Notes from the country with Vicky Turrell

  “No larkin’ about,” said the notice. Not that I am of the age to lark about, but it was reminding us to be on best behaviour, because although the sign seemed funny it had a serious note. We were being asked to steer clear of a mound where our rapidly declining larks nest. They nest on the ground here and one was in the sky hovering and singing its high note song. I have never seen a skylark’s nest. I often heard its song especially in my childhood. We were in Ifton Meadows going for a walk. It used to be colliery land but now there is no coal to be seen and the grass and shrubs have taken over. Of course, the wildlife has moved in as we are hoping it will do in our new garden. So far, the common small birds have ventured in along with the crow family. We see house martins overhead and hope that one day they will spot our eaves which are just the place for a nest. I spotted a house martins’ nest yesterday. I was sitting down at the entrance to a nearby park. It was a hot sunn...

  It came straight back the following day in the post. How could that be, we wondered? It had taken me a long time to secure a postal vote in our new house. I thought it would be a simple matter of changing address. But no, we had to prove who we were all over again, then when that was done, we had to apply (again) for a postal vote, they are not transferrable from one address to another even though we are the same people. We put our votes in envelopes. You must be sure that the Shropshire Council address is showing in the envelope window. Your own address is unseen. Except one of us (and I am not saying which one) put the form back in the wrong way and our address was showing, so the following day it was posted back through our house letter box. The swallows are back. I see them flying over the house catching insects on the wing. But sadly, they are so rare that when we see one through the window we shout out, “There’s a swallow,” and we rush outside to watch as it wings i...

I have had a letter from the Department for Work and Pensions, which is always a serious matter. Do they want money from me? Well, no in this case they were giving me money. ‘Now that you are approaching 80’ was the heading. It went on with what seemed exciting news. ‘You are entitled to a higher amount of State Pension.’ That was so good to read, we can always do with more money in these days of rising prices. How much would my increase be? ‘Age addition of 25p per week will be payable…’ so that is an increase of £1 a month, not even enough to buy a first-class stamp. To add insult to injury there were two spelling mistakes in my address. The address the DWP had written was not a valid address and their computer had not spotted it. I rang, of course, as the Government department should have my correct address, there was nowhere online to do this, only change of address.  After over an hour of being on hold I was able to speak to someone and put matters right. At least I hope i...

  I could not resist. I walked past and there it was on the pavement outside the shop. I know it is the wrong time. I know that I do not really need it and I know that a fruit tree outside a supermarket will have been having to tolerate extremes of temperature. It was the last one, so it had been rejected by lots of other customers. But I bought it, despite all the danger warnings in my head. Was it because I felt sorry for it being left on the shelf (literally)? Was it because of the attractive presentation and flashy label? Was it because it was cheap? No, I think because it was a ‘chancer’. I remember that my father who was a farmer used to buy animals that no one else wanted in the market. They were in the ‘bargain basement’ so to speak. He could afford to buy the fit animals, but he could not resist the challenge of a ‘chancer’. He sometimes used to buy a ewe cheaply because it had not ‘taken’ with the tup that year and did not have a lamb. But he was nearly always lucky a...

  “What are these little brown birds?” She asked. “Sand martins, like house martins but smaller and browner, all the way from Africa,” I told her. “Well, I did not know that! You learn something every day.” The sand martins were circling overhead in little darting flocks. If you stood still near the crumbling clay cliffs the birds disappeared like a magic trick, but when you stood back, there they were crowding the cliff face. This year their tunnel nests have gone. I sat at the foot of the cliff to rest but the whole slope moved as if there was an avalanche at my back. The cliff is eroding fast and over the winter it has taken the carefully excavated tunnels of the martins from last year. They did not seem to mind though and did their job all over again with excited shrieks helping each other like miners at a coal face. You see sand martins, if you are lucky, before any of the other swallow family, they are our earliest summer visitor. There are few birds in our new ga...

  It has happened again. “Road closed,” it said. But this time it was not for road works or filling potholes. It is for the toads. At this time of year toads are on the move, walking en masse to their breeding grounds and it just so happens that I came to a road that crosses a path on their migration route. The road has been closed temporarily for about six weeks so that these amphibians can cross in safety. This is an official ‘toad crossing’ without the zebra markings. More than a thousand will use it in these next few weeks. You would think that our new garden was an official crossing for birds. We have a bird table which we have hung with all sorts of treats, peanuts, fat balls and mixed seeds. Added to that I offer titbits from the kitchen like breadcrumbs and cheese morsels. But the blue tits and other little birds turn up their beaks and fly over to the other houses. Is their bird table smarter than ours? Or is their food more delicious than mine? Whatever the reason t...