As per my Waxwing notes last year, these amateurish jottings - which are making their appearance in this casual LBC Bird Chat section - make no claim whatsoever to any scientific content : they are not notes for a PhD thesis nor for inclusion in "British Birds" ot the "Ibis" for critical review, and I lay no claim to originality. They are merely the somewhat rambling observations and occasional personal recollections of an average birder - plus, you have been warned...some biographical notes - and doubtless the more professionally-minded birder will treat them and view them in that light anyway. The less patient reader can skip sections as wished and I suppose the really impatient reader can skip the whole lot.
Nevertheless, I hope that they will be of interest to some members, especially to those who understand the rambling tendencies of a nigh octogenarian birder, as they do contain, once the biographical bits are out of the way, the thoughts and experiences of a keen Spotted Flycatcher addict who spent considerable time on their trail last year and has also done, so far this year. As well as drawing on my own personal experiences, I have also invariably gleaned some interesting background information from various authoritative sources, rather than finding new ways of stating recognised facts, so as to make the post more comprehensive and more readable. Where particularly relevant, I have indicated their origin, but I have avoided constantly quoting sources in an effort to make the post less scholastic and hopefully, less hardgoing. These observations will also contain the occasional undeveloped and unpolished reference or comment. So be it.....and after that required disclaimer. let's begin.
My association with Spotted Flycatchers goes back many years.Looking at my teenage notes in my early "Diaries of a Birdwatcher" (1946-1949),there is an entry when I was still a 'stranded war evacuee' living with my family in a war-requisitioned stately home - Pembrey House in S.Wales - and attending Llanelly Boys Grammar School as a 13-year old schoolboy :
18th June 1946.
" I discovered a Tree Creeper's nest in a decaying beech tree only about 2 feet away from a Spotted Flycatcher's nest in the same tree." "(1) TheTree Creeper's nest was behind a piece of loose bark and was constructed of pieces of beech twigs, grass and beech bark. It contained five young whose only adornement was a few fluffy black hairs on their backs." "(2) The Spotted Flycatcher's nest was situated in a hole in the tree from where some bark had been taken out. The nest was composed of moss and lichens and contained four young and one egg - a white colour with red brown bars on it." "LOCALITY - Pembrey House grounds, Pembrey, Carmarthenshire".
I have been asked several times by LBC members how I ended up in South Wales watching Tree Creepers and Spotted Flycatchers just after the War, and also what living through the War was like especially as an evacuee.......BUT please skip these biographical notes if it's Spotted Flycatcher info you are after : that WILL follow in due course....and as this is the Chat section anyway, here goes......
Our house in South London had been destroyed by a bomb in the London Blitz early on in the War.....with my father and mother just about safe in our Anderson air-raid shelter in the back garden a few yards away. When they eventually emerged from the shelter after dawn, having been dug out by rescue workers following the All Clear siren which had sounded, the ARP (Air Raid Precautions) Warden...as per Mr. Hodges in 'Dad's Army...was flabbergasted that they were still alive after the blast effect and seemingly uninjured, having already jotted them down as casualties. In fact, my resourceful father had lined the shelter, including the ceiling, with thick bed matresses specifically against blast. Unfortunately, a number of neighbours were not so fortunate and were killed, some of the 60.000 killed in the overall UK Blitzes, 87,000 seriously injured and 2 million homes destroyed, including ours.
I was particularly upset by the news (sent by letter to my 'evacuee family' in Otford, North Kent ) not so much - as a 7 year old boy - by the thought of the flattened house and dead neighbours, but more by the realisation that my precious makeshift vivarium of mainly frogs, collected on a previous visit home, would also have been blown to smithereens !
My main memories of visiting my parents from that evacuation home in Otford at the time of the Blitz are of watching the aerial dogfights usually very high up in the sky over South London as Spitfires and Hurricanes fought with Messerschmitts 109/110, with us boys then desperately combing the nearby streets looking for bits of souvenir metal.
Mind you, my Otford 'home' itself became close to the action as it was only a dozen miles or so from the fighter station at Biggin Hill, with more dogfights overhead and also at night the drone of German bombers on their way to/from London ....and of course if the German bombers hadn't unloaded all their bombs on London for whatever reason, they dropped them on the way back to the English coast. So the authorities (and my mother) arranged for me to move back, at that time, to our still standing house in S. London, before being moved on to my next host family in Plymouth ...which was then bombed a few times....so I was moved on again later to join up with my own family now in Pembrey, S.Wales.....where the local RAF Pembrey fighter station occasionally attracted the attention of the Luftwaffe....."happy childhood days".... but don't mention the Germans !! At least my growing interest in Natural History , and birds in particular, readily diverted my thoughts away from the real world and into another spellbinding one.
I still remember the Otford semi-detached evacuee 'home' where as a 6 year old I lived alone with a semi-sadistic spinster with ultra house-proud principles and habits......while my older brother's host family living nearby in the same village were kind, thoughtful and quite normal country folk. My hostess, on the other hand, hated having a 'scruffy London kid' foisted onto her by the authorities in her spotlessly clean house and she got her own back on them and on me in several ways : regular banishment to my freeziing cold bedroom because of too much sniffing; serving up to me (I always ate alone) appalling, meagre food consisting mainly of bread and dripping (a congealed animal fat scraped off oven baking trays), potatoes and turnips (as my older brother later recalled hearing from me). When I looked back in later years, I was positive that the woman was scoffing all my rightful ration book coupon monthly allowance of meat, bacon, sausage, fish, eggs, etc, for some nice kitchen smells used to drift up to my freezing bedroom some evenings. The 'Ah, Bisto' adverts can remind me of those days.
Further, as I was forever falling into ditches and ponds on my rambles and kicking stones along the street she took away my shoes and made me wear wellingtons all the time; finally, considering scruffly little London urchins looked even scruffier with their hands in their pockets, she sewed up all my pockets even though the harsh 1940/41 winter had arrived.
Eventually my brother, who had patiently been teaching me the names of birds, butterflies and plants in our rambles, relayed by letter to my mother my misery and one day she arrived to take me back to the joys of the Luftwaffe activity in South London but not before giving the spinster a good piece of her mind.
However, life in South Wales with my 'real' family wasn't exactly a bowl of cherries. The local children sometimes picked on us evacuees as we spoke differently or when we cheekily mimicked their Welsh accent..... and then ran off as fast as we could. Further, in 1943 I missed a whole year's schooling as I contracted two deadly diseases - Diphtheria, followed six months later by Scarlet Fever (most modern doctors will never have seen a case of either). Each disease meant a spell of about four months in an isolation hospital..... and isolation meant just that..... no visitors allowed for four months, followed by several weeks of convalescence. Diptheria was particularly deadly and I remember in about my second week in the isolation hospital another boy of much the same age as me (10), whom I had befriended, died in his bed one night next to me. Fortunately, the Grim Reaper passed me by on both occasions. Did I hear someone say, "To bore other people to death with reminiscences".
When I went back to my Welsh primary school in 1944, I soon had to take my 11+ or selection equivalent.... for the London County Council - LCC - examination board, as we knew we would be returning to London in due course. As I was the only pupil taking the LCC exam in my small Welsh primary school, it was arranged for me to attend to sit the papers on a Saturday morning under the supervision of my form teacher, Mr Dai Rees, with no-one in the school. God will have forgiven him by now for his duplicity but, to cut a long story short re the help I received that Saturday morning, I am sure it was Mr Dai Rees who passed that exam all those years ago rather than his Fred-bach. He must have seen some potential in me to do what he did, thank heavens.... and I think I repaid him in due course by eventual selection for Cambridge and proceeding to a BA and then an MA.
Finally, it may be of interest to know in these days of mega/over the top counselling, that after being bombed out and still suffering from extreme shock, my parents were then expected to walk to the local church hall..... which they duly did, each with a routinely previously prepared emergency suitcase, which they used to take with them into the shelter.... which now, in addition to the clothes they were wearing, became their sole worldly possessions. At the church hall the only counselling on offer for losing their home and almost their life was a "nice cup of tea with biscuits" and. as my mother later recalled, a poster on the wall "Stay Calm and Carry On", plus a previously planned emergency evacuation to South Wales for my mother to join my two sisters there, evacuated with their school from London. My father braved it out, stuck to his job and moved into temporary lodgings in London for a few months...... until his factory was destroyed by bombing and he then joined my mother and sisters in South Wales.
END OF PART ONE
Freddy
PART TWO to follow shortly.
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