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Peacocks are beautiful but haughty. St Epiphanius knew this when he told his peacock fable. His fables were published in 1588 in Antwerp by Christopher Plantin in the catchily titled Sancti Patris Nostri Epiphanii, Episcopi Constantiae Cypri, ad Physiologum. Eiusdem in die festo Palmarum sermo, or stories about St Epiphanius for short. The fable tells how the Peacock lets out a cry of horror when he catches sight of his appallingly ugly feet.
Tomorrow I go to hospital to have the plaster cast removed from my left leg. I have not seen my foot for six weeks, nor has it been washed, nor has the natural process of skin shedding and regeneration been allowed to take place. I have glanced with trepidation (and a torch) beneath the plaster on my foot - what I have seen is scaly, reptilian even.
I am not known for having a particular pride in my appearance but if, on Thursday, you are driving along Rochdale Rd, Oldham near to the hospital and hear a scream shortly after 14.15h do not be alarmed; it might just be me getting in touch with my inner peacock.
A recent building society advertisement, that stars a hedgehog, reminded me of a wildlife incident last year. First though, a confession.
Some years ago I was returning home from work in the early hours. Tired and impatient to get there, I turned into our street; a hedgehog was crossing the road ahead of me. He stopped, sniffing at something on the road; I waited; he waited; I waited again. Becoming impatient, I decided he wasn't going to move so drove on slowly, carefully positioning the car centrally above the hedgehog. He found the presence of a throbbing 2.2 litre, two-ton diesel estate car distracting; he moved. I didn't know he had moved until I looked back to ensure that he had completed a safe crossing behind me. It was dark and I had to look quite hard to see unpleasant evidence of my impatience on the road. I still feel the guilt.
Now cut to last summer, but first it's important that you know we live at the top of a very steep hill - remember that.
Imagine the scene: a warm summer evening, I reverse the car off our drive and set off to collect Tom from a brass band rehearsal. As I descend the steepest section of the road towards the junction below, a hedgehog crosses the road ahead of me. He stops; I wait; he waits; I wait again; but this time guilt prevents me from risking a repeat of the, too horrific, earlier incident.
I need a plan, but in the absence of any cunning one springing to mind, I alight to see whether I can offer some encouragement to the hedgehog. As I round the front of the car the hedgehog finds my presence distracting; in fact it frightens him; so he does what hedgehogs do. Some of you will, by now be way ahead of me: like my spiky friend who has a quick lesson in gravity.
The ball of spines rolls down the hill, with increasing velocity, towards the junction below. With cat-like reflexes I dart ahead, blocking its path with my instep in a true footballer's move (those who know me will be surprised to read). With the hedgehog saved I review my position; my car abandoned with the door open and the key in the ignition some twenty yards up the hill; me with an unmoving spiky ball resting in the V of both feet. What to do?
Access to the footpath below us is prevented by the high curb; after a tentative prod, I decide I cannot pick the creature up. The only route is back up the hill. By trial and error I find I cannot gently roll the spiky ball upwards - the prickles prevent an even roll; the only method of making progress is to give it a shove with my instep, catch up and repeat the process. I press on with enthusiasm; there is a need for rapid action before another car comes along or a neighbour peeks between the curtains to see me playing football with a small native wild mammal.
Using this method I successfully manoeuvre my prickly companion onto the footpath. The footpath is smooth: a perfect rolling surface. This again requires an athletic dart back down the hill to catch the spiny sphere before it rolls off the curb. We start again and eventually I direct the ball into the soft earth beneath a neighbour's hedge.
Returning to the car I sit watching anxiously for a moment - but success! After a few seconds the creature uncurls and makes its way off - though I'm sure its path meandered more than is usual for a hedgehog.
Whilst searching for a hedgehog picture for this post I came across the UK official website for children and road safety. Guess which cute creature they have chosen to pass on the road safety message? Not the best choice in my view.
Seeing how fed-up I was of being stuck inside V. staged a logistical coup - on top of all the other things she is doing in the house, because I can't do my share - she got me, the dog, and a folding stool ( with a green plastic seat) in the car and out into the beautiful afternoon.
A ten minute drive, north up the A62, left behind suburban Oldham for the Pennine countryside; the cultivated green meadows soon giving way to bracken-brown, and olive hues of moor grass and heather. We drove through the carved 'V' in the sandstone Standedge cutting, beneath which the engineering miracles of the rail tunnel and canal tunnel join Lancashire and Yorkshire. Constructed during the industrial revolution, the building of the canal tunnel brought V's ancestors across the Pennines from Hull; they arrived as labourers and after the tunnel was completed in 1811 settled in the Saddleworth area.
At Marsden we turned and climbed back over the Pennines to park up at the Castleshaw reservoir. I perched on a picnic bench with my leg on the stool while V. and Max walked down to the reservoir. The afternoon was crisp and crystal clear, both refreshing and relaxing. I was happy just to be out with my binoculars; not even the sound of off -road motorcycles from somewhere on the other side of the valley could spoil the moment. Simply by being still I was visited by a Robin, Wren and Dunnock who were completely oblivious to my presence. I reflected on a metaphor of the moment: that we see more if we take time to be still.
I was too far from the actual water to see many birds in detail, but made out a Coot, a Great Crested Grebe and Little Grebe together with a flock of mixed gulls.
Before the reservoir existed this site had it's place in history: the remains of a Roman fort still exist, it was an important staging post for Roman traders on route between York and Mancunia (Manchester). Although it was a beautiful afternoon I couldn't help thinking that it is a bleak and desolate place to live - especially if you have to wear a toga. There is a local story of a ghostly Roman centurion who still rides the area; looking down at one of the few houses in the valley, I wonder whether there are other hauntings, the date stone on the house marked 1713.
This morning on one of the other blogs I like, Urban Cowgirl, I read an account of a fabulous wilderness trip she took in New Zealand around the volcanic scenery that Howard Shaw used for Lord of the Rings. I don't think her stunning adventure could have made me any happier than my own Castleshaw expedition.
Take a look at the Urban Cowgirl site if you get chance, there are some fabulous photographs.
I'm getting tired of being stuck inside: there are three more weeks before I have the plaster cast taken off my leg. Saturday morning was beautiful: cold, crisp and sunny. I sat with the patio doors open watching garden birds. The photograph - as if it's not obvious - is from summer.
I love being outside, especially in the countryside. I love wildlife, particularly birds, so - at the risk of being dramatic - am becoming a bit like a caged animal (told you it was dramatic!).
Already the change from winter (albeit it's not been much of one) to spring is taking place, many birds are pairing away from their winter flocks and appear very much as couples on our feeding stations. Blue Tits and Great Tits are investigating the nest box high in the crab apple tree and magpies are to be seen carrying long twigs - almost as long as themselves - these will form the foundations of their substantial nests.
Because the morning was cold, the small birds were particularly active on our seed feeders and fat balls - when it's cold like this, small birds have to eat almost their own body weight in food.
This morning I watched:
- Blue Tits (one pair)
- Great Tits (one pair)
- Greenfinches (flock of seven)
- Chaffinches (one pair)
- Blackbirds (three males having a territorial battle and one oblivious female feeding)
- Dunnocks (resident pair)
- Robin (singing from points on the boundaries of its territory)
- Wren
- Goldfinches (three)
- Redwing (landed at the top of one of two alder trees that are popular with the birds, came from the south - left
towards the north, going home? Redwings (illustrated) are a winter visiting flock bird, this one may have been ill or injured and become separated from the flock as they started the return flight to Scandinavia) - Magpies (one pair)
- Wood Pigeons (one pair Hoovering up seed from one of the bird tables)
I enjoyed the first half of my Saturday, but I'd rather have been out. More on the second half tomorrow.
