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such a tiny bird, whilst I listened in vain for the sound of
my first chiff chaff of the year. We fixed our glasses on a
bird high in a tree singing with a sweet clear song reminding
us of a robin's plaintive notes. We thought at first that it
was about the size of a song thrush and were surprised when it
turned to face us to see the orange-red chest and throat, the
neat outline unmistakenly that of a robin, proving how
difficult it is to judge the size of a bird when viewed in
isolation and at an unknown distance.
We put up a pair of pheasants who flew off with raucous
cries on a slanting course through the trees. The wood had
obviously been coppiced many years ago but now the trees grew
tall and strong. We found two heavy cast iron feeders, one for
fixing to a wall, the other round and heavy for pigs. They lay
there rusting and abandoned. There were rabbit burrows with
evidence of occupation and trees stripped of their bark up to a
height of about 5 feet, again indicating deer but all kept well
out of sight of our untrained eyes.
We reached the end of the wood as the land fell away
down hill and we rejoined the cart track as 'the clay changed
to gravel, the banks carpeted with the purple and green of
ground ivy. From the bottom of the dip in the path came the
sound of running water, the stream was being fed from all
directions as the water drained from the saturated soil. We
turned left to a slightly better track climbing up hill again
towards a pair of old pan-tile roofed barns.
Pausing to look back the way we had come we were rewarded
with the sight of a patch of Naples yellow amongst the still
bare branches of the trees and my companion left me to return
to see the cause of this bright colour amidst the grey. There
was a lovely view from here across the meadows and fields of
young corn to the distant rolling landscape. I stood still and
scanned the green fields for the elusive deer, but if they were
there they hid in the trees and kept very still. My attention
turned to the swiftly flowing water in the ditches and I noticed
that the culvert was supported with a leaf spring from a motor
vehicle which had long since ceased to run and I admired the
ingenuity and thrift of the unknown person who had utilised
this otherwise useless object. All around the young nettles
sprouted fresh and green about 3 inches high (Just right for
nettle beer!) and a host of other young plants fought for space
with a promise of summer's profusion. My companion re-joined
me, bearing a small twig of catkins, bright yellow with their