Signs of the times

 

It cannot be happening already, can it? I have not had my summer holiday yet and I am not ready for this. But yes, some trees are losing their leaves and some are looking distinctly autumnal. I am used to horse chestnut leaves going pale and brown early, but not in August. It is true though, on my journeys down country lanes I can see yellowing leaves and some are beginning to drop. I think it must be the drought, but I have heard other signs of the turning of the season.

Last night Mr T was closing the window when he heard hooting.

‘Too-woo.’

I heard it too when I went over to listen. It was haunting around the far woodland over the field to us. It is the male tawny owl calling to his mate.

The female replied ‘Too-whit’.

I used to hear them calling from our ash tree but only in the autumn or early spring to establish their territory. They are getting ready for next year’s nesting and breeding already.

It is hard to think that our season might be changing and even harder to imagine that spring is just around the corner in other parts of the world. Last week we had some wonderful visitors from Australia They are my first cousins. The eldest was born in the small Yorkshire village where I was and we were school children together, but in the 1950s, they emigrated. My uncle and aunt took the opportunity offered by £10 tickets to Australia. I remember them going, I walked down the village street to the railway station. I was seven years old and waved them off to the land of ‘milk and honey’. The steam train was big and noisy. I watched full of hope as it went on its way to Hull on the first leg of the long journey by ship to the other side of the world.

When I retired, I fulfilled my dream and travelled to see them all again. My uncle and aunt met me at Tasmania airport and we recognised each other even after around sixty years apart. Then after another twenty years here were my cousins back to see me. They had journeyed around Britain before coming here. It made me reflect on what are important landmarks in our country, beautiful scenery perhaps, momentous events or famous peoples’ birthplaces.

I was reminded of their visit when a Shropshire town was looking for new street names. They hoped to reflect the essence of the town. The council wanted the names to tell of the town’s heritage. Maybe a task for school children. They are often good at knowing what is important.

(Taken from my column in the Shropshire Star)

 

 A wombat brooch brought from Tasmania by my cousin. I held a real wombat when I was last there about twenty yeas ago