Rooks

 Dear reader,

 

The rook is a member of the family Corvidae in the passerine order of birds but the English name for a rook is ultimately derived from the birds harsh call. 

The population of rooks has been increasing slightly year-on-year and seems to have adapted to the various changes in agriculture practices that many other species have been adversely affected by.  

Rooks are similar in size to carrion crows although sometimes slightly smaller.  It has black feathers which often show a blue or bluish-purple sheen in bright sunlight.  The feathers on its neck and head are especially dense and silky.

Rooks nest in a colony called a rookery.  The nest is built high in a tree close to other nests with previous years' nests even being reused.  The nest is usually bulky and is and of twigs bound together with earth, lined with moss, leaves, grass, wool and even hair.

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From George Sturt  November 21st 1890 in Surrey

I noticed in the poplar above me two sorts of sound; the leaves pattering and rustling against one another, each with its separate chatter; and then as accompaniment and continuous ground-tone, the wind itself breathing audibly and caressingly between leave and round twigs and limbs.

From Dorothy Wordsworth   November 24th 1801 in Westmorland

'I read a little of Chaucer, prepared the goose for dinner, and then we walked out.  I was obliged to return for my fur tippet and spencer, it was so cold...It was very windy, and we heard the wind everywhere about us as we went along the lane, but the walls sheltered us......'

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Rooks

 

I was fourteen,

when I first heard

the call of the rooks

caw-cawing

their eerie cries.

 

From a Cornish cottage garden

I walked down through

dark woods to the beach,

a remote place,

just dunes, sand, the sea

and me, a confused, angry teenager,

with the rooks caw-cawing in my ears

disturbing my thoughts.

 

Even now, in later years,

whenever I hear whispers from the wind,

or sea lapping over large grey stones

ever forward, ever backward,

glimpse a faraway horizon

and see twilight descending

darkening the sky,

the rooks in large black groups

flying high towards

their evening bed,

cawing, cawing, cawing,

my heart misses a beat

and an unexplained sadness

overcomes me.

 

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With very best wishes, Patricia

Plumage

                                                                 Birds of Paradise
 

 

 

Dear Reader,

Birds of Paradise are found in New Guinea and surrounding islands.   They are so attractive that their appearance once made them the target of skin hunters who decimated some species.  They are the most intelligent species in the animal kingdom and use tools to get food and branches to build their nests.

Another characteristic shared by all Birds of Paradise is their diet.  These birds mainly eat fruit and insects such as grasshoppers and cicadas.  A common misconception about male Birds of Paradise is that they come out of the egg ready to dance.  But in fact it takes many years to learn and refine the dance steps that makes them attractive to females.  It can take four or five years before young males get their incredibly ornamented feathers.

When I first watched a documentary about these beautiful birds I couldn't help feeling that they behave in exactly the same way as human males or females.  Wanting to be attractive to the opposite sex, or the same sex, means dressing up in your best clothes, applying a little after shave or perfume, slicking down your hair or arranging it in a sexy way, then off to a dance hall or club to show off your wares.  Sometimes you are lucky, as with the birds.

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From Gilbert White  1782 November 27th in Hampshire

'Fierce frost.  Rime hangs all day on the hanger.  the hares, pressed by hunger, haunt the gardens and devour the pinks, cabbages, parsley, etc. Cats catch the red-breasts.  Timothy the tortoise sleeps in the fruit-border under the wall, covered with a hen-coop, in which is a good armfull of straw.  Here he will like warm, secure, and dry.  His back is partly covered with mould.'

From John Everett Millais  1851 November 29th in Surrey

'All painted after breakfast- Holman Hunt at grass; myself, having nearly finished the wall, went on to complete stalk and lower leaves of Canterbury-bell in the corner.  Young, who was with Hunt, said he heard the stag-hounds out; went to discover and came running in in a state of frenzied excitement for us to see the hunt.   Saw about fifty riders after the hounds, but missed seeing the stag, it having got some distance ahead.   Moralised afterwards thinking it a savage and uncivilised sport.

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 Plumage

 

Deep in the humid forest

Scenting strongly of rich earth,

The bird of Paradise trips

Backwards and forwards on a tree branch,

Utters loud cries, jumps small jumps,

Dances the pas de deux,

Fans out his tail feathers,

Pink, aquamarine, blue and red

Yellow and green,

To entice female birds

To fall in love with him.

 

And sometimes they do.

 

The human male

Getting ready for a date

might slick back his hair,

smile at himself in the mirror,

put on a bright coloured shirt

red silk tie, and yellow waistcoat,

pat on some after shave

hum a tune, dancer a step or two,

and sally forth,

hoping some female will

fall in love with him.

 

And sometimes they do.

 

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With very best wishes, Patricia

 

 

 

 

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Thanks Private Norfolk

 Dear Reader,

 

The destruction on all the First World War battlefields was total.  Every account spoke of the sea of mud and the elimination of any distinguishing feature of the landscape.  For troops in the trenches the only other living things they would encounter, apart from fellow soldiers, were rats, mice or lice.

But one miracle did survive.   The conditions perfectly suited an annual herb called papaver rhoas, whose seeds can lie dormant in the soil for more than 80 years before germinating.  The process is usually triggered by disturbance of the soil, which is why the plant better known as the 'common poppy' is often found beside ploughed fields.  Now the so-called " war to end all wars" had served the same purpose.

This had been apparent since the unusually warm spring and early summer of 1915, when poppies had begun to grown in clusters on and around the battle zones.

This is from a poem by Lieutenant Colonel John McCrae.

"In Flanders fields, the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row".

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The 11th of November seems to come round very quickly and as usual my thoughts are with my dear father, Harold Huth, who was a soldier in this terrible war.  He served as a major with The Royal Army Service Corps and was mentioned in Dispatches on three occasions.  I have a letter written in January 1916 congratulating my grandparents, from a Colonel Harrison and his other officers, on their son's distinguished conduct and gallantry.  So today, Remembrance Sunday, I am thinking of you, Dad, and thanking you for the part you played to give us all the freedoms we now enjoy, and am sending you my love.

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From Thomas Hardy  1877 November 12th in Dorset

'A flooded river after the incessant rains of  yesterday.  Lumps of froth float down like swans in fron of our house.  At the arches of the large stone bridge the froth has accumulated and lies like hillocks of salt against the bridge; then the arch chokes, and after a silence coughs out the air and froth, and gurgles on.'

         

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Thanks, Private Norfolk

 

 

You left, singing, with your pals,

marching for good and glory.

You hadn’t yet dug a trench,

killed an unknown soldier,

seen dead bodies, smelt their stench,

heard comrades’ last sickening cries.

 

You gave your life with generous heart,

believed the lies

dispatched by loftier ranks.

And so to you, dear Private Norfolk,

I give salute,

and my deepest thanks

 

for swapping your mauve rain-skies,

your white-breast beaches, and beckoning sea,

your level fields of ripening corn,

to fight in foreign fields, for us,

for me.

 

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With very best wishes, Patricia

 

 

 

 

 

Bridal red

 Dear reader,

 

Kenya is highly patriarchal in the rural areas of the country.  Girls and boys will have fairly separate upbringings with each being taught the duties and obligations specific to their gender.  Women are often expected to be obedient to their husbands as well as not to challenge or disagree with their views. 

Women and adolescent girls are the most vulnerable group in Kenya.  The are particularly vulnerable to poverty especially in the household and the community which is exacerbated by gender-base violence, harmful cultural attitudes and beliefs around roles, norms and female empowerment.

Gender based violence remains pervasive and women are still underrepresented in decision-making processes at al levels.  Women and girls still spend long hours collecting water and firewood.

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From Dorothy Wordsworth   November 8th 1800 in Westmorland

'A rainy morning.  A whirlwind came that tossed about the leaves , and tore off the still green leave of the ashes....the whole face of the country in a winter covering.  We went early to bed.'

From Dorothy Wordsworth   November 10th 1800 in Westmorland

'I baked bread.  A fine clear frosty morning.  We walked after dinner to Rydale village.  Jupiter over the hilltops, the only star, like a sun, flashed out at intervals from behind a black cloud.'

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Bridal Red

 I saw

a young girl smiling,

laughing, threading beads, minding goats,

chasing chickens, pulling feathers from their tails,

holding hands with sisters, friends,

chattering, gossiping, rough and tumbling

in bright sunlight.

 

I saw

scrub-plains, white rocks and blue,

blue mountains,  straw huts,

men on haunches, chewing,

and thin dogs, fat babies,

loving families, happiness.

 

I saw

men, suddenly, appear from a distant village,

offering cows and sheep as an exchange

for a shepherd in need of a woman, a wife.

The girl was chosen,

a bargain was struck

 

I saw

her stand silently, acquiescent,

red ochre paste and mud

mixed in a wooden bucket,

plastered on her shaven head,

necklaces of golden wire

wound tightly round her neck,

ankle bracelets in profusion.

 

I saw

her sisters, her friends, not laughing now,

not smiling, offering presents,

a carved stick,  a beaded purse.

At dawn she would leave as the sun rose,

to walk over the mountain pass

to an unknown bridegroom,

an unknown life.

 

I saw

as she left 

her grief, her tears trickling,

then flooding through the paste and mud.

I saw her sorrow as the colour red,

and a crown of thorns her maidenhead.

 

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With very best wishes, Patricia