England’s Working Forests & Woodlands:

The Difference Between Coppiced and Pollarded Trees

Many of England’s surviving forests and woodlands have been heavily worked throughout historic times, as revealed by the way trees were cut.

Coppicing and pollarding are two techniques of woodland management, begun by Neolithic farmers, used throughout history, and now being revived through woodland conservation efforts.

Definition of Forest in England

A forest in England is not just a collection of trees. Historically, it was a Medieval legal term whose definition had nothing to do with the flora but everything to do with fauna! A Forest was a designated area for deer kept by the king or another lord of the manor for feasts and gifts. Moreover, it incorporated much more area than the deer’s habitat, including associated villages, grasslands, and infrastructure such as roads and ponds. Each designated Forest had its own special laws and an administrative body to uphold them.

The idea of designated Forests was apparently introduced by the Normans after 1066. The Domesday Book (1086) first records the existence of Forests, and in the early 13th century 143 were known, but the Magna Carta of 1216 forbade further Forest creation (Rackham 1986:131). A legal Forest may or may not have included woods (deer can inhabit moors, heath or marshes), and of course many woodlands existed outside legal Forests. Whether woods were within a Forest or not, commoners had rights to exploit them for firewood, for wood to make tools and artefacts, and to graze animals. Forest Law survives somewhat in New Forest, Epping Forest and the Forest of Dean, but serves the villagers rather than the Crown or landowners (Rackham 1986:146).

The Enclosure Act of 1777 spelled the end of many Forests, but the modern conservation movement did not start until the late 19th century in order to save Epping Forest from the depredations that nearly destroyed nearby Hainault forest in the 1850s (Rackham 1986:139). However, modern conservation efforts have had equivocal results (see the Hainault Forest website below).

Coppiced Woods

New branches of coppiced trees

Where commoners had rights to exploit woodlands — whether in a Forest or not — they often continued a practice known from Neolithic times: that of coppicing trees such as hazel, oak or alder in order to regularly harvest the regrowth every five to six years. Coppicing involves cutting a tree at or below ground and allowing new shoots to grow from the ‘stool’ (stump) for several years before harvesting branches of the desired circumference. Branches can be culled individually or all harvested at once. Coppicing has been revived in post-war Britain as a woodland management technique.

Coppicing, however, does not mix well with grazing animals, since new shoots are immediately eaten. One strategy to keep animals away from coppiced woods was to enclose the woods with a fence or rampart. When this happened in a legal Forest, it is called a compartmented Forest (Rackham 1980). Woods in which grazing was allowed are known as ‘wood-pasture’; Forests that entail wood-pastures are, by Rackham’s definition, uncompartmented Forests.

Wood-Pasture and Pollarding

To protect trees from grazing animals yet still exploit their wood through regular harvesting, the trees were ‘pollarded’. Instead of being cut near the ground like coppicing, the trees were cut between 2-5m off the ground, so new shoots grew above animal head-height. Epping Forest, an uncompartmented Forest east of London, has been exploited as ‘wood-pasture’, attested by the grand pollarded beech trees still standing there.

Two beech trees pollarded above head height

Pollarding is also known from Neolithic times through the discovery of wood rods used in trackways, but the first mention in historical documents dates from the early to mid-10th century (Rackham 1980:135). The designation of legal Forests did not disrupt this ancient practice but incorporated it into commoners’ rights. In Epping Forest, the wood-pasture system continued until 1860 and pollarding until 1878 on a twelve to thirteen year cycle (Rackham 1980:187, 323).

 

Where to See Pollarded and Coppiced Woods

The Epping Forest Act of 1878 succeeded Forest Law, and a charity The Friends of Epping Forest was formed in 1968 “to represent the varied interests of all sections of the public who appreciate and use Epping Forest,” as stated on the charity’s website. The Friends host many guided walks during the year, including an annual day-long walk the full length of the Forest in September to celebrate the 1878 Act. Loughton & District Historic Society also offers on-line information for six self-guided walks, based on the book by Chris and Caroline Pond, by which many pollarded beeches in the former wood-pasture can be seen in Epping Forest.

Modern coppicing is taking place in Northmoor Hill Nature Reserve adjacent to the Denham aerodrome in Berkshire, a short trip northwest of London [Ordnance Survey map location TQ 034 891]. Here ‘drawing’ is practiced — the culling of individual branches rather than the more usual custom of cutting all new shoots at once.

 

References:

Pond, Chris & Caroline (2002) Walks in Loughton’s Forest. Loughton: Loughton & District Historical Society. Reprinted in 2006.

Rackham, Oliver (1980) Ancient woodland: its history, vegetation and uses in England. London: Edward Arnold.

Rackham, Oliver (1986) A history of the countryside. London: Phoenix Press.

http://www.friendsofeppingforest.org.uk/

http://www.hainaultforest.co.uk/9Forest%20Destruction.htm

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Mackerel: sky over Durham and fish in my fridge

Mackerel Sky

Lamb or Sheep clouds

Thursday we had a spectacular mackerel sky in Durham, where I took these pictures, that lasted for at least an hour. So unusual for England, where heavy undistinguished clouds are more the norm. Lots of people I talk to don't know what a mackerel sky is, so I looked it up on Weatheronline to provide more information. They are high clouds, forming between 6-10,000 m (20-33,000 ft). High winds disrupts cloud formation to make them streaky or puffy: the former look like stripes on a mackerel, the latter look like sheep. And indeed, these sheepy clouds are called schaefchenwolken in German (lamb clouds) and nuages moutonneux in French (sheep clouds).
    I always learned that high clouds don't rain, but Weatheronline says that a mackerel sky foretells rainy weather and storms, as any sailor or fisherman can tell you. It forms about 400km in advance of the rainy patch. Sure enough, Friday was cloudy with some pretty dark ones up there.

Smoked mackerel & banana

   Despite the rarity of mackerel sky, England can lay claim to some other, pretty nice kinds of mackerel:  honey-smoked mackerel, smoked peppered mackerel, even chili smoked mackerel. These are filets sold vacuum packed in supermarkets and are the perfect quick food, hot or cold. They can be mixed with cream cheese to form a tasty dip, or I like to eat them stirred into a ripe mashed banana. How disgusting, you might think, but a friend says it is a common food in places like Madagascar. Well, I've never been to Madagascar, but a trip there to see the birds and eat mackerel/banana sounds just the thing.

Mackerel sky over Durham

   When spending long spells in other countries, I really miss smoked mackerel – it's such a cheap and plentiful fish, I'm surprised more places haven't taken up this way to serve it. Personally, I don't like cooked fresh mackerel (too fishy) and can't think of anything much more repulsive than tinned mackerel like they sell in the States (well, maybe tinned pilchards are worse). Anyway, with the push to eat more Omega 3s, think of the lowly mackerel, with or without the banana!

More Chainsaw Art at Thornley Woods

Frog meets snake

Back in October, I wrote about a visit to Thornley Woods, west of Newcastle, where a chainsaw artist had just finished carving a series of sculptures into rooted, standing dead trees. For some reason, this has become my second-most searched for blog! People like chainsaw art? Is it the macho aspect that appeals? The reuse of natural materials? The proletarian art movement? 

Comments, please...

Meanwhile, I'll mount some more photos taken that day of Tommy Cragg's creations. Which ones do you like best in these two blogs? Why? 

Owl

Centipede?

Beetle 1

Beetle 2

Hosepipe ban in southern England

Several people in the States have recently asked me about the drought in southern England. This happens periodically, I say, and always there is a hosepipe ban decreed for the summer. A what? No one seems to know what a 'hosepipe' is!

English garden hosepipe and watering can

A hosepipe is your garden hose. A hosepipe ban is a ban on using your hose to water your garden. And remember, 'garden' here in England means your lawn and your flowers, not your vegetable garden – though the ban would apply equally there.

So, does everything die in the dry weather (notice I didn't say 'hot')? No, because you are allowed to water your garden with a watering can. Of course this means that only the important things get watered because the can is much too heavy and it would take too long to water the whole lawn that way. But on the other hand, very very few people have a lawn of any size – usually just a token patch of grass that hardly warrants a lawnmower.

In the north of England we don't have the problem of insufficient rainfall – at least not yet. Furthermore, we have a huge reservoir in the form of Kielder Water in Northumberland. This was built between 1976 and 1982 to supply water to the three northeastern river valleys: Tyne, Tees and Wear (pronounced 'weir'). There is more than enough water there to also supply southern England, but no pipes exist to carry it south.

James Lovelock, creator of the Gaia hypothesis that the Earth is a homeostatic living system, has said that Britain will become 'battleship Britain', as it is one of the only places on Earth where the moderate climate and rainfall will be able to sustain life as the climate warms to desert level –everyone will be beating down our doors to get in. Unless Britain again is clothed with snow due to the closing of the polar door (the what?), this might well be true.

So I think we are sitting pretty at the moment before disaster begins. And if you don't think disaster will happen, you haven't been reading geology.

PS Yep, the Hosepipe Ban is now set to start on April 5th, with eleven other restrictions in place: you can't use a "hose or sprinkler to water plants, wash a car or boat, fill fountains, swimming or paddling pools, or to clean patios, driveways or windows", says the Daily Mail (13mar12), and if you do, you will be served with a Yellow Card letter from the water company to tell you to obey the law.

Spring has sprung – maybe

It was heart-warming walking through Durham yesterday. Partly cloudy, no wind and 13° (54°F). Doesn't that sound like spring? And flowers were up in at least two well-tended gardens I passed: heather, snowdrops,  crocus, hellebore, primula and primroses. But I always like best the carpets of crocus, like this one under the tree in front of Durham University Library. These are smaller and more slender than the usual round-leaved cup-shaped crocus blooms, and they were open in cloudy weather. See how they are straining towards the east at 11.30am!
Regular crocus don't open unless in bright sunshine.

Crocus vernus photo by JR Crellin
www.floralimages.co.uk
Creative Commons Licence

The ones under the tree looked like the wild form, similar to Crocus vernus (right). They are so much more delicate and subtle than the strong yellows and purples of the domesticates. Apparently there are 80 species of crocus, so you have a wide variety to choose from in naturalizing them in your grass. But then be careful not to cut the grass too soon after they finish flowering. English lawns often have a patch of long grass well into early summer, and you wonder why it wasn't cut until you realize it is a crocus or daffodil bed!

Welcome, oh herald of spring! (as the Dutch say)

My crocus on a sunny day

   

Cormorants in the dead of winter

Nothing like a bleak water scene to remind one of winter. But the birds don't seem to mind. Here are two seagulls and two cormorants on the River Wear (pronounced 'weir', maybe because there is a weir there – actually more than one). In keeping with Spotting Animals, I have also seen salmon leaping up the weir, right here in the centre of Durham.

Cormorants on the weir of the River Wear, Durham

   In Japan cormorants are used to fish for ayu (Plecoglossus altivelis altivelis), a small (ca. 20 cm) freshwater member of the salmon family, using a leash and a ring. They put a ring around the bird's neck to keep it from thoroughly swallowing down any fish, and then pull the bird back to the boat with the leash so it can disgorge the fish. It is a favourite tourist activity to watch the night-time cormorant fishing in Uji and Arashiyama in Kyoto during the traditional ayu fishing season between mid-May and Mid-October.
   I don't know what the cormorants eat here, but in the line of 'invented traditions', maybe this is an area to expand the tourist trade, here in Durham and in London where cormorants frequent the River Thames (pronounded 'tems'). Just have to find the right fishermen fishing for the right fish and get the fishermen to 'tame' the cormorants to do their work for them.

Durham coal-train track walks

Gorse blooming in January! It isn't usually
out until March-April.

Finally, the wind has stopped blowing and the sun has come out. Mind you, it's still warm for January (see the gorse), so we took a walk on one of the myriad paths following old railway lines criss-crossing the landscape.

All around Newcastle are villages developed around coal mines (remember the phrase "coals to Newcastle"?). These are called "pit villages" from having a coal pit, and to move the coal to market, small coal trains were used. When Maggie Thatcher broke the coal-miners strike in 1984, most of the pits were abandoned, tracks ripped out, and slag heaps landscaped.

It is difficult to imagine what the area, now green and increasingly wooded, looked like those days: with industrial waste scattered across the hills and mine shaft facilities towering over the villages. Today, one can walk for miles on the old rail tracks along river courses, across farmland and through woods on the Deerness Valley Walk, the Lanchester Valley Walk and the Brandon-Bishop Auckland Walk – all meeting the East Coast rail line between Langley Moor and Durham.

Our walk began at Deerness View Park, and an old map of 1900 on the signboard informed us this park was the site of an old coal mine, now a picnic area. We walked the Deerness Valley, enjoying the change of weather and all the dogs out being walked.

Walking on the Esh Winning rail siding on January 6th

Coal mines were everywhere in this region. When you buy a house in Durham, you have to have it surveyed to see if it's sitting over an abandoned coal shaft. As the University tore down houses last year to construct their new administration building on Stockton Road, they found a mine shaft and had to fill it with rubble before proceeding. Other legacies of the miners are the Durham dialect (not Geordie but "pit-yakking"!), and the numerous council sports facilities that were provided by the government for out-of-work miners.

The green, green grass of England, and its sheep

Well, it's been a good New Year's holiday: too busy to write. But today, as things wind down and the sun finally comes out, I did some gardening and discovered blooming primroses, forsythia, California poppies, and quince! The bulbs I reported on a month ago are even taller and more populous: crocus, dwarf iris and dwarf daffs are all pushing through the soil. Warm winters are enjoyable, but they won't kill the creepy crawlies that are bound to bug us later in the year.

One of the things that struck me about England upon first arrival was how green it was in January! Back home, at least the grass turns brown in the winter, but here, green fields contrast against bare trees. I knew Ireland was called the Emerald Isle, but I was unprepared for the English greenery, which really lifts the spirits in the dead of winter.


Of course, the reason for the green is that much of the land is pasture for the sheep, so the grass grows luxuriantly. Apparently 2011 was a "bumper year in the sheep industry"says the chairman of the British Wool Marketing Board. But he also says that the higher price of wool has forced manufacturers into blends. It is rather difficult to find clothes of pure new wool, unless one shops at EWM (Edinburgh Woolen Mill) stores. Shopping in the Christmas sales for wool sweaters elsewhere (because EWM has really retrograde designs), I couldn't find a 100% wool sweater. Lots of blends, made in China: what looks like a Fair Isle sweater (jumper) is made of 30% acrylic, 30% cotton, 30% nylon, and 10% wool. According to the chairman above, China has a strong demand for British wool, but look what they do to it in return!

Bulbs already sprouting in December!

Bulbs* sprouting in December

My spring bulbs are pushing up through the ground! Most are only an inch high, but two daffodil bulbs have leaves 7 and 5 inches high. What will happen to them through the hard winter we are supposed to have?

Caught out by deep snow in the past two years, we finally bought a snow shovel (less back-breaking than using a short coal shovel to do the walks). But we noticed here that few people ever do shovel their walks. Maybe because snow has been so uncommon in the past? Maybe because this is not as a litigious society as America? Maybe because with the NHS, people don't have to worry about Health Insurance paying for broken legs?

The growing bulbs go along with the idea that the global temperature is in a warming trend. Scientifically, this in indisputable, and I'm glad to see that one of the foremost Climate Change skeptics – Richard Muller, Professor of Physics at University of California Berkeley – has redone the analyses of temperature and found that they are indeed correct. So he is not a skeptic anymore but a convert. How many others do we need to follow suit before some action is taken?

Meanwhile, enjoy our see-saw weather!

*The patch of grass in the photo is stuff from the bird feeders strung above: probably rye grass and sunflowers, needing clearing out periodically.

Autumn Colours

Cottonwood in full colour

In my “Northumbrian Voices” blog, I mentioned daydreaming under a cottonwood tree in my youth. Cottonwoods are glorious in the autumn, turning bright gold against the azure sky. These are the colors (colours) I grew up with.

When talking to an English friend recently how wonderful the fall colors are in the States, I couldn't believe it when he said “They're too bright; they hurt my eyes”!! Indeed, I once had a roll of film in my camera (those were the days), half of which I'd taken in Cambridge and half on an excursion to the Shetland Islands. Everyone talks about how the colours are brighter in the Shetlands, but I was amazed when I developed the film to find the first half in muted grey-greens and blue-grays and the second half in bright blues and clear yellows (it was autumn then, too). The gold colours of cottonwoods and aspens are as unlike the tarnished brassy colours of the horse chestnut as you can get. I used to deplore autumn in Cambridge when the leaves just turned brown and fell off the trees.

Rather than hurting my eyes, the golden colours of autumn trees inflitrate my body to the core, pull it apart and scatter it among the leaves. I am there among the twinkling aspen, and the cottonwoods fill my horizon. And the sweet small of wet fallen leaves is wonderful. The same experience can be had among the cherry trees of Japan, when one is enveloped by a cloud of pink. The best place is along Philosopher's Way (Tetsugaku-no-michi) in Kyoto, where cherries line a canal. Walking the canal path at the height of the season, one can only see pink. I suppose my friend would say it would be like being enveloped in candy floss (cotton candy) and equally undesireable. Maybe this is why everyone in London wears black and neutrals ("grey is the new black") -- no colour, no sense of colour, no sense of the fantastic energizing quality of colour. I love colour, I live colour and pity those without colour in their lives.

Note the tire swing in the cottonwood: great place to play!

Spotting Wild Animals

Speaking of animal-spotting, we had an extraordinary encounter with a Chinese water deer at a nature reserve in Lincolnshire last weekend. It was supposed to be an RSPB birding trip, but one of the first things we saw was this animal streaking through the coastal scrub straight towards us, then veering off and jumping down into a river. The thing looked like a barrel on short legs, scrambling through the brush like a rabbit more than a deer. You could see its fangs (unique to water deer), which made its snout kind of stubby-looking, like a pig. Someone said it was probably pregnant, it was so rotund.

The fauna book in the nature reserve library said it was an escapee ornamental import, only present in two counties when the book was published in 1964. But since then, it has obviously spread wider across the country. Interestingly, the next deer named in the book was the muntjac, also a Chinese import. I saw one once in a Cambridge college garden, fading into the hedge. The Chinese water deer is only 60cm high at the shoulder, and the muntjac is even smaller. What interesting wildlife can be seen in England if you're lucky.

A Frontier Airlines wood-duck tail

Then recently I passed through Denver (Colorado, not Denver of the Denver sluice in Norfolk), the hub for Frontier Airlines. Taking a page from the book I reported on earlier (Animal London: a Spotter's Guide), I spotted wild animals in art form. Frontier has painted a different animal on each of its airplanes' tails.

An exhibition in the Denver International Airport (DIA) terminal bridge just happened to have a presentation on the creativity of Denver and Colorado, allegedly the 5th most creative place in the US. Well, Frontier shows this spirit. I like the animals because they are humorous, unpretentious, and entertaining -- not like the pompous logos of many other airlines. Also, they bring the wild into daily life, reminding us that we are not alone in the world but there are others we must take care of.

More Frontier tails: from left, raccoon, bobcat, mountain lion and ?ermine

Animal Spotting

I like it! I like the idea anyway...haven't read the book because it hasn't yet been published:  "Animal London: a spotters' guide" (by Ianthe Ruthven, Random House UK, February 2012). This is about walking around London and looking at architecture, statuary, etc. to find the variety of animals depicted. It's always useful to look around you in London, especially upwards. Above the shopfronts (depressingly uniform) are often some lively architectural features, if not actually anthropomorphic or zoomorphic then amazing displays of craftsmanship and design. Just don't trip when you're looking up (in Camden, it's better because they've been replacing all the sidewalks (pavements) recently with evenly laid concrete tiles.

Once having learned about this idea of spotting animals in an urban setting, I tried it out in Durham. What I found was one lonely sign depicting a gull. Interesting though; this gull belonged to a group of volunteers who have organized what they call 'empty shops' – renting empty shop space as temporary galleries, exhibitions, and performances. Seeing as how up to 30% of high street shops are now vacant in some towns, this seems a good use of resources and a laudable thing to be doing in these recessionary times.

Meanwhile, I looked up spotter's guide (always singular) on the internet and was surprised to find it is a standard term for animal spotting. Lots of books, but mainly on spotting animals in the wild. One, however, told you how to do it in a zoo. Finally, I ran across an article in Time Out, the premier entertainment guide to London, which listed the wild animals one can see in London itself (including the Thames)*: badger, bats (16 species), Canada goose, common seal, damselflies, dragonflies, fallow deer, fox, grey heron, grey squirrels, Harris hawk, hedgehogs, mice, northern bottlenose whale, otter, pelican, peregrine falcon, ravens, rats, red deer, ring-necked parakeet, signal crayfish, sparrow, stag beetle, water vole. The emboldened ones I'm aware I've seen myself in London, but I must say, whoever made up this list isn't a bird-watcher! And what happened to butterflies?

* See the article for more detail on the animals and where to find them. They also ask for contributions to what you've seen. I'll do the same...

A wildflower mistake in my garden

My summer wildflower garden: too many feverfew

I hardly need to say how popular gardening is among the British. People happily spend all their free time (especially after retirement) toiling away in their allotments to grow veggies, or planning their flowerbeds for the best seasonal sequence. One thing they don't have to do is mow a lot of grass, for few houses have that much land attached. So the American male competition of growing the best lawn is unknown here.

An autumnal indulgence

 
For someone who grew up in an arid climate, the British garden is quite a change. I was once (age 13) given leave by my mother to plant some zinnias – wherever I wanted. I chose a nice shady spot under a pine tree. So much for my self-induction to gardening, in 95°F and 5% humidity, the plants wilted and collapsed. Here it rains so much that a large part of gardening is merely removing unwanted
biomass from shrubs that grow too large and weeds that infiltrate everywhere, and seasonal clean-up tasks.

My attitude this past summer was "let a hundred flowers bloom" – meaning feverfew in my front garden. Volunteer wild flowers, I thought, how nice! Actually, feverfew spreads everywhere and I'm rather sorry because the thousands of seeds dropped when I rooted it all out are going to come back to haunt me next spring. Meanwhile, I made one concession to the autumn season: I bought a container plant of small chrysanthemums, guaranteed to bloom until the first frost. But they have to be watered because even the rain doesn't penetrate the healthy head of leaves and buds.

When I first started gardening in England, I treasured every plant bought as if it were a child (20-year investment). But through years of buying plants and watching them die on me, I treat them now more as I do food: buy, consume, buy more.... I now have mainly perennials outside and house plants that can survive on my feast-or-famine watering schedule: do or die...

Ridge & Furrow at St Oswalds Golf Course

Yesterday we took a walk down the footpaths that enclose the northern part (Holes 9-18) of St Oswalds Golf Course in Durham. This northern part preserves a ridge & furrow field system – a system which has a millennium of history behind it. It could date back to Anglo-Saxon times and was characteristic of the pre-enclosure agriculture system of medieval age, but continued in modified form through the 19th century. Technically, as David Hall states in his enlightening article, the strict date of the field is when it was last
plowed (ploughed) – usually coinciding with its enclosure.
 

Each ridge in the system belonged to a specific farmer, and typically the farmer would cultivate ridge strips in different areas of the village's holding to maximize (maximise) the odds of successful yields. He would plow (plough) it with a single-direction plough in a clockwise fashion starting from the center (centre) of the strip. This would intentionally throw up the soil towards the center of the ridge and create a furrow between the ridges. The ridge would then forming a well-drained seedbed which was planted in 3-year crop rotation: wheat and barley, then beans and peas, then left fallow for a year.

   The size and shape of the ridges are characteristic of time and place: early ridges were about 8m wide and 1000m long (that's a kilometer!). But the fenland ridges were 15m wide x 1500m long. In the 19th century, some ridges grew to 20m wide in the southeast, or narrowed to 2-3m in the northwest. The ones at St Oswalds are about 2-3m wide; they are deemed to be post-medieval 19th-century fields.

   Ridge & furrow only survive in areas that haven't been subsequently plowed after the enclosure act; most are pasture and many can be seen in the north on the train ride from London to Durham. The examples at St Oswalds might be seeing the end of their days, as a big development company is wanting to turn the golf course into housing for 1000 students, 72 executive homes and 150-250 homes for plebs. 

References:
Hall, David (1998) "Medieval fields in their many forms." British Archaeology 33
Durham County Council "Durham City greenbelt site assessment, part 2: site 7".

Peregrines at the Tate Modern and Other Bird Life

The birds on this blog page are one of the offered templates. I'm too lazy to customize, and I like the birds anyway. Birds are a big part of our life: with feeders in the backyard we have all the garden birds of England: great tits, blue tits, coal tits, robins, wren (occasionally), greenfinches, bullfinches, goldfinches, dunnocks, blackbirds, ring-necked doves, song thrush (rarely these days), sometimes a fly-through of long-tailed tits, and jackdaws and woodpigeons. The last two are unwelcome guests as they hoover through the feed too fast. But I don't mind fattening up the woodpigeons – we might have to make a meal of them some day the way the economy is going.

The birds seem to like it when we come to the table to eat. Perhaps they can see us through the patio door windows, but our presence must be reassuring because when we eat, the birds come in to eat, too. Maybe they think we keep away the neighborhood cats, who have at times been found to be lurking in the nearby bushes.

A recent trip to the Tate Modern was to see the peregrines that often roost on the tower. The RSPB* had set up a viewing stand with two tripod binoculars. The peregrines are one of several pairs now nesting around London and like high ledges on which to roost. The day we saw the peregrine, it looked like a feathery humpty dumpty – just a half-oval shape plunked on the ledge. Not the regal hunting bird I was expecting. Still, it was nice to spot it.

A friend with a very black eye thought he looked like a peregrine with its black face mask. Do you think so, too?

*The Royal Society for the Preservation of Birds