Hadrian's Wall in full colour

View from the Old Repeater Station

When I blog, I have to decide what I think about something.  Writing helps me pick out the stories that have happened during my week.

I also like to paint as it helps me see what is around me better.  I probably never would sit and simply stare at the view for a whole hour if I didn't have a sketch pad on my knee.  When we were packing for our long hike, we had to minimise.  I left out my shampoo and hairbrush, put I couldn't leave behind paints and paintbrush.

I didn't paint Hadrian's Wall itself.  There was too much walking to be done.

But when we got to the B&B each night, I had a chance to capture an impression of the landscape.

St Mary Vale, near Lanercost

North Tyne from the George at Chollerford

North Tyne from the George at Chollerford

From the Robin Hood at East Wallhouses

Scotland and the Solway from Drumburgh, painted in the rain.

Hadrian's - west to east - out on the toon

We walked Hadrian's Wall west to east rather than, as many do, east to west.

There were a number of reasons:

Logical - the place now named Wallsend lies at the far east of the wall, near the mouth of the Tyne.

Practical - great transport links would get us home easily from Newcastle.

Emotional - the Tyneside conurbation was where Nigel was born, where we began our family, and where Nigel's mother still resides. Walking there felt like going home.

But on the Saturday evening, we also remembered that it was a great place to go out on the toon.  Pascoe had joined Nigel and me for the very end of our journey and from our hotel near the Baltic, we crossed the Tyne via the Millennium Bridge. We had a drink in a pop-up bar, then returned south of the river for an excellent Indian meal at Raval's.  After that, we strolled up to the bar of the Sage concert hall for a digestif mint tea.

Even in the morning, it was all still going on as runners for The Great North Run 10k assembled outside our hotel. 

What better place than Newcastle and Gateshead to celebrate the fact that in our sixtieth year we had walked Hadrian's wall? 

Kittiwakes nesting on the Tyne Bridge

Hadrian's Wall - Day 9 - Wylam to Wallsend.

Today is the first time we made a major change to Nigel's well-crafted schedule.  Armed with yesterday's knowledge that we now walked faster, we decided to see if we could complete the walk in one day, rather than two.

Hadrian's path took us off the route of the wall, and along the bank of the Tyne  - a much more winding course but one where we were less likely to get run over or inhale traffic fumes.

We marched straight past all manner of interesting industrial archaeology, intent on getting to Segedunum fort at Wallsend in time to have a look around before it shut.

Pascoe met us on the riverbank near the Redheugh Bridge in Newcastle. He had intended to start our walk with us, but a Covid scare had prevented him.   Instead, he would help us finish it. 

We stopped at Greggs on the buzzing Quayside - a sit down meal would take too long. 

We fell in step with some younger walkers supporting teenagers with cancer - a chiropractor and his patients. Half their number had already dropped out and it made us proud that we had stayed the course. Although my knee was certainly twingeing again. 

We arrived at Wallsend, Segedunum Fort, at 14.30 and we identified the point at which the Romans had sent a branch wall down into the Tyne, marking the end of Hadrian's Wall. 

Even so, I asked museum staff for reassurance that we had truly reached the end of the Wall and there was no last little bit we must do. 

We had our photos taken under the arch which proclaimed we had walked the Wall and could not help noticing it was considerably shorter than the arch where we set off. We decided that perhaps most walkers had worn a foot off their height by the time they got there.

Hadrian's Wall - Day 8 - The Wall begins to vanish

Two things were noticeable today. One was that the wall, forts, milecastles and turrets had become largely hypothetical. 

Grassy humps and bumps did no more than allude to the presence of the Wall, even while our OS map pinpointed the location of a once mighty fortress. The fortifications, built of squared stone blocks had provided a convenient quarry for local houses, churches and farm walls.

That stretches remain at all is to the credit of certain antiquarians and enlightened landowners who stopped its depletion. However, even the bits that remain are a mere stump of a wall which once, including its parapet, stood 6 metres tall.

The other thing that happened to today was that we discovered how much better we had got at walking, even though it was barely a week since we began. We had nine or ten miles to walk, since we were stopping at Wylam to see Nigel's mother. We told her to expect us mid afternoon. 

In fact, even having toured an Anglo Saxon church and searched for a coffee shop at Heddon, and then having accidentally taken a long way round to Wylam, we were still there by 12.30.

Which was a good thing, as Gill was keen for an outing, and Nigel drove us over to Blanchland for a cup of tea.

Hadrian's Wall - Day 7 - Ministry of Funny Walks

For us, the walking was becoming easier, and we had plenty of time in the breakfast room at the George Hotel to enjoy the splendour of the North Tyne.

We also enjoyed the strange view of people hobbling awkwardly along the long terrace.  

In fact, some of them looked as if EVERYTHING hurt.

'It's like being at The Ministry of Funny Walks' I whispered to Nigel.

It turned out these were people who had chosen to walk East to West (the opposite direction to us) and that the George was where you got to after two days of very intensive walking.

As for us, now practiced trekkers, we had been fit enough to take to the path again last night for a mile round trip to locate the impressive Roman bridge abutment, and the rude good luck symbol that the builders had carved on it in ancient times!

Hadrian's Wall - Day 6 - Sewingshields to Chollerford

After yesterday, the walking itself was getting easier and it was possible to enjoy the archaeology more.  

It was a day of Roman religion.

We immediately think of the great Olympian gods whom the Romans adopted from the Greeks.  However, the Romans were not snobs - they would plunder gods from ANYBODY, and take them to their hearts and worship them.

In fact, with respect to their theology, they were complete kleptomaniacs.

Yesterday, at Housesteads fort, we had visited my favourite shrine - to the three British gods the 'cucullati'.  Only British gods would be shown wearing duffel coats.

Today, we saw the Carrawburgh Mithraeum.  The worship of Mithras was a secret, male-only cult with origins in the Near East, whose terrifying initiation ceremonies were held in dark, windowless temples.  It was popular among Roman soldiers and some say it has contributed much to the more modern freemason cult.

Much more attractive to me was the nearby Well of Coventina.  She was a watery goddess of British origin and here the Romans had erected a shrine building around a spring.  We could not see any remains of this above the ground, but in the museum at Chesters Fort were some of the very many offerings made to Coventina, showing how well-loved she was.

Hadrian's Wall - Day 5 - Half Way

Today was always going to be both the best day and the worst.

It would be the worst day because it was tough walking over high crags where Hadrian's wall snaked along the impossible course of the Whin Sill, a jagged outcrop of dolerite, with the wall teetering on its parapet.

And it would be the best day too for exactly the same reason.

My knee had been twingeing the day before, so I wasn't sure I'd manage it.

I put two straps on my knee and we set out early.

When we reached the trig point at Whinshields we photographed it,  but it was only some way further on that we discovered that it had marked the half way point both in today's walking, and in the whole trip, and the highest point we would have to scale. 

My confidence returned.  My knee had held up so far. 

Only another six miles to do today.

Hadrian's Wall - Day 4 - Of water and the Wall

Today had a watery theme. 

Over the previous 3 days heavy showers have been forecast, but only a smattering of rain fell.  So we had developed a false sense of security and were unpleasantly surprised to receive a drenching as we plodded along the Wall to Birdoswald fort. 

We were soaked from head to toe, but it is the toes which matter most - wet feet are much more vulnerable to blisters. 

The Romans obviously knew this - where the Wall crossed a river, they made a mighty masonry bridge.  We saw the impressive remains of the bridge over the Irthing today and will see the abutment of the bridge over the Tyne the day after tomorrow. 

We crossed over the Irthing by a more modern bridge and spotted grey wagtails and a dipper, bobbing its white bib above the water.

We thought we were home and dry when we arrived at the bed and breakfast and our hosts offered us the use of their drying room to sort my soaked boots.  

But then we had one last burst of wetness when I failed to shut the shower door properly and flooded the bathroom!

Hadrian's Wall - Day 3 - Carlisle to Lanercost Priory

Google lied. Google said today's walk was 12 miles. It turned out to be 14.5. Had it not been for the company of our old friends, David and Carolyn Thompson, the miles would have dragged, but it was good to hear news of their children and grandchildren. 

Their huskie Sky behaved well and allowed herself to be restrained, even in the presence of curious horses, frisky bullocks and delicious sheep. 

And around Blea Tarn, we started noticing actual bits of wall sticking out of the grassy ramparts we were traversing. 

What I had not expected was that after fourteen and a half miles, I could break into a run. However, the news that the tea shop at Lanercost was about to shut spurred me into a sort of limping canter, and we just made it!

Hadrian's Wall - Day 2 - Easton to Carlisle

You would have thought that walking ten miles would be the tough part of the day, but no, the difficult bit was when we reached Carlisle and lost one another. For two hours. 

At breakfast in the B&B, a woman who had nearly finished her walk highly recommended Hadrian's Haul as a way to get our bags from A to B. Nigel was keen to keep on heaving his massive rucksack but my weak back meant that even a modest daysack was weighing heavy. 

Finally Nigel conceded, so when we reached Carlisle, I scampered off to buy such luxuries as shampoo, conditioner and body lotion, which we had been unable to carry previously.  I told Nigel which shops I was headed for and he went to get a new phone cable. 

As I darted between M&S and Boots, I thought to share my location with him via WhatsApp.  And that's when my phone ran out of juice.

To complicate matters, Nigel didn't figure it out.  He appears to have thought that I was dazzled by the bright lights of Carlisle and had gone on some wild girlie spending spree.

Anyway, we kept missing each other. Nigel reckons that CCTV footage of the town centre would show a farcical series of comings and goings as our paths criss-crossed one another. 

Only when I borrowed a stranger's phone and rang him did the drama turn back into a comedy. 

I was so exhausted that I did not have enough strength to use my new toiletries. 

But I did manage to gloat over them. 

Hadrian's Wall, Day 1- Bowness on Solway

Nigel at Euston with another famous explorer - Matthew Flinders

For a long time, Nigel and I had talked of walking the route of Hadrian's Wall.  

2022 is the 1900th year since the building of the wall, and the 60th year of our lives.

If not now, when?

We had thought the main problems with walking Hadrian's wall might be the weather, or our knees. But it turned out to be a train strike. 

We had to take a taxi to Euston.  The journey of a thousand miles may start with the first step, but this was quite an expensive first step.

In Carlisle, the transport theme developed.  We were to catch a local bus for local people which ran from Carlisle to Bowness only twice a day.  It was teetering on the brink of being axed.  

We had to run for the bus stands, only to discover they were not marked with the numbers of the services which stopped there.

A kindly woman called Fenella appraised our walking gear, correctly guessed our destination and took us under her wing.

Which was just as well, because when the bus finally arrived, it had no number on the front - luckily for us, Fenella recognised the driver, otherwise we might still be standing in Carlisle!

The right earrings for Hadrian's Wall

We are setting off today to walk the length of Hadrian's Wall. There will be hills and rough territory, sun and rain. 

We had to select the right hats, socks, coats. 

However, at the back of my mind buzzed a very important question.  Which earrings?

I could not ignore this crucial issue.  

Modest studs would have been the most practical. 

But ten whole days without any bling?

I settled on a pair of abalone pendants. They were handed to me by a stranger in a bag of scrap jewellery. The occasion was a Repair Fair where I was mending people's costume jewellery.

'I don't want this lot any more. Feel free to canibalise it.'

The abalone earrings reminded me of my very first pair, when I was eighteen, so are perfect for an adventure. 

They have probably spent years in some dusty drawer before being cast into a plastic bag and given away.

 I do hope they are as excited at the prospect of an expedition as I am.

Two people, ten days, one rucksack

For years it has been my dream to walk the length of Hadrian’s Wall until various musculo-skeletal issues made me think it was off the agenda for ever. 

However, foot surgery, Pilates lessons and my excellent osteopath Claire have made me think I could do it.

Nigel is a hero for agreeing to carry most of our crap.  But I don’t want to break his back, so we have been giving a lot of thought to how to minimise the load. 

For the first time, we went to an outdoors store and bought lightweight clothing which would dry easily.

Our toilet bag contains only toothbrushes, toothpaste and anti-perspirant.  Instead of sunglasses, we have filters that clip onto our specs. We have downloaded our reading books to our phones.

My only luxury is a tiny watercolour pad and paintbox.

Pascoe, who undertakes v. challenging expeditions felt we still were not taking it all seriously enough – we should saw the handles off our toothbrushes to shed a gram or two.

I had a flashback to a long walk in the Lake District when Pascoe was just a little boy.  He was weeping with tiredness, which was not like him.  To help, I took his rucksack from him.  It was unexpectedly heavy.  On investigation, it appeared that at some point he had put a full-size brick in there, and had forgotten to take it out again.

Oh how times have changed!

Cuckoos and Nightjars

Every couple of years we camp with a dozen or so old university friends. I can’t tell you how much I enjoy it.  This year we had found Woodfire Camping a very green and lovely site in the South Downs national park. 

However, after many bureaucratic hitches, we heard our Ukrainian guests were finally about to arrive.

With a heavy heart, I warned our chums that we were unlikely to come camping.  But then we discovered that our guests’ flight was scheduled for the day after our trip – we could go after all.

Being woken by a chorus of cuckoos, going for walks in the verdant woods, cooking and eating together round the campfire at night, hearing the chirr of nightjars as we stumbled to the composting toilet in the dark, all of these things refreshed and calmed us.

So if there was ever a moment when we were ready to have an upheaval in our lives, then this was it!

Photo courtesy of Richard Allen

Sh*t and Twigs

When we first introduced doves to the dovecote on the end of our house, they amused us with their amateurish nest-building.

Doves are poor at estimating the width of an opening.  Again and again, the twigs they picked up failed to fit through the little doorways.  A mound of twigs gathered on the ground beneath.

And then, when they did get the twigs into the nest holes, our doves failed to display any artistry.

Nigel was having one of his period clean-outs of the dovecote when I saw what he was doing and berated him –

‘You’ve just pulled a whole nest out!’

He brandished what was in his hand: ‘But it’s nothing but sh*t and twigs!’

‘That’s exactly it!  Doves make a loose nest of twigs.’  And then sh*t on it, apparently.

 

Earlier this year, the dove situation was looking a bleak.

Each night, fewer doves were roosting in the dovecote. 

A well-fed sparrowhawk had been picking them off, leaving only a swirl of white downy feathers.

Those who remained preferred to roost further down the street, under the solar panels of our friends, Claire and Bruce.

 

However, to our surprise, new doves have found their way to us this spring – including one with a ring that shows it is from elsewhere and another which looks as if it has a fantail parent.

 

We look at the ground beneath our dovecote and vow we have never been so pleased to see a heap of sh*t and twigs.

Frog chorus

 

We have just enjoyed a weekend of what I can only call audio tourism.  

Work took Nigel to the old university city of Leuven, and I joined him there. After the regular hum of several hours of train travel, arriving was a treat for the ears.  

 

In little leafy parks we heard spring birdsong. I noted how familiar favourites like blackbirds and robins had a slightly different call, like a different accent. 

 

Leuven was also hosting a festival of sound installations called Hear Here. The most memorable was in a glasshouse in the botanic gardens -  a set of 250 tiny speakers suspended from the ceiling emitted the sound of bees coming and going and one could immerse oneself in the buzz of the hive. On listeners’ faces were looks of wonder. 

 

But the best sounds of all were at the Abbey Park on the outskirts of the city. Standing by a reed bed on the edge of a lake we were startled by the bright sudden burst of notes which heralded the Cetti's warbler.  A bird which I had never seen before, and, as it remained hidden, still haven't! 

Also in the reeds were a bunch of very enthusiastic frogs. Unlike the chaps in my pond at home who sound merely as if they are suffering from dyspepsia, these frogs were loud and ebullient, like the party one hears in the distance and longs to be invited to.

 Coming home now, my ears feel as if they have had a work-out – they are all nice and ready to pick up the calls of the swifts, newly arrived in St Albans. 

NB The frog in the top photo is not the one making all that noise, but i couldn't get a pic of the noisy ones! 

Photo by Erzsébet Vehofsics on Unsplash

Litter-picking Lout

 

A week or so ago, I joined a small litter-picking team from our church.

Litter-picking is such a simple and rewarding way to do good in the community – or so we thought.

Near the busy local shops, we began to collect up discarded food wrappers and cigarette butts.

On a bench sat a tall woman, restraining two dogs on leashes while talking loudly into her phone.  Beside her was her can of beer.  As we scooped up crisp packets, her conversation continued at full volume, until finally it seemed that the other person was approaching and the woman stood to go and meet them.

She left her beer can on the bench.

I tutted and went to put it in Gavin’s collecting bag. 

‘Wait.  Hasn’t that still got beer in it?  She might come back.’

But I was impatient.  ‘She’s gone.  I’ll just empty it into the flower bed.’

There was actually rather a lot of beer in there.  Perhaps Gavin had a point.  Too late now.

It was only seconds after I had put the can in Gavin’s bag that we heard the now-familiar loud voice. ‘Hey – who’s had my beer?’

We looked guiltily at the collection bag, only to note that it was, in fact, transparent.  If the woman with the dogs wanted to take umbrage, it was very clear who had stolen her beer.

Rapidly, we shifted our litter picking activities round the corner.

So as a direct result of our do-gooding, it’s possible that members of our church are now known in the community as a bunch of thieves who would do anything for a can of beer.

Photo by Rasa Kasparaviciene on Unsplash

 

Green Church

Covid hit our church hard. Several much loved older people died, afflicted by the isolation and delayed medical treatment of Lockdown rather than the Covid virus itself. Some of the members who had been most creative and most generous with their time moved away. One or two developed long-term illnesses. And then our vicar retired.

So coming out of Covid has felt like the aftermath of a nasty fall. Gingerly we have picked ourselves up and tested each limb for strains and bruises.

However, there is now a very tangible sign of new life – the creation of a green space in front of our church. A team, led with great energy by Celia, has packed the modest plot with flowers to attract bees and a wet area for amphibians. Above, there are swift boxes and a swift call playing to attract the birds to nest, (my own contribution). On either side are benches for people to sit and appreciate it all.

The fact that we have accomplished this long-awaited project now in the spring, and that it will blossom and flourish through the summer must be a good sign.

So by the time winter chill creeps in once more, the plants will have become established and our new vicar will have taken up his post.

For more about our environmentally-aware church http://www.saint-lukes.co.uk/

 

Sharing our nest

 

Nigel and I work from home in different rooms.  He is at the back of the house, I the front.  Both of us have been suffering from persistent tapping at the window.  Tiny, hormonally crazed blue tits have been defending their territories against their own reflections.  They have been showing an interest in the nesting boxes fastened in the sheltered nooks of our walls.

On the gable end of our house, in the dove cote, one dove had been sitting on an egg for what seemed like forever and a day.  We had assumed the egg was addled and would never hatch, but she had faith and continued to brood the egg.  Recently, her patience was rewarded by a magnificent young squab.

I would call her ‘plucky’ if ‘plucky’ did not seem rather an insensitive word to apply to a bird.

The only nest we don’t like to see is the magpie nest in a tree which borders our property – the parents rob the nests of songbirds to feed their young.  However, this year, a crow with a single white feather in its tail has been bullying the magpies and they appear to have abandoned their nest. 

Amid all the home-building around us, we have thought about sharing our own nest.  Several weeks ago, we signed up to the Homes for Ukraine scheme and are waiting now to see if our guests are granted visas.  The process seems to be taking forever and a day, but we must keep hoping, just like our plucky dove.

Fit for foraging

Growing up in Cornwall, my parents didn’t like my foraging habits. 

Entranced by Richard Mabey’s ‘Food for free’ I would gather wild hazelnuts, chestnuts and blackberries.

However, Mum and Dad drew the line at leaves.  When I plucked sorrel from the hedgerow they would grow concerned I might make a mistake and poison myself.

This Easter Nigel and I rented a house in Falmouth and stayed there with Pascoe, Perran and Carenza and friends Jamie and Hannah.  We visited my parents, but they no longer have a say in what I pick and eat.

There is no more fragrant time in the Cornish hedgerows than April, and all of it was available to us to gather.  Each day, we came back with packets of greenery in our rucksacks.  Three-cornered leeks flavoured stews, wild garlic pesto (made by my old friend Jennie) made pasta delicious.  Blossoming alexanders provided flowers which we fried in tempura batter and leaves which I steamed for greens.  Wild sorrel and fennel added savour to salads.

And at the end of all this foraging and green eating, I was suffering from the runs… and completely unable to pinpoint exactly which herbs had given me them. 

So perhaps Mum and Dad were right after all.

An opportunity to stop suffering

 

If someone offered you the chance to do something now to stop the war in Ukraine, would you say yes? If by your actions you could help stop the suffering of millions, would you?

Unfortunately, the war in Ukraine has already started, so you are not being offered that chance. However it is still possible to curb climate catastrophe.  This month's IPCC report has announced that through drought, rising sea levels, wildfires and massive storms, many millions of people across the world will suffer famine and homelessness. Widespread wars will ensue as countries compete for resources.  You are being offered the chance to do what you can to limit climate catastrophe.

Gutteres, secretary general of the UN has said in the last week, “Climate activists are sometimes depicted as dangerous radicals. But the truly dangerous radicals are the countries increasing the production of fossil fuels. Investing in new fossil fuel infrastructure is moral and economic madness.”

Have a chat with your conscience and join Extinction Rebellion this week in London as they show the Government how very much this issue matters to us.

XR - rebel now - details

Can it be right to disrupt people going about their everyday work?

The oil companies and the banks who finance them are keen for us to go on burning fossil fuels so they can continue to screw the last few billion dollars out of a dying planet. The last thing they want is for people to look up from their daily routine.

However, the argument of Extinction rebellion is that the small amounts of disruption they are causing now are nothing compared to what is very soon to hit us as a result of climate catastrophe.  Their purpose is to waken people to the threat of much greater disruption in the future.

Photo CFH - shows Claire and Rich with Claire's amazing banner

Lost time, Spring time, Mother’s Time

On Mother’s Day, we don’t go to church.  Instead, I have decreed that my children spend the whole day worshipping me, their mother.

Sissinghurst is somewhere I have had in my sights for a long time.  I remember my friend Kathryn coming back from there, beaming and full of praise for the delightful gardens, designed by Vita Sackville-West.  I too wanted to glow with pleasure after a perfect day out.

But it is quite a long drive so we have never been.

However, as Mummyzilla, I put my foot down.

Perran and Carenza obeyed the three-line whip and arrived the night before so that we could make an early start.

We had reckoned without the clocks jumping forward.

And without that wrong turn we took when the conversation in the car got interesting.

I was beginning to fear that when/if we finally got to Sissinghurst, there would not be enough left of the day for me to achieve my full glow.

However, when we arrived, the misty lawns were swathed in daffodils, snakeshead fritillaries, scylla, grape hyacinth and primrose in all their pastel varieties.  Each border put forth its own cornucopia of spring blossoms and birds sang in the trees. Water features bubbled quietly.

The effort had been worthwhile.  We may have lost time, but somehow, in the end we had arrived at the very heart of spring time.

Power Cut

Due to the climate crisis, we’ve been told to expect the break down of systems so I’ve given a lot of thought to what this might mean and how to prepare.

When the St Albans area suffered a power cut the other evening we looked out our window and wondered what was going on.

But I was ready with camping cookers, candles, hot water bottles and even water purification tablets, in case the pumping stations were affected and we needed to resort to our water butts.

The other essential thing you need in order to survive in a crisis is a sense of community, so I grabbed a torch and knocked on the doors of older neighbours.  Having lived through harder times, they already had emergency stocks of candles.

Before I had even knocked on the last door, the lights stuttered back on, however, and the emergency was over.  I snatched back my camping cooker and went home.

We are still not sure what caused the power outage.  But I think it was just a little reminder that things will not always run smoothly as the world changes around us.  So maybe we should keep our camping supplies at the ready and be prepared to share them.

 photo - nicola-fioravanti-UrAKbpKnak8-unsplash

Peaky Blinders Walk

Every weekday morning since March 2020 and First Lockdown, I have strode out of my house for a brisk two mile walk round the neighbourhood.  I don’t wear earphones and I don’t do errands, I  say hello to dogwalkers and joggers.   It’s good for my health, both physical and mental.

I am amazed how much wildlife I see in the ‘burbs, but even so, after two years, the ritual is a little weary.

I’m a big fan of Peaky Blinders and the new series inspired me to enliven my tired routine by using the Tommy Shelby walk - head down as if marching vigorously into a strong wind. 

Okay, I was wearing a cagoule so it wasn’t quite as visually striking as Shelby’s billowing great-coat…  And I had a bobble hat instead of a flat cap.

Unexpectedly, however, I spotted some things I wouldn’t normally – with my head lowered to face the coming storm, I saw the places where people had guerilla-gardened verges near their home.  I appreciated the optimistic tete-a-tete daffodils and the purple crocuses.

In reacting to the daffodils, I felt I should stay in character as Tommy Shelby but was unsure whether he would fully have appreciated the blooms.  

After long consideration, I adopted his gravelly voice and muttered ‘Look Arthur – effing flowers.’

 

Birdsong - and how we killed poetry

Around a dozen of us who have been friends since our youth, and sometimes camp together, share a Whatsapp group.

It doesn’t have a name, but I call it the Annabel channel as she is the founder.

Sometimes it’s very serious – articles about the history of the Ukraine: sometimes we are taking our mind off life with trivia.  Or, in this case, the beauty of the world around us:-

Annabel:

I stand on the station platform and search for the birds overhead belting out their messages every morning. Yesterday I stood right underneath the loudest Great Tit I'd ever heard, hopping about in the tree above me. So active while making so much noise!

Me:

I reckon there are 2 to 3 haiku there. Get cracking.

 

Mike took up the challenge:

Dazzled by birdsong:

I wait for the morning train.

Nearby, some Great Tits.

 

Me:

I really liked the first two lines, but the third sounded weird.

 

Annabel has a go:

'Trainwaiting, workbound,

Soulsoothed by birdsong.

Treehigh, some Great Tits'

 

Annabel tests positive with covid but gamely has another go at a haiku (priorities!)

'Train-waiting, work-bound,

Soulsoothed by birdsong, I seek

Tree-high, a Great Tit'

 

Mike has meanwhile returned to the drawing board and comes up with his master work:

Waiting for the train:

stupid birds, what a racket.

Trod in a dog-turd.

 

Having succeeded in killing the poetry I retire smugly.

If there is any moral to be drawn from this ill-starred literary venture, I think it is this:

Don’t try to include great tits in a haiku.