84 Golden Oriole -1

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During the second world war my father was away. He was a soldier for six years, chased from Greece and Crete by the Germans, more successful in North Africa and Italy.

During those war years in England, I was so lucky. My mother was such a wonderful person to live with and to be brought up by. She loved life. She loved nature. Our walks together were so enriching for me. She revelled in the joy of tracing the effect of geological history on the landscapes we were in. She would suddenly reach down to the ground and pick up a rock, ‘Ah, magnesium limestone!’ And then, a few minutes later, ‘Ah! oolitic limestone and she would drop brick sized specimens into the bag on my back. I was only five at the time, and carrying these heavy weights distorted the shape of my spine and this can clearly be seen to this day. In a less evident way, I am still fascinated by rocks and landscape. We are what we have experienced.

My mother loved, not only rocks but flowers and trees and especially birds. One summer’s afternoon, in North Yorkshire, near Whitby, she suddenly gave me her binoculars and said, ‘Look in the top of that horse chestnut tree! I think there’s a Golden Oriole! Can you see it? Bright yellow with black wings!’

We watched the Golden Oriole for about twenty minutes, moving around in the foliage, then it disappeared.

Golden Orioles are migrant birds flying from South Africa to Europe every spring and returning late summer, but they do not normally come to Britain. Even in the summer Britain is too cold for them. This Golden Oriole had been blown off course. It didn’t belong in Britain.

We were very excited. We went to the same place the next day and the next but we didn’t see it again. And the next holidays we went back to the same place hoping to see it but we didn’t. Year after year we went until I grew up and didn’t go on holiday anymore with my mother and father.

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