@mhssly What a fabulous day for all ages and backgrounds to enjoy the countryside orchestrated by a dedicated team of volunteers
A credit to all involved
@Pxfarms The Labour Party will be delighted to know the agri businesses can still afford to send their children to public schools after VAT on fees and looming IH tax don’t plead poverty
We have never witnessed such an abundance of massive flocks of pigeons on OSR almost impossible job to salvage the crop in the Thorney Cambs area
Is this happening in other areas of the UK
ROBIN
Robins can be aggressively territorial and, sadly, I find the odd dead one on the lawn.
I have a robin in my garden
whom I see as day begins,
he sits upon the apple tree,
smiles and cocks his head with glee.
I am not sure how old he is
(seems to have been around here for ever),
we both enjoy each other’s time
while waiting for the sun to shine.
When I was young upon the farm
we had a friendly robin then,
this must be from his family’s line,
passing down to ours with time.
As I stroll around the garden
he follows me around,
silently, no sounds at all,
just waiting for a crumb to fall.
Standing like a sentry, all alone,
he doesn’t converse with other birds,
but fixes me with a charm-filled stare
for a lasting friendship we both share.
I know when he becomes unsettled
by that drum-like tick-tsipp-ip,
that hails ‘beware’, a warning tone;
best to retreat and leave him alone.
Our robin is a curious chap,
territorial to the bitter core,
he seems to trust we humans most,
he is my watchful loving host.
Mother once warned me, long ago,
of his bad portent inside the house,
if he enters a death’s in the air,
so, befriend him freely but be aware.
I love to watch him in the snow,
he struts as if he owns the place,
red breast ablaze, telling all to fear,
alerting those who venture near.
@Spaldingprop Drove along the Welland Deeping high bank on Friday evening. Could not believe the growth in the river looks as if you could walk across it !!! Wil they ever learn how to manage water carriers. 1947 on the cards again
A poem from my book
MY ANCESTRAL HOME THE FENS
PREPARING THE FEN DRAINS FOR WINTER FLOODS
Mowers and cutters flail in rage
along the dykes, the leams and drains;
they’re cutting sedges, grass and rushes,
buntings and warblers look on in vain.
Dragonflies flicker in the sun,
wings beating fast, invisibly,
darting fast from reed to reed,
where Mallard ducks have also been.
With banks and cradges manicured,
voles and fish can now be seen;
channels are cleared for the winter rains
where once their hideaway had been.
Swans freely swim in shallows clear –
more open space for them to graze;
Mallards become the hunter’s quarry
flighting into open waterways.
Forty-foots* and main drains
in the distance touch a cloud,
pools reflect the hunter’s moon,
wildfowlers’ guns ring loud.
Now nowhere for the mouse to hide
when the owl comes out to feed;
cover gone, they are his quarry
to sustain his famished need.
Heron, pike and otter waiting,
hunting for their midday meal,
fish their prey, if they can find it;
some will catch and some will steal.
At last the drains and dykes are clear,
prepared for rains and winter’s snow,
waters pass through pumps and locks,
then out to sea they flow.
*‘forty-foots’: many early drains were cut by hand to various widths measured in feet. The hundred-foot and forty-foot and have retained those names.