The Costa Blanca Bird Club met yesterday morning at Pego Marsh. It was a grey morning, temperature was in the high twenties, with little wind and very humid. Trepidation was in the air as many came prepared to do battle with the anticipated attacks by mosquitos. There were plenty of other stuff flying but I only got bitten once. Perhaps, others sweated needlessly all togged up.
As the cars were being parked a Cetti’s Warbler was heard calling and the first Yellow Wagtail was seen. Further down the track there were numerous Goldfinches (Jilguero) drinking from a puddle with Serin (Verdicillo), Chaffinch (Pinzon Vulgar) and a Bluethroat (Pechiazul). There were numerous Grey Herons (Garza Real), Little Egret (Garceta Comun) with some Cattle Egrets ( Garcilla Bueyera) showing later amongst the rice fields and so there was plenty of cover.
Two Marsh Harriers (Aguilucho Lagunero Occidental) were soon up and about and on a pylon close to N332 was an Osprey ( Aguila Pescadora). One was later seen with a fish on this same perch.
We carried on and on one of the banks I had the pleasure of seeing in the scope, at one time, a Bluethroat , Grey Wagtail (Lavandera Boyera) and a Tree Sparrow (Gorrion Molinero). Lying in one of the puddles waving its pincers around was an American Crayfish. Fran tried to get it to play but without any success. We saw Common Starling ( but not Spotless. Pete warned us of Kingfisher (Martin Pescador) as it flew overs.
There was a Little Ringed Plover (Chorlitejo Chico), then a Snipe (Agachadiza Comun) flew up and disappeared again amongst the rice. A Zitting Sisticola (Buitron)flew and perched giving us a good view of it. Our first not-so-obvious young bird was a first winter (Northern) Wheatear (Collalba Gris). Its white eye stripe distinguished it from a Black-eared Wheatear (Collalba Rubia)
At the corner where the river flows in there was a Cetti’s calling and somewhere among the reeds we could here Water Rail’s (Rascon Europeo) duetting. At one stage, just before lunch, there were four raptors high in the sky and far away. The opinion could be that one might have been a Bonelli’s Eagle (Aguila-azor Perdicera) with two Marsh Harriers or even Booted (Aguililla Calzada. They were a long way away to know what they really were. Add to these sightings were Stonechat (Tarabilla Comun) and Black Redstart (Colirrojo Tizon)
Lunch was in the lovely village of Forno at The Nautilus which was an enjoyable interlude. It was such a friendly occasion that gave us a time to talk with friends and acquaintances. After sufficient replenishment we were summoned to see what the rest of the afternoon could bring. It was decided that we should try the opposite side of the road from where we had been. This produced an exceptional sight in that we disturbed a juvenile Purple Heron with something in its feet. Apart from a flock of Jackdaws, there was nothing to write home about. The hour was five in the afternoon and so it was decided to end the day.
We had with us the very knowledgeable and friendly Els and Stefan whose identification skills helped us considerably.
Michelle and I stayed locally at Hotel Font Salada which is just off the N332 and situated in the citrus groves with an established charm of its own. It is both rural and modern with a bit of quirkiness thrown in for good measure. The restaurant looks very good although we did not eat there. We would stay there again but the nearest shops are in Oliva.
The following morning was again grey and cloudy with some wind. We retraced our journey of yesterday morning. I had an excellent view of a Little Ringed Plover and later on I watched a perched Bluethroat with a Sardinian in the background while a Cetti’s was calling. Michelle watched a group of Yellow Wagtails but couldn’t get a decent shot of them. We had a glimpse of a flying Kingfisher and that was about it. We spent two relaxed hours and would have stayed longer but it was very quiet. There was not a Water Rail to be heard and so we headed for home.
Friday 19 October 2012
Tuesday 16 October 2012
TENTH OPEN MIC
THE TENTH OPEN MIC
WE HAVE DONE IT ONCE AGAIN AT
10TH ‘Open Mic’ held at Chadwick’s, Villamartin, on 8th October which was supported by members of the poetry group Stanza Mar Menor and Torrevieja Writers Circle. This was again another successful evening of poetry, prose and short stories.
Subjects were diverse but then that is what writing and creativity should be all about. Great titles such as ‘Genetic String’ and ‘The Circus’ were read by Margaret Rowland. Kathy Rollinson entertained us with her recital of the end of the world. Grim stuff you may think but fun. An aged uncle’s false teeth were turned into poetic form by Avril Dorman and Sue Champion brought a more serious one about ‘Saving the Elephant’ and so we should. Kathy had already said her bit on animals performing in circuses but it’s tough in the wild too.
Travelling into London allowed David Urion to give his view of Oxford Street on a July day where he spoke of silly ‘Chavs’ in absurd fashions. He writes the most provocative of lines whereas John Edwards’ poem on his journey to Bilbao to see the exhibition of David Hockney put culture back into the proceedings!
Others entertained too but Douglas Hill finished off with his ‘risque’, personalised take on ‘The Listeners’ which, for me, hit the spot in terms of humour and made his point very clearly. Sex is part of life, isn’t it?
I cannot mention everyone but as far as I am concerned every person that walks up to that microphone and performs something that they have created or some piece that has inspired them – then they are all stars.
New faces stepped up to deliver and they were well received by a supportive audience. You don’t have to read as some of our regulars just come to listen, enjoy a social occasion and sip their orange juices. The venue is ideal and on winter evenings we are the only ones making a noise.
I would hope that these few words will have inspired you to come along for we have another one on MONDAY, DECEMBER 3rd at the usual venue of CHADWICKS in VILLAMARTIN – So why not come along as well.
You can contact John Edwards on 676257833 if you wish to know more.
WE HAVE DONE IT ONCE AGAIN AT
10TH ‘Open Mic’ held at Chadwick’s, Villamartin, on 8th October which was supported by members of the poetry group Stanza Mar Menor and Torrevieja Writers Circle. This was again another successful evening of poetry, prose and short stories.
Subjects were diverse but then that is what writing and creativity should be all about. Great titles such as ‘Genetic String’ and ‘The Circus’ were read by Margaret Rowland. Kathy Rollinson entertained us with her recital of the end of the world. Grim stuff you may think but fun. An aged uncle’s false teeth were turned into poetic form by Avril Dorman and Sue Champion brought a more serious one about ‘Saving the Elephant’ and so we should. Kathy had already said her bit on animals performing in circuses but it’s tough in the wild too.
Travelling into London allowed David Urion to give his view of Oxford Street on a July day where he spoke of silly ‘Chavs’ in absurd fashions. He writes the most provocative of lines whereas John Edwards’ poem on his journey to Bilbao to see the exhibition of David Hockney put culture back into the proceedings!
Others entertained too but Douglas Hill finished off with his ‘risque’, personalised take on ‘The Listeners’ which, for me, hit the spot in terms of humour and made his point very clearly. Sex is part of life, isn’t it?
I cannot mention everyone but as far as I am concerned every person that walks up to that microphone and performs something that they have created or some piece that has inspired them – then they are all stars.
New faces stepped up to deliver and they were well received by a supportive audience. You don’t have to read as some of our regulars just come to listen, enjoy a social occasion and sip their orange juices. The venue is ideal and on winter evenings we are the only ones making a noise.
I would hope that these few words will have inspired you to come along for we have another one on MONDAY, DECEMBER 3rd at the usual venue of CHADWICKS in VILLAMARTIN – So why not come along as well.
You can contact John Edwards on 676257833 if you wish to know more.
I walked out this morning and traced my footsteps from my springtime journeys. Obviously our African visitors had left but there was still plenty to hear and see. Two Linnets and a lone Greenfinch were high up on the wires. About 50 Goldfinces flew up and there must have been at least 30odd Linnets flying and feeding. I could hear a Sardinian Warbler rattling away and then it showed clearly. I went on to the canal and reedbed and there was activity all around me. I find it always pays to keep still and so I stood by a clump of reeds which were in full sun and waited. A female Blackcap - maybe a juvenile one - perched close at hand. Such a great view of it with its eye glinting in the sunlight.I moved on, heard Green Woodpecker calling and then saw a couple fly. A glimpse of red revealed a Robin. I searched the openings on the old farm buildings and there was a Little Owl sitting on a corner On the way back I stopped to look at a sunny scrubby bank and (I believe) a male Dartford Warbler briefly perched a top a bush. I could clearly see its 'cocked' tail and having checked the bird bible that's is what I think it is. A Partridge ran, another Sardinian popped up close by with a Great tit calling. I found it in an almond tree with a few Chaffinch. I think that this was an hour very well spent. I intend to do this regularly through the winter months and maybe focus on the Dartford, Cetti's and Zitting Cisticola as well. There are normally Southern Grey Shrikes here but not today. They may have had to move on as some of the reed had been cleared away.
Sunday 7 October 2012
My origins lie in Herefordshire and I have always looked on the village of my birth, Tarrington, as my 'home' wherever I have lived. They are about to bury a 'Time Capsule' there this coming week and I submitted the following two pages for inclusion.
THE JOHN EDWARDS FAMILY IN TARRINGTON
John Edwards (my grandfather) was born in Woolhope in 1865 and he moved with his father another John Edwards (1847-1930) and his wife Frances Anne (nee Goode) to Croft Cottage, Aldersend Road prior to April, 1901.
My father George (16th May 1909-18th April 1997) was born at 13 Pear Tree Cottage where both of the above mentioned Johns were living together with George’s mother Edith Mary (nee Bright). I was born in that same room on 22nd February 1945.
My mother Iris Miriam Sloman was born in the garrison town of Aldershot in 1912 and because her father’s military postings she and her two younger siblings were left in the care of their mother. Due to a lack of care all three were fostered out to the ‘The Goode Family’ on Common Hill, Fownhope. I visited there as a child and found this to be a typical abode with only basic amenities. I know that my mother suffered as a consequence of her treatment in childhood and she would have left school at the age of 14 years with an education that had been diminished by absence away from the class room due to illness. I think that love would have been in short supply with a father only able to visit occasionally but I knew that she had a loving and supportive younger sister. Only having received some education she was put into service at Breinton and then she was employed by ‘The Miss Lloyds’ at Tarrington Court. On April 7th 1934 she took the short walk across the orchard to the cottage after attending her wedding to my father in Tarrington Church.
She entered a very basic cottage that had only two men as occupants where any comfort would have been minimal and there she put her ‘home-making’ skills to work. She succeeded for I was born into a moderately comfortable home that was full of love and care. It was basic. There was one shiny brass tap in the corner of the kitchen and a black-leaded range in the living room. This was soon replaced by a fireplace and cooking was done with paraffin burners. The food was always good and we ate well but we could never afford any excess. Farm labourers’ wages were poor with these being supplemented only by seasonal hop and fruit picking.
I can remember frost on the inside of the windows and a ruddy face from sitting round the open fire but with a draught on the back of my neck. Bath time was a simple but quick affair in a galvanised tin bath with kettles of boiling water being the only source of heat. The toilet was the common earth closet at the end of the garden in the same brick building as the ‘pigs’ cotts’. Cool in summer, draughty in winter but good for the environment as sewage treatment consume s energy. Nothing was wasted in those days as the human waste was added to the kitchen garden every couple of years or so, in the autumn, which seems to account for the fact that garden soil is black and no longer exhibits the red Herefordshire Sandstone colour. This garden provided almost all of our vegetables and the front garden was well attended to for every season of the year. It was a riot of colour. Even poor people have pride and they prided themselves with their gardens. That was the way it was then.
Electricity came to the home, in 1950 to replace the paraffin lamps and now we had light at the flick of a switch!
My grandfather, my mother always said, was good to her and this must have made up for the previous years of her life. I remember him too and when he died on 18th October 1953 it was a sad place to be. Phil Wargent and Geoff Smith (Maurice’s uncle) came to the cottage with a clapper which had sheared off one of his beloved bells, to show my ill grandfather. They all went upstairs with it and I think that was his last conscious thought on this earth. A broken clapper brought to show him and a true countryman’s life came to an end.
The 1847 John was one of the founder members of the Herefordshire Dioscesan Guild of Bell Ringers and taught his sons how to ring. He lies in a formerly unmarked grave just below the tower in a place that was pointed out to me by my father. In 2009 I placed a stone to commemorate his life, his wife’s life and my parents’ lives who were both cremated.
My grandfather is now part of that history and a photograph of him is in the vestry at Tarrington to commemorate the peal of 1913. ‘Clavis Campanogia’ or Key to the Art of Bell-Ringing was bought in 1886 by John Edwards (born 1847) from Richard W Hooper and is in the possession of Mary Lewis –a descendent of my grandfather’s brother Charles- and whose husband was awarded the MBE for his service to the community and campanology. This book was published in 1788 and was given to the bell ringers of Fownhope by John Rudhall in 1794.
Mary was also an accomplished bell ringer and rang in an all women peal to commemorate the refurbishment of the Five Sisters Window in York Minister. She also possesses the set of hand-bells that my grandfather once owned. The interest in ringing did not extend to my father and sadly will end with Mary. There are many others that are still prepared to toll the bells and keep tradition alive
My childhood was pure freedom for once I was old enough to get out of the gate I had acres of beautiful countryside to play in. We were surrounded by orchards with all the blossom, fruit and wildlife to go with it. Economics intervened and by the mid 1960’s twenty of my lovely orchards had disappeared. Tarrington Court I came to know well for on its pond I made rafts from a piece of cowl from the hop kilns, we dammed the stream and climbed the yew tree in the centre of the lawn. We played in the attic which was once my mother’s bedroom when she was in service there. I came to know every field on The Leys Farm but not with the same knowledge that my father had for he worked every one on that 1920’s American Case tractor. He baled the first bale in the parish-other than in a rickyard-and cut the first corn with a combine harvester. I can remember threshing machines, binders cutting corn into sheaves, milk being delivered in a churn from a horse drawn cart and whooping cough and polio. Also whist drives in village halls, church fetes and seaside trips.
I can also remember those that are not with us like Tony Smith who died of ‘lock-jaw’ when only seven and whose tiny remains are in the new churchyard along with others I knew. I still go back to say hullo and to remember. I can fondly say thank you, Tarrington, for giving me life with some excellent memories that I do fall back on.
THE JOHN EDWARDS FAMILY IN TARRINGTON
John Edwards (my grandfather) was born in Woolhope in 1865 and he moved with his father another John Edwards (1847-1930) and his wife Frances Anne (nee Goode) to Croft Cottage, Aldersend Road prior to April, 1901.
My father George (16th May 1909-18th April 1997) was born at 13 Pear Tree Cottage where both of the above mentioned Johns were living together with George’s mother Edith Mary (nee Bright). I was born in that same room on 22nd February 1945.
My mother Iris Miriam Sloman was born in the garrison town of Aldershot in 1912 and because her father’s military postings she and her two younger siblings were left in the care of their mother. Due to a lack of care all three were fostered out to the ‘The Goode Family’ on Common Hill, Fownhope. I visited there as a child and found this to be a typical abode with only basic amenities. I know that my mother suffered as a consequence of her treatment in childhood and she would have left school at the age of 14 years with an education that had been diminished by absence away from the class room due to illness. I think that love would have been in short supply with a father only able to visit occasionally but I knew that she had a loving and supportive younger sister. Only having received some education she was put into service at Breinton and then she was employed by ‘The Miss Lloyds’ at Tarrington Court. On April 7th 1934 she took the short walk across the orchard to the cottage after attending her wedding to my father in Tarrington Church.
She entered a very basic cottage that had only two men as occupants where any comfort would have been minimal and there she put her ‘home-making’ skills to work. She succeeded for I was born into a moderately comfortable home that was full of love and care. It was basic. There was one shiny brass tap in the corner of the kitchen and a black-leaded range in the living room. This was soon replaced by a fireplace and cooking was done with paraffin burners. The food was always good and we ate well but we could never afford any excess. Farm labourers’ wages were poor with these being supplemented only by seasonal hop and fruit picking.
I can remember frost on the inside of the windows and a ruddy face from sitting round the open fire but with a draught on the back of my neck. Bath time was a simple but quick affair in a galvanised tin bath with kettles of boiling water being the only source of heat. The toilet was the common earth closet at the end of the garden in the same brick building as the ‘pigs’ cotts’. Cool in summer, draughty in winter but good for the environment as sewage treatment consume s energy. Nothing was wasted in those days as the human waste was added to the kitchen garden every couple of years or so, in the autumn, which seems to account for the fact that garden soil is black and no longer exhibits the red Herefordshire Sandstone colour. This garden provided almost all of our vegetables and the front garden was well attended to for every season of the year. It was a riot of colour. Even poor people have pride and they prided themselves with their gardens. That was the way it was then.
Electricity came to the home, in 1950 to replace the paraffin lamps and now we had light at the flick of a switch!
My grandfather, my mother always said, was good to her and this must have made up for the previous years of her life. I remember him too and when he died on 18th October 1953 it was a sad place to be. Phil Wargent and Geoff Smith (Maurice’s uncle) came to the cottage with a clapper which had sheared off one of his beloved bells, to show my ill grandfather. They all went upstairs with it and I think that was his last conscious thought on this earth. A broken clapper brought to show him and a true countryman’s life came to an end.
The 1847 John was one of the founder members of the Herefordshire Dioscesan Guild of Bell Ringers and taught his sons how to ring. He lies in a formerly unmarked grave just below the tower in a place that was pointed out to me by my father. In 2009 I placed a stone to commemorate his life, his wife’s life and my parents’ lives who were both cremated.
My grandfather is now part of that history and a photograph of him is in the vestry at Tarrington to commemorate the peal of 1913. ‘Clavis Campanogia’ or Key to the Art of Bell-Ringing was bought in 1886 by John Edwards (born 1847) from Richard W Hooper and is in the possession of Mary Lewis –a descendent of my grandfather’s brother Charles- and whose husband was awarded the MBE for his service to the community and campanology. This book was published in 1788 and was given to the bell ringers of Fownhope by John Rudhall in 1794.
Mary was also an accomplished bell ringer and rang in an all women peal to commemorate the refurbishment of the Five Sisters Window in York Minister. She also possesses the set of hand-bells that my grandfather once owned. The interest in ringing did not extend to my father and sadly will end with Mary. There are many others that are still prepared to toll the bells and keep tradition alive
My childhood was pure freedom for once I was old enough to get out of the gate I had acres of beautiful countryside to play in. We were surrounded by orchards with all the blossom, fruit and wildlife to go with it. Economics intervened and by the mid 1960’s twenty of my lovely orchards had disappeared. Tarrington Court I came to know well for on its pond I made rafts from a piece of cowl from the hop kilns, we dammed the stream and climbed the yew tree in the centre of the lawn. We played in the attic which was once my mother’s bedroom when she was in service there. I came to know every field on The Leys Farm but not with the same knowledge that my father had for he worked every one on that 1920’s American Case tractor. He baled the first bale in the parish-other than in a rickyard-and cut the first corn with a combine harvester. I can remember threshing machines, binders cutting corn into sheaves, milk being delivered in a churn from a horse drawn cart and whooping cough and polio. Also whist drives in village halls, church fetes and seaside trips.
I can also remember those that are not with us like Tony Smith who died of ‘lock-jaw’ when only seven and whose tiny remains are in the new churchyard along with others I knew. I still go back to say hullo and to remember. I can fondly say thank you, Tarrington, for giving me life with some excellent memories that I do fall back on.
I WANTED TO WRITE MORE BUT..
On the trip to England I had hoped that I would come back with several pieces at least but the only one that has been completed is the following one.
TO BILBAO for HOCKNEY
Standing corn, stubble fields to deciduous leaf,
arable beige gives way to strong greens.
High ridges close in as roads descend.
Apartments rise to ten above
topped only by heady luxuriant hills.
Iberdrola’s massive tower points up
like an expensive finger dictating
tomorrow’s bill – a statement of intent.
Museo Guggenheim, resplendent Bilbao
shines in summer sun. A pale blue clouded sky
plays with the metal plated façade, eyes tricked.
Stone steps sweep upwards
taking the vision with them, attracted now
as strong shapes dominate the thoughts.
Metal designs, make of them what you will
to ships prows, to iceburg bulk, to tin cans.
Stone, titanium, glass and, inside, Hockney.
Make the time, to create the space inside your head
to allow these master craftsmen in.
John Edwards©03.10.12
On the trip to England I had hoped that I would come back with several pieces at least but the only one that has been completed is the following one.
TO BILBAO for HOCKNEY
Standing corn, stubble fields to deciduous leaf,
arable beige gives way to strong greens.
High ridges close in as roads descend.
Apartments rise to ten above
topped only by heady luxuriant hills.
Iberdrola’s massive tower points up
like an expensive finger dictating
tomorrow’s bill – a statement of intent.
Museo Guggenheim, resplendent Bilbao
shines in summer sun. A pale blue clouded sky
plays with the metal plated façade, eyes tricked.
Stone steps sweep upwards
taking the vision with them, attracted now
as strong shapes dominate the thoughts.
Metal designs, make of them what you will
to ships prows, to iceburg bulk, to tin cans.
Stone, titanium, glass and, inside, Hockney.
Make the time, to create the space inside your head
to allow these master craftsmen in.
John Edwards©03.10.12
The need to see open spaces again found me heading towards The Eagle Owl site. It was late in the afternoon when I put the scope onto a known perch for this large bird. The distance here is great and as I was about to leave I saw a 'falcon' with a kill in that same tree. I could see the white face markings only with the magnification as high as possible which leads to think that it may have been a Peregrine Falcon. This hour or so saw many swallows heading south and not a lot else.
Saturday involved a hot walk into La Mata and again the swallows were very evident but nothing exceptional until I put the scope on an Osprey perched on the island. The lake was almost totally devoid of waders or other water birds.A loud bang saw the Osprey together with about 10 gulls fly away.However this lone bird did make the effort worthwhile.
Saturday involved a hot walk into La Mata and again the swallows were very evident but nothing exceptional until I put the scope on an Osprey perched on the island. The lake was almost totally devoid of waders or other water birds.A loud bang saw the Osprey together with about 10 gulls fly away.However this lone bird did make the effort worthwhile.
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