Hard times

 

‘Penalty notice’. There it was in bright contrast writing under the windscreen wiper. You could not miss it shining out with its black and yellow squares round the edge and in a polythene cover, which it needed as it was pouring with rain. My friend had been to the hospital for an appointment but had not been able to park on the site, so drove to a side road and parked there. But the wait was long and she came back to a parking fine.

Now Shropshire has had a good idea. The Council is to run a free Park and Ride service to the Royal Shrewsbury Hospital. Hopefully, gone are the days when I had to go with Mr T so that he could drop me off at the main entrance and then find a parking space.

There were no worries about parking when I did the Big Garden Birdwatch last weekend. Even though it was bad weather I could look out of the window and watch. My top bird was the blue tit. At one time I had ten eating from the feeders hanging from my magnolia tree with its buds already swelling.

Over the country and in Shropshire the house sparrow was the most numerous. Ours have almost disappeared and the starling seems to have gone altogether. Where are they? Are they on someone else’s bird table. Are they giving better breakfasts than me? Or are the birds in trouble?

This year I saw the familiar birds but then came along the shy siskin. A green and yellow bird with a black cap. This is my first so far this winter. We have alder trees and last winter I saw these little bright birds just catching the sunshine at the top of our trees. They were searching for any remaining seeds which looked like black globes lit up in the weak sunshine.

It is a hard time for the small birds and they have to become more inventive about where to get food. If we run out, we go again to the supermarket, but birds must try harder. I have seen goldfinches pecking inside the dry stems of our old fennel plant. What is in there? Perhaps hiding insects or juicy fragments of the plant not quite dried up? The fieldfares are eyeing the fallen apples one bird seems to be guarding the whole lot. Then he stands astride his chosen one until all that is left is the thin papery skin of a hollow fruit.

The blue tits are foraging in the mahonia for every last pollen grain, but the optimistic wren is in and out of the nestbox at our front door with moss.

(Taken from my column in the Shropshire Star)