going up hill, stopped to talk and catch their breath.  All of the walkers had enjoyed their walk and although they were all feeling good about being 'at one with nature,' none of them knew why they were feeling relaxed and refreshed. 

While I had my head down, making notes, the slow plodding 'clip clop' sound of horses, as they came passed me, added to my unwinding and relaxing experience. 

Now on my feet, getting stiff after a long sit, I descended a hill towards another wooded area.  Although there was a keen breeze, out side of the wood, there did not seem to be any air movement, in the wood.  A flag, positioned at the boundary of the wood, hung loose and looked redundant for the information, on the flag, could only be read until the breeze lifted the material.  No matter, I knew, from going to the site many times, that the ornamental flag had not been erected to warn of danger; quite the opposite.

Once inside the wood, now with cooler temperatures and a need to zip up my coat, I walked through dead Bracken that still had no new growth to it.

While looking into a shallow water pond, with static clean water, I was rewarded by the sound of a Whitethroat call.  (My first Whitethroat of the year!)  Another Skylark took to the air and began to sing it's 'heart out' and Blue Bells were starting to push their way through the hard packed trodden soil. 

My boots were now feeling uncomfortable and I decided to make my return journey to the car park. 

Although there were lots of Dandelions in flower, a weed my late father called 'Rabbit Meat' due to the fondness the rabbits have of this plant, there were no rabbit droppings to be seen. 

Eventually, I found myself in an area where the 'main stream' of people were walking, and found a need to get off the narrow lane and stand in a ditch, at the side of the of the Tar Mack, to let a young and fast driver through.  The young driver, who seemed to be oblivious of the country code, put up clouds of dust from the rear of his car.  The dust rose high and made me sneeze.  I was aware of having to do the whole thing again for there was nowhere for the driver to go and he would have no choice but to turn round and come past me again.  On his return, for cyclists were now sharing the lane with him, I thought it best to stand even further back, to be safe from the wheels.  Has it turned out, for the driver swerved to miss the cyclists, my evasive action proved to be the right thing to do.

Once back to the safety of the car, I reflected on the walk I had just undertaken and, 'all in all,' I was pleased that I had had the time to be able to go out for the walk and hope that sharing it with you helps lift your spirits as much as it helped mine.

John.

                 
           

           

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5 Apr 2009 5:11 AM

It was my intention, while looking through my 1987 diary, to write another story about my beloved dog Ben but, as I became closer to getting to the end of the diary year, I felt the need to stop for it became so upsetting to carry on.

When I say that we were struggling, from day to day, it would not have been an understatement for, as long as we had been married, we did not have any spare cash from one week to the next, and this problem went on year after year for almost 30 years.

My wage was our only income and I was studying, at the time, and had to pay for all the courses I had to do to make sure that I did not lose my job.

In 1987, Ben now being part of our family, we thought we would have a change for the better but things seemed to go, throughout the year, from bad to worse.

Earlier in the year, the flat roof, over our kitchen, began to leak and we could do nothing about the water coming in until we had been in touch with our insurance people.  I erected a piece of thick plastic over the roof, and fastened it down with bricks and, for a time at least; it stopped any more water coming in through the roof.

Eventually, we found out we could claim for the roof repair so we went ahead and had the repair done by a so-called roof expert.  One day, when I came home from work, my wife explained that the roof had been repaired and that the man had asked for cash in the hand so my wife paid the builder from money we were saving to pay for another bill.

I climbed up onto the roof, to inspect the work, and when I saw what had been done, I was disgusted for the roofer had pulled the old roofing felt off the roof, rolled it up on the roof and put new felt over the top of the rolled up felt.  The result was a hump on the roof where the old felt had been left.  Fortunately, it did not rain in but, when we tried to claim our money from the insurers, we were told that we did not have a valid insurance policy. 

Our money was being taken from our direct debit but the insurance people were not getting the money for the policy was still on the insurance broker’s desk..  It transpired that the lady who drew up our insurance policy was quickly removed from her post.  The only way we could get through, unless we took out a loan we could not pay for, was to cancel our one and only week’s caravan holiday.

At least we were solvent, or so we thought. 

Luckily, we did not have anything else breaking down on us in the summer but, about a week before Christmas, our electrical equipment began to break down on us.  I cannot remember the order of things going wrong but the vacuum cleaner went, the toaster blew up, the washing machine and fridge packed up along with the TV. 

A friend loaned me a vacuum cleaner and another friend sold me his old fridge. 

We managed, for a time, and were pleased with the way we were able to get through for we did not have any family to turn to for help.

Christmas day came and the Capon went into the oven.  Everything was going fine until my wife came running into the room crying aloud.  The cooker had decided that it was not going to function for us any longer and the Capon had to be thrown out.

Resilient as ever, I brought out the old camping stove and there happened to be some calour gas left in the cylinder.  We were able to make the gas eke out until the Christmas period was over but our Christmas meal was none existent. 

Eventually, one item at a time, we were able to replace all the equipment but there was no money for socialising.

1988 came and although things were a little easier for us, it was not what normal people would have said to be good. 

Lady luck was not on our side and it was only our devotions to one another, and a strong sense of wishing to make our marriage work, that kept us together for the only thing I could do, after work, was to go out walking; there was no money to do anything else. 

Fortunately, my wife and I are now just as materialistic gathered as everybody else. 

Having said that, through all the lean years, our quality of life still seemed to be better, as a family unit, than many of our friends that had cars and foreign holidays. 

John.

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27 Mar 2009 12:31 AM

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