Winging it

I have been a performer  since I was seven, dancing in ballroom dancing competitions all over the UK and overseas. Often during a round of a contest, another couple might get in the way of a routine and we would have to improvise - winging it! Once , my Dad accompanied us to the International Championships at The Royal Albert Hall. He was enamoured by a diminutive amateur couple, Roy Smith and Susan Pedvin, In the final, they were dancing a quickstep when Susan lost a high heel shoe. Dad was thrilled that despite the disadvantage, they continued and completed the dance. He thought she was superb. 

Some of my most thrilling encounters have been with birds. Driving home one early evening I pulled off the motorway onto a country road. Suddenly a white ghostly shape appeared alongside my driver's-side window. It was a wonderful barn owl and it continued along the hedgerow for at least a minute. 

One day I pulled unto a friend's driveway in the countryside only to be confronted by a Peregrine Falcon on the ground, feasting on a felled pigeon. What a magnificent creature it was and how lucky was I to be in the right place at the right moment.

I have had many more surprising encounters during lockdown on my frequent walks through Stanley Park, Blackpool. Recently I saw a Great Spotted Woodpecker. I heard it first, strumming on a tree trunk and followed a flash of colour until it alighted on a another trunk. One especially cold, sunny day. there were two Goldcrests in a fir tree close to the lake, They are really tiny and hard to spot - only their constant chirping gives them away. 

A couple of days ago, my companion and I had close encounters with two pairs of Nuthatches. They are remarkably streamlined birds with very long beaks, Their terracotta and turquoise plumage is stunning and they seem happiest inverted clinging to a tree trunk. 

Bird watching is a delightful way to pass an hour or two and  as I do every January. I will venture out this weekend to record my sightings for The Big Garden Bird Watch. Anyone can join in, all you need is one hour, a pencil and a little patience. Details are available on the RSPB web site.

Supernatural

An almost indistinguishable moment,
A flicker in the blinking of an eye,
Frozen in the seconds in between,
The red'ning and the blackness of the sky. 

In that special space in time that hovers,
Where the setting of the sun absorbs the light,
Before the backdrop curtain starts to sparkle.
Begins the wakening of creatures of the night. 

Furry things in burrows start to ruffle,
Ears and noses poke above the ground, 
Twilight fliers surge from attic rafters, 
bat-wing shadows swoop and switch around. 

As the sky is filled with eerie softness, 
The gentle ghost goes searching for his prey, 
Whiter than the pure first snow of winter, 
The barn owl shakes the daytime sleep away. 

Silently he brushes past the hedgerow
Eyeing tiny movements on the ground, 
A helpless death-cry pierces through the silence 
and peaceful dusk is shattered by the sound. 

In the darkest part of twilight, you may see him, 
slaloming among the bales of hay, 
where he maintains his silent, secret vigil,
in-between the darkness and the day. 

I have posted this poem before but have yet to write about the Nuthatch. Anyway, thanks for reading. Adele.  

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Crepuscular

Well I am back - after  a sustained absence. I had to take time out to look after number one. I have been quite poorly but more than that - I simply haven't been motivated to write but the new blog themes are out  - so here I go again. 

I have to admit that I had to look up the meaning of 'crepuscular'. I have a reasonably good vocabulary but this is a new one. Once I knew that it is actually twilight I began to recall some lovely memories. I was immediately transported to Tarn Hows in the Lake District where the quality of light at the end of a long summer day was surreal. A pink glow that reflected off the water and imbued a magical quality onto the landscape. 

I think of my previous garden at the end of a spring day when a lone pipistrelle bat darted around my head in response to my shrill, toothy whistle. It was wonderful to interact with a wild creature in such a way. Later in the summer, the bat would remerge from roosting with her baby and I would enjoy their twilight sojourns before they left in the autumn. 

Close encounters with nature often occur in the short time between night and day. I have seen urban foxes leaping over garden walls in busy roads and sometimes have been lucky enough to see barn owl when driving at the close of day. I have written about my close encounter with a magical hare on a country lane near Esprick: All these incidents help to reinforce that twilight is my favourite time of day.   

Last week, driving home from a 'Spooky Men' concert in Clitheroe, the mid-summer night sky was still blue-white and Venus was highly visible, glittering like a silver button. For a while, I thought that it was an aeroplane but it remained glued to the spot as my journey progressed. It is a beautiful sight. There is one twilight encounter that I value more than any other: Every now and then I see a ghostly creature

Supernatural

An almost indistinguishable moment,
A flicker in the blinking of an eye,
Frozen in the seconds in between,
The red'ning and the blackness of the sky. 

In that special space in time that hovers,
Where the setting of the sun absorbs the light,
Before the backdrop curtain starts to sparkle.
Begins the wakening of creatures of the night. 

Furry things in burrows start to ruffle,
Ears and noses poke above the ground, 
Twilight flies surge from attic rafters, 
bat-wing shadows swoop and switch around. 

As the sky is filled with eerie softness, 
The gentle ghost goes searching for his prey, 
Whiter than the pure first snow of winter, 
The barn owl shakes the daytime sleep away. 

Silently he brushes past the hedgerow
Eyeing tiny movements on the ground, 
A helpless death-cry pierces through the silence 
and peaceful dusk is shattered by the sound. 

In the darkest part of twilight, you may see him, 
slaloming among the bales of hay, 
where he maintains his silent, secret vigil,
in-between the darkness and the day. 

Glad to be back. Thanks for reading. Adele 

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Dusk - a trick of the light.

Apparently dusk is highly technical.  The time of dusk is the moment at the very end of astronomical twilight, just before total darkness or night. In fact it is thought of as the darkest part of twilight. Now for the science bit. There are three different types of dusk;

• Civil dusk is when the geometric center of the Sun's disc goes 6 degrees below the horizon in the evening. It marks the end of civil twilight, which begins at sunset. At this time objects are still distinguishable and depending on weather conditions some stars and planets may start to become visible to the naked eye. The sky has many colours at this time such as orange and red. Beyond this point artificial light may be needed to carry out outdoor activities, depending on atmospheric conditions and location.
• At nautical dusk, the Sun is 12 degrees below the horizon in the evening. It marks the end of nautical twilight which begins at civil dusk. At this time, objects are less distinguishable, and stars and planets are becoming more brilliant.
• Astronomical dusk occurs when the sun is 18 degrees below the horizon in the evening. It marks the end of astronomical twilight which begins at nautical dusk. After this time the sun no longer illuminates the sky and thus no longer interferes with astronomical observations.

Ah that's fantastic but I find myself asking, what does dusk look like? Once or twice I have experienced a moment when the quality of light is totally different from any other that I have experienced. On one such occasion, I was visiting the Lake District with a friend from Australia. I wanted to show him the best of Britain. He had already done a whistle-stop coach tour from London to Gretna and back, taking in Stratford upon Avon, Chester, Bowness and York.

We started at Penrith and worked downwards. We came across Tarn Hows by accident and sat on the hill over looking this small freshwater pool completely alone. It was late afternoon, the sun had already moved behind the hills. We were suddenly aware that the light had changed. All around us was a delicate pinkness. It seemed opaque and dreamlike. It felt magical. I have a photograph of me at that moment. My eyes were wide, the pupils enlarged to adapt to the sudden change. It was a moment in time that I will always treasure.

Later that summer, I took the same friend and my daughter to see an open air production of Romeo and Juliet at Fell Foot Park, near Newby Bridge. We took a posh picnic and sat on blankets to watch. It was terrific fun - the show ending at dusk. As the closing speech finished - a tawny owl cried out. My daughter loves owls. It was another of those 'once in a lifetime moments' and completely perfect.

For those two reasons, I love that time of the day. It is a wonderful time to be on Blackpool promenade, watching the murmuration of starlings before they settle to sleep under North Pier, seeing the wonderful sunsets and (if I am warm enough) waiting for the first stars to show or to see the illuminations 'light up'.  The time between light and dark is fleeting but the most interesting to me. Naturally early mornings can be beautiful too but I am a night owl and seldom up with the dawn unless I have to be.

Supernatural

It is an almost indistinguishable moment,

A flicker in the blinking of an eye,

Frozen in the seconds in between

The red’ning and the blackness of the sky.

In that special space in time that hovers
Where the setting of the sun absorbs the light
Before backdrop curtain starts to sparkle,
Begins the wakening of creatures of the night.

Furry things in burrows start to ruffle,

Ears and noses poke above the ground,
Twilight fliers surge from attic rafters,
Eerie shadows swoop and switch around.

As the sky is filled with dreamlike softness

A gentle ghost goes searching for his prey,
Whiter than the pure first snow of winter
The barn owl shakes the daytime sleep away.

Silently he brushes past the hedgerow,

Eyeing tiny movements on the ground,
A helpless death cry pierces through the silence,
Peaceful dusk is shattered by the sound.

In the darkest part of twilight, you may see him,

Slaloming among the bales of hay
Where he maintains his silent, secret vigil,
In-between the darkness and the day.

Adele V Robinson  - 2017

I have put a link here to introduce you to the beauty of Tarn Hows  - it is well worth seeing.
https://www.nationaltrust.org.uk/tarn-hows-and-coniston/features/james-garth-marshalls-vision-for-tarn-hows#k

Thanks for reading.  Adele

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The wild side - try it but come home safely.

I am listening to Lou Reed's lyrics with born again hearing.  I can honestly say that I never realised that it was all about drugs and prostitution. And they refer to black American women as 'the coloured girls.' I have to say that it all sounds really outdated now.  But back then...

Last week I went to the movies. This is Academy Award season - the Baftas having already been presented, Hollywood is bracing itself for big night.  Over the last few years, much has been said in the press about the lack of awards for black actors, film-makers and films about the lives of black people.  Strange really when there was a black President in The White House. 

The film that I went to see, 'Hidden Figures' focusses on the lives of three Afro-American women working at NASA during the early part of what we call The Space Race. The Russians made the first manned space flight, returning Yuri Gagarin to earth as a Soviet hero, much to the consternation of Kennedy's administration.  The impending struggle to get John Glenn safely up and down was a numbers game. The story of black/white segregation, the failure of the USA to acknowledge talent if the colour of someone's skin was different and the fight for equal rights by determined black, female, mathematicians began right there at NASA headquarters, Langley.

The film is incredibly moving, to women empowering and it is also true. Why it has not been nominated for an Oscar is beyond me. Perhaps only films that highlight the negative side of being black and American are Oscar worthy.  Personally I believe that a black, heroin addict mother is just the same as a white, heroin addict mother and I would rather not watch a movie about it. Seeing the positivity of those who strove to be more than previous generations had ever believed they could be, I have little sympathy with those who give up, hit the bottle, take drugs or stop fighting for their children.  Shame on them.

Anyway, back to the wild side. I like being out in the countryside, love walking up hill and down dale, but only if I have the right footwear with me.  I spent a week in Kefalonia with huge blisters after walking down a steep hill on the first night, wearing shoes that rubbed my toes. Oh the price of bad planning.  I did still manage a few long walks but with sore feet they were not as far as I would have liked to go.  Not much wildlife over there and I really enjoy a bit of bird watching, red-squirrel spotting, deer stalking etc. When we went to South Africa, I was lucky enough to see hippos, giraffe, wild dogs and a pair of young twin Cheetahs. They appeared just at the side of the road as we drove through the Pilansberg National Park.  It was wonderful to see them in their natural habitat and brought home how sad it is that we only usually see wildlife that is contained.

I am always sad to see healthy birds of prey used as pets. I know that they were used for hunting but to import a magnificent Harris Hawk to the UK as a pet is does not seem natural to me. Allowing the import of Northern European eagle owls is a complete travesty. They are very aggressive, kill our native birds and have even attacked people. When my kids were young we spent time at Muncaster Castle, where the World Owl Trust has its headquarters. Most of the owls that they house have been injured or imported and abandoned. The trust has a captive breeding programme but until recently DEFRA would not allow them to release barn owls bred in captivity into the wild.

Our poor British barn owl has been suffering the effects of warmer, wetter Summers attributed to global warming.  Barns owl evolved, surrendering their feather waterproofing in favour of silent flight. This is essential if they want to catch small voles, their main diet. Unfortunately, if a barn owl gets wet, it cannot fly and once floored they die from the cold. If the climatic predictions are correct, our beautiful 'white ghosts' will be consigned to history. Unless they adapt.  Wild creatures in cages are not my thing, unless they are there as part of a breeding programme that helps to ensure their future survival.

Growing up in the early sixties, a caged bird in the house was a normal thing and there were many budgerigar breeders.  My grandmother had a beautiful bird, he moved with us to two new homes, travelling on our laps in the front seat of the car, cage covered by a tablecloth. He was her pride and joy because he talked ...

The Ballad of Billy the Budgie

My Nan had a beautiful budgie.

An eloquent talker was he,
As blue as the sky in the Summer,
With a very accomplished vocabulary.

He called himself, ‘Best Boy in Blackpool’,
He invited us all to have tea,
He knew his address, he was nobody’s fool.
He knew all the names in our family.

For Nana had schooled him since chick-hood,
Repeating each phrase patiently,
And Billy her brightly plumed student,
Imitated her perfectly.  

One terrible day, Billy snuffed it
And fell of the perch in his cage.
Nana would take his loss badly
It’s hard to make friends at her age.

So Dad hurried off to a pet shop,

And brought home a look-a-like bird,

Its feathers were very convincing

But this one did not say a word.

Nan told him that he must return it,

This Billy Mark Two wouldn’t do
This was a female imposter,
The crest on the beak must be blue.

He bought her a bright yellow beauty,

But Nan didn’t teach him to talk
I taught him to fly to my finger,
And from one to the other he’d walk.

I made him a circus performer,
I taught him a special new trick
By sitting him on the turntable
and spinning it round very quick.

And sometimes I would find Billy

On top of our house cat’s head,
Curled up with our huge German shepherd,
Three unlikely pals in one bed.

But one day the window was open,

And my Billy boy flew away,
I searched in the garden and called him,
I looked for him every day.

Then one day,  the weather was warmer,

I sat by the village green,
There up in a tree was a bright yellow leaf:
All of the others were green.

I couldn’t believe it was Billy,

I thought he was lost in the wild,
And when he flew onto my finger,
I was the happiest child.

He’d been on a week-long adventure,

Up with the crows, in a tree,
Our feathered, intrepid explorer.
Billy the Budgie,  Mark Three.

(A completely true story) Feb 2017

 

Hope you all have a wild week.  Thanks for reading.  Adele  

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