Saturday, 12 December 2015

The Black Swan was by himself near the bridge.

His girlfriend was at the far end of the Serpentine. It looked as if their romance was on hold again. But a few minutes later she came cruising up the lake and he greeted her rapturously with little hooting noises, raising and lowering his head.

Then, of course, he took this as a cue for some very bad behaviour.

There was also a Cormorant fishing under the bridge. Here it is swimming under water.

In the afternoon the wind rose, and the Black-Headed Gulls were having to fly quite fast to stay in the same place.

The outflow of the Serpentine is constantly getting blocked by fallen leaves, which two gardeners are struggling to clear with rakes, a difficult task because they have to stand in the water in waders and reach over the top of the weir into the dark cavern underneath. The water level has risen a couple of inches, flooding part of the shore near the island. This gave a Pied Wagtail a little pool to hunt in.

The usual crowd of Blackbirds were picking off the remaining berries in the rowan tree.

They were joined by a couple of Mistle Thrushes.

On the fence near the bridge there was a reminder of a sad seventieth anniversary.

Now we remember him too.


  1. Sad but lovely remembrance. One of the things that struck me more forcefully when I first visited England was the memorials placed in parks, church yards, on walls - the flowers, the plaques, the garlands, the ribbons, the handwritten notes, left for the nameless recent dead, or for those fallen in the war (in any war). Some of them almost brought me to tears (notably Scott's flag in Exeter). I envy how England cherishes memory.

    1. When my niece was little she could never pass the village war memorial without bursting into tears.

  2. Requiescat in pace Frederick Folliot,