Life and Times of a Wandering Minstrel

But how to begin, I know I’ll treat you to the first draft of the book I’m writing, started in 2013 and still not finished although I should point out I’ve had this short story proof read since, consequently the grammar has been corrected but the essence of the true story still remains.





You may be wondering about me by now dear reader the writer of this little tale and how I first became interested in birds in the first place. One of the things small boys were interested in the early nineteen fifties was egg collecting, which is now illegal and has been so since nineteen fifty-four. Although I now see this practice as abhorrent. However, in my defence I was too young to fully realize quite what I was doing, since it was a very common practice in those days, and not seen as doing anything wrong at all by most people. It’s hard to believe now I know but once it was indeed the case. My brother and I would only ever take one egg of course, but it still does not make it right, but by the time I reached twelve my interest in bird nesting had moved on to music and no longer played a part in my life although my interest in the majestic Sparrowhawk has never waned.



Nonetheless, to this very day I can still remember my excitement when my older brother came home and said he had found a Sparrowhawks nest. So off we both went right to the very wood in question, however as we approached the large conifer tree one of only three in this particular wood, there was no sight or sounds to be heard which my brother thought was very strange, as Sparrowhawks normally give a loud alarm call at any human approaching their nest. Suddenly John pushed me to one side as the top of an old rotten tree came crashing down having been dislodge by a Grey Squirrel jumping out.



Having seen no sign of any Sparrowhawks we began to look around on the ground for what I had no idea. But It was not very long before my brother’s voice rang out, I’ve found them, both male and female stuffed down an old Rabbit burrow, since the damn gamekeeper had shot them both, it was normal practice in those days to stuff the corpses down Rabbit holes so no one would find the evidence, my brother knew of this but this was all unknown to me still only being very young. He has since told me that the gamekeeper’s gibbet had laid not that far from the hawk’s nest across the meadow. Although this was fifty-eight years ago the memory is indelibly printed in my mind, and is something I will never forget.



Even to this day it still upsets me every time I recall this dreadful incident. The funny thing is this incident with the gamekeeper has turned out to be a classic case of irony when you come to think of it, because if it had not been for this I probably would never have become interested in Sparrowhawks and would never have had all these years of enjoyment and interest, plus a chance to protect Sparrowhawks in my own small way, by covering up any trace of them such as moulted feathers, egg shells, or droppings, and telling no one of their presence should they wish to do them harm.



However, I digress, I’ve not done too much reading of other people books just lately being out of action and under house arrest so to speak, but instead converting the Sparrowhawk notes I made over last year into a much more readable format. For those whom are not aware my memoire for that is what it is, (sort of) also consists of many unexpected twists and turns. It also consists of recording every single nuance of the daily life of the Sparrowhawk around the clock, throughout the seasons, year after year, country wide starting from 1957 up to five years ago. But why country wide I hear you cry, well believe it or not their behaviour does vary depending of type of habitat etc. Ok you could say I’ve been an idiot, either that or a glutton for punishment take your choice I really don’t mind one little bit.



However, for the last five years I’ve been doing the same thing but this time studying the little owl, including making quite a few nest boxes and installing them country wide on private land in order to make sure they are safe from those intending to do harm. The use of private land is essential for this type of work simply because of public disturbance. So, all in all the book has morphed into a version of War and Peace so far; as for the number of words its well over a million at the last count.



Nonetheless, this brings me to my latest read which I should point out my wife purchased for Christmas, so I’m not guilty for the choice of read dear reader.



Billy Connolly Tall Tales & wee Stories have you read it dear reader, if not you haven’t missed much. Since I couldn’t get passed chapter two since the choice of language was “far too colourful” for my taste even though I like to think I’ve not lived a sheltered life. So, whatever was my wife thinking? Probably an age thing is all I can say, I jest of course.



Roger Daltrey my story, being book number two (I read a lot of books.) Again, the beginning was quite interesting since I can relate to much of his experiences particularly making one’s own guitar being a rite of passage in those days. As for the rest I found it repetitive and boring sorry Roger, or is it Jolly Roger since I never could tell the difference.



For those who may be wondering what I’m doing shortly, I’ll be frying double egg, bacon, and beans etc. Yes, I know it’s a bit late but they don’t also call me Eveready for nothing!



At three pm I’ll be having a short knap it’s an age thing) so I’ll see you in my dreams. At this point the music lovers amongst you may like to Google Joe brown - I’ll see you in my dreams - live in Liverpool. Joe is unique as an entertainer since he chats to his audience before breaking into song always being light hearted with very funny anecdotes; so, all I can say is you miss this at your peril.



Alan