Signs of the times: Autumn #15

More comparisons between the British countryside of today and that from 1959-1961 in the paintings of Charles Tunnicliffe in the Ladybird "What to look for..." series of books.

"Hogs, in eating acorns, chew them very small, & reject all the husks.  The plenty of acorns this year avails the hogs of poor men & brings them forward without corn."

Rev. Gilbert White "The Natural History of Selborne", entry from  November 3 1781 (230 years ago the day after tomorrow! Which is pretty cool!)

(Copyright: Ladybird Books)

Autumn Picture 15

Back to my series of blog posts about the wonderful art of Charles Tunnicliffe and the story his paintings told about the state of Britain's wildlife and countryside some 50 years ago when the Ladybird "What to look for in... Spring/Summer/Autumn and Winter" books were first published.

Another romantic painting of a lovely Autumnal rural idyll. A herd of pigs and a flock of wood pigeons are rooting about under an old oak tree, feeding on its fallen acorns. In the background, a traditional-looking wooden barn is backed by poplar trees and some nearby silver birches are turning yellow and gold. In the foreground there is a fairy-ring of little toadstools. The aging oak tree has bracket fungi growing from a cleft in the trunk, showing that, as the book’s text says, “there is rotten wood inside”. Indeed!

Pigs were traditionally a useful domestic animal for turning the bounty of acorns into a useful source of meat, something that cattle cannot do as, apparently, the “sharp little spikes at the crown [of the acorn] accumulate in a cow’s stomach, sometimes with fatal results”. As pigeons can also digest acorns, using their strong-muscled gizzard, they could also be regarded as another traditional mechanism for transforming acorns into something more palatable for people to eat!  I discussed the trajectory of the wood pigeon population of the UK in the first post from the Ladybird Autumn book, here, so I won’t add more now on that story.

We also saw a large female pig, with her piglets, in a picture from the Ladybird Summer book, here, but I didn’t look at pigs in any detail then. Pigs had a traditional role in woodland management in Britain or, looked at differently, pigs were an excellent means of producing edible protein from inedible acorns (well, acorns that are inedible to humans at any rate), a traditional form of foraging/ feeding known as ‘pannage’. In his book ‘People and Woods in Scotland. A History’, eminent Scottish environmental historian Professor Chris Smout notes that a visitor to Scottish woodlands in the past would be impressed by how populated they were by, amongst others, swineherds in the Middle Ages running their pigs among the acorns.

The form of extremely extensive pig meat production shown in the picture couldn’t be further from the means of production by which the bulk of pig meats have been produced in Scotland over the last 50 years, in indoor rearing units. It looks more like the mode of life of wild pigs.  The wild pigs native to Europe, and once native here, were forest-dwellers, as are many of the other wild pig species in the world. It seems that, as a result of escapes from farms and collections and, possibly, as a result of illegal deliberate releases, wild pigs, the wild boars of the media’s vivid reporting (here’s a great example)  are once again living wild in Scotland and elsewhere in Britain. In fact, BBC Radio4 (all hail – we’re not worthy) broadcast a documentary a couple of weeks ago about the very subject, which claimed that there are now records of wild boar living free in nearly every county in the country (although whether that was England or Britain, it wasn’t clear). There’s a lot more interesting information about Britain’s wild boars on this site here.

The fairy ring of toadstools and the bracket fungi could be any of many possible species (it's impossible to tell which from the painting) and I’ve written previously about how little we know about the long-term trends in most of our native fungi species. So, I’m yet again sorry that I can’t comment properly on how well these species are doing compared to 50 years ago!

Nice to be back on the Ladybird seasonal trail again!

Signs of the times: Summer #24 - and a farewell to all that!

More comparisons between the British countryside of today and that from 1959-1961 in the paintings of Charles Tunnicliffe in the Ladybird "What to look for..." series of books.

"See how steadfastly they stand

the cormorants of Lympstone Sand

in ranks, like booties on parade,

with all their better parts displayed.

They face up nobly to the wind

and neatly tuck their tails behind

and number off from left to right.

Their hearts are true. Their eyes are bright.

They never twitch or jig about

But hold their heads high, chest puffed out

and perk their bills up, if you please,

to smackbang forty five degrees.

These cormorant of Lympstone Sand

defer to none in all the land

nor ever let their bearing flag

lest some fond souls might think them shag."

Ralph Rochester, "Cormorant"

(Copyright: Ladybird Books)

Summer Picture 24
Oh, why has Summer felt like such a long season (in blogland, at least)? Here we are in November and I have FINALLY reached the final picture in the Ladybird Summer book! I find it interesting that the final three pictures have been around the seashore. I think that old Charles Tunnicliffe was well aware that, in terms of the approach of Autumn in Britain, as well as the harvest, the shortening days and the fall of dead leaves, the arrival of the birds that will spend the winter here is another key indicator – and they must, of necessity arrive first at the coast! While many species, like the redwings and fieldfares, will move on inland, the wading birds and many of the waterfowl will stay largely on the coast where, even in very cold winters, they will generally be able to feed on our many large estuaries. Hence, the selection of this image as the closing chapter of Summer in this (somewhat extended!) coverage of the Ladybird Summer book.


This picture is exclusively about birds – waders and waterfowl, gathered around the half buried ribs of a large wooden ship. A cormorant stands on one of the ribs drying its wings, lifting them into a breeze. Left of the centre of the picture, a solitary grey plover stands near some bar-tailed godwits, under the wooden ribs. Below them, a larger flock of knots stands, with a large flock of knot banking and turning against the slate grey sky in the background. In the foreground, a small flock of young sanderlings has landed down by the waterline.


I’ve always been really rubbish at identifying wading birds, especially the ones that arrive here in the winter, so it is lucky that the book provides text to tell me what is what here. In fact, the cormorant (which is not a wader anyway) is the only species here that I’d be confident in identifying without recourse to a bird book! So let’s start there…


A common, native, year-round resident fish-eating waterbird, the cormorant (Latin name: Phalacrocorax carbo) is a species that can raise high passions amongst the angling fraternity, where it is perceived to be a major consumer of the fish species also sought by trout fishermen. My old AA Book of Birds describes the cormorant, rather colourfully, as follows:

“Voracious, large-beaked, reptilian in appearance, the cormorant can consume more than its own weight of fish in a day.”

It’s a great line but it isn’t true (although the belief is probably still widespread among anglers. Managing conflicts between predators of commercially important prey species and the human exploiters of those prey is one of the key challenges for conservation in the UK (hen harriers/ red grouse, or peregrines/ racing pigeons also spring to mind) and the importance of good, sound, scientific evidence in developing policies to tackle these conflicts can’t be underestimated. And there has been quite a lot of research into the importance of cormorants as predators of stillwater fisheries in Britain, for example, from Loch Leven in east central Scotland. What is clear that male cormorants weigh 2-3 kg, while females are in the range 1.7-2.5 kg, and they usually require 4-500g of fish a day, well less than their own body weight. If you want a good explanation of the issues and how fishery managers are recommended to deal with their cormorant “problem”, there was a very useful fact sheet produced in England by the Fisheries and Angling Conservation Trust, along with a wide range of environmental, angling and conservation organisations. The most up-to-date information on trends in cormorant numbers is provided by the British Trust for Ornithology which suggests that the trend is for an increasing population, with over 9000 breeding pairs in the period 1998-2002. The BTO also says: “There was a 10% increase in the UK population between full surveys in 1985–88 and 1998–2002 … Trends during 1986–2005 show decreases in Scotland and in northeast and southwest England, but no trend in Wales, and steep increases inland in England and in regions bordering the northern part of the Irish Sea... Reasons for recent decline probably include increased mortality from licensed and unlicensed shooting.” The overall increase in population size was 37% between 1995 and 2008:

(From: British Trust for Ornithology)

 Coming back to the bird in this picture, unlike many waterbirds, the cormorant’s plumage is, somewhat inconveniently for a diving, fish-eating waterbird, not waterproof, hence the reason that they often stand on rocks or, as here, other waterside structures, wings out-stretched to dry off in the wind after fishing.


The solitary Grey Plover (Pluvialis squatarola), on the centre-left of the picture is, for all its drab winter plumage shown here, a representative of a rather interesting species. I can’t do better than quote, again, from the AA Book of Birds: “The grey plover, drab in its grey-brown winter plumage and sometimes looking the picture of dejection as it waits on the mud-banks for the tide to turn, is a vastly different bird on its breeding grounds in northern Russia and Siberia. There, in its handsome summer plumage – grey-spangled, white-edged and black-breasted – it plunges and tumbles acrobatically in the air and will boldly attack marauding skuas that come too near its nest.” So, there’s more to this little tundra-loving, Cossack of a wading bird than meets the eye…


The BTO reports that around 53000 grey plover spend their winter in Britain, with perhaps 70000 passing through on migration and that, globally and in Europe, the species is not of conservation concern (although it has an “amber” warning status here in the UK – although it doesn’t say exactly why! Just something about Britain having an important non-breeding population). In winter, it feeds on our estuaries and coasts, mostly on marine worms, crustaceans and molluscs. From the above, I would say it seems unlikely that it has declined since the publication of these Ladybird books, but it is hard to be sure from the published evidence I can find. I did find, in the “Birds of the Western Palearctic”, however, that there has been a major recent increase (recent in their terms, being in the 1990s!) in the grey plover population of north-west Europe, this presumably including Britain.


Standing under the cormorant is a flock of five bar-tailed godwits (Limosa lapponica), which will have arrived on this British shore from Scandinavia or northern Russia, again to spend the winter here (or perhaps in transit to a destination much further south, using the British estuaries as staging posts, to rest and refuel on their migration flight. Like the grey plover, another wading bird that appears drab in winter plumage, the male bar-tailed godwit has a magnificent pale chest in the summer breeding season. The “Birds of the Westrn Palearctic” reports maybe 60,800 individuals in Britain in winter, while the BTO reports 62,000 winter birds. This species is not of conservation concern at European or Global level and its population may have increased within its breeding range. Interestingly, the BTO reports that, quite remarkably, Bar-tailed godwits from Alaska over-winter in New Zealand, but make the 11,000 km journey without stopping, which takes around seven days, probably the longest non-stop journey of any bird.


The largest flock on the shore is the small pale grey wading bird known as the knot (Calidris canutus). Yet again, this tiny wader makes enormous migratory journeys, from their breeding grounds in the far north of the Arctic in huges flocks to over-winter further south, arriving on Britain’s coasts in late summer and on into October. Many are only here on passage to further south, but huge flocks do remain for the winter. In fact, the BTO provides a figure, for the British wintering knot population, of 284,000!

What Charles Tunnicliffe has done in this picture is to include the knot, both as a flock in the foreground, but also as a massive wheeling flock in flight in the background, against the slate-grey sky. I grew up watching such unbelievably massive flocks of knot as a common winter sight on Aberlady Bay, east of Edinburgh, where I spent many cold winter and hot summer childhood days plodding across the nature reserve, my “Boots the Chemist” 8x30 binoculars in hand. Knot form these massive flocks, presumably for the same reasons as starlings are thought to do so – to reduce their individual chances of being taken by a raptor, most likely a peregrine falcon, and maybe because, by spending time roosting together, they are able to reduce heat loss and hence conserve energy during cold weather. And just like starling flocks, knots in flight wheel and bank apparently nearly simultaneously, with the effect that they flash light as you see all of their undersides turn towards you at once, the almost disappearing as they wheel back in the opposite direction, their darker backs against dark winter clouds. And the flock produces a hissing of wings if you are lucky enough to be near one in flight. One of Britain’s great estuarine spectacles, in my view, and one that is worth seeking out if you have the chance.


And so, and so, to conclude this series of blogs on the Ladybird Summer book, one final candidate species, in the nearest foreground of the picture, a small flock of ten young sanderlings. Yet another wader that breeds in the Arctic and comes to British coasts in the winter, where it prefers sandy shores, the sanderling (Canutus alba) can be described as a small pale wader that scurries along the tide line, restlessly looking for food, in the form of the small crustaceans of sandy beaches. In reading around for this article, I discovered a little bit of biological trivia that ties in with this distinctive movement of the sanderling: according to the BTO, “Uniquely amongst British waders, the Sanderling has no hind toe - giving it a distinctive running action, rather like a clockwork toy, as it darts away from incoming waves on the beach edge”! Perhaps 21,000 birds spend the winter here and the BTO describes little conservation concern over the status of this species in Britain, Europe or globally. Nice to end the Summer book and its blog posts on a small positive note!

Thanks for reading along so far, and for all the interesting comments. Hopefully, you’ll stay with me as I head into the Autumn book 9and try to catch up with the seasons bit – I DID start the Spring book late and have been playing catch up the whole time! On, on to Autumn (p.s. It is snowing heavily outside tonight! Did anyone see where Autumn went?)...

Signs of the times: Summer #22

More comparisons between the British countryside of today and that from 1959-1961 in the paintings of Charles Tunnicliffe in the Ladybird "What to look for..." series of books.

“With blotched brown uppers and undersides light gray

They feed on sea weed beaches all the day

Some times in pairs or small flocks though seldom one alone

These little wandering birds called Turnstone.”

Francis Duggan, from “On seeing a pair of turnstone”

 

(Copyright: Ladybird Books)

Summer Picture 22
The last three pictures in the Ladybird Summer book, this one and the following two are hardly typical Summer scenes, although this picture and the final one are definitely meant to represent some transition to Autumn (as you’ll see again in a couple of posts’ time). This picture is a relatively simple scene, with a flock of little brown, black and white wading birds, called turnstones, foraging through some brown seaweeds, or wracks (knotted or egg wrack, bladder wrack and saw wrack). In the background, another flock of turnstones is flying away, looking like mini-oystercatchers. Some common mussels (sometimes called blue mussels) are visible under the wracks.


The turnstone (Arenaria interpres) is a common bird on British shores in Winter, as well as a passage migrant recorded in Spring and Autumn. As my old "AA Book of Birds" says of this species: “The greatest numbers gather on rocky and stony beaches, where the seaweed covers a rich supply of food.” The name “turnstone” comes from their habit of flipping over stones, sticks, shells and seaweed to uncover their prey of sandhoppers (the little jumping shrimps you commonly see when you move seaweed or driftwood on the tideline), little shellfish, insects, young fish and carrion, and they have also been recorded as eating bird’s eggs. They can turn over stones nearly equal in weight to their own body. The foremost individual in the picture is still in summer plumage, while the others have clearly moulted to reveal their more drab winter colours. In summer, nearly all the turnstones that have over-wintered in Britain return north to the Arctic to breed, so these birds in the picture are either on passage or have arrived here to over-winter.

My usual source of trend information of birds for this blog, the British Trust for Ornithology, unfortunately doesn’t have an entry for this species. But my bird book, “The Birds of the Western Palearctic” reports that the British wintering population is a minimum estimated 44,500 birds. It also suggests that there is no real idea of the total European population as many birds inhabit remote unsurveyed rocky shores of Iceland, Ireland and Norway. Since no sources that I regularly access for this series of posts provides any indication of a decline, I thought I’d be unable to comment on the status of the turnstone. At the last minute, however, coming unbidden through the postal system, like the US 7th Cavalry coming over the hill in the nick of time (but without the unfortunate anti-Native American connotations of that historical analogy, obviously!), a report arrived – the 2010 State of the UK’s Birds report. Produced by a long list of conservation agencies and bodies (including the Royal Society for the Protection of Birds and the British Trust for Ornithology), this indicates that between 1981 and 2007, the turnstone overwintering population in the UK has increased by some 17%, although in the last ten years there has been a 6% decline.


I’m not going to say much about any of the brown wracks or the common mussels – they are all very common species, likely all still to be doing very well, thank you very much, and all deserve more attention than I can give them here. If you want to look for yourself, I recommend once again that you look at the MARLIN website (Marine Life Information), where you can find information on the distribution and biology of these species.

Signs of the times: Spring #8

More comparisons between the British countryside of today and that from 1959-1961 in the paintings of Charles Tunnicliffe in the Ladybird "What to look for..." series of books.

“An old pond

A frog jumps in

The sound of water”

Basho, “Matsuo”, c.1689

Exciting underwater exploration this time, with miniature dragons and fish in armour, as we look at fish and amphibians in Spring. Picture 9 contrives to show a pond scene with three fish species (three- and nine-spined sticklebacks and a minnow), some great crested newts and the spawn of frogs and toads. As an aquatic biologist, I am happy to be able to talk about fish and amphibians as part of this series of posts.


As a child in the 1970’s, I was an avid fisher (and then liberator) of both three-spined sticklebacks and minnows. In both cases, they were captured with a home-made funnel trap which my Dad showed me how to make out of an old wine bottle. We took a bottle with a concave base, filled it with dry sand and then gently knocked out the round base of the concavity by tapping gently with a nail and hammer until it came out. Empty out the sand, tie on a string, add some bait - it was ALWAYS white bread – and fill with water and with the bottle top still screwed on or the bottle corked), place in the river or burn with the new funnel entrance opening facing downstream, tie the string to a big stone or a branch and just wait for half an hour to an hour. It nearly always ended up with lots of fish in it. I realise now that the white bread, while it probably wasn’t very good bait for these species, made it easy to see from the bankside when there were fish in the bottle, as they swirled it around.


The minnow (Latin name: Phoxinus phoxinus), the uppermost of the three fish pictured, is a small member of the carp family, the Cyprinids, and is very widespread in freshwaters across most of Europe and Asia, as it says in Peter Maitland and Niall Campbell’s book, “Freshwater Fishes”: “from the Atlantic coast of Ireland to the Pacific coast of China.” In the British Isles, it is absent only from the Western Isles, Orkney and Shetland. Minnows live in a wide range of waters, from small, fast upland burns and streams, to lochs, reservoirs and large rivers in the lowlands and often form huge shoals in the shallows (my childhood memory is of (relatively) massive shoals in the Whiteadder, a river in the Scottish Borders, where I used to go bottle-trapping for them). According to Professor Maitland in “Scotland’s Freshwater Fish. Ecology, Conservation and Folklore”, it is perfectly likely that minnows arrived in Scotland without human intervention, although there is no doubt that they have also been moved around extensively by anglers, principally through their use as live bait. It is likely that the minnow’s distribution in Scotland has increased since the Spring book was published in the period 1959-61, as it continues to expand its range in northern Scotland. Professor Maitland concludes that, while the minnow receives no special protection in Scotland, it is in no need of any as it is a widespread and successful species. I can only concur with his thought that, “Like other small fish, it deserves to be spared from the despicable practice of livebaiting.”


There are two stickleback species featured here, the three-spined (the middle fish) and the nine-spined (the lower one). There is another species found in Britain, the 15-spined, but that is wholly a sea fish. Both species in this picture share the ability to live in waters spanning the range from freshwaters to the brackish waters of estuaries and, in the case of the three-spined stickleback, in full-strength seawater. The name stickleback refers, of course, to the spines that have formed from modified fin rays, with, on the three-spined species, spines to the side and on the underside too. Also, it seems that the more that it lives in saline conditions, the greater the three-spined stickleback develops armoured bony plates around the outside of its body. Apparently the spines and armour plating don’t offer as much protection against being eaten as was originally thought so, perhaps the spines are more important for courtship displays, or signalling in the sizeable shoals in which these fish are often found.


The nine-spined stickleback (Latin name: Pungitius pungitius, which can actually have between 8 and 12 spines), although native to Scotland, is the less widely distributed of the two species. My excellent source for fish, Professor Maitland, reports that it has suffered a substantial decline over the last century, "disappearing from many of its former sites because of pollution and loss of habitat”. The three-spined stickleback (Latin name: Gasterosteus aculeatus) is one of the original fish species that colonised the post-ice Age Britain and in contrast to the nine-spined species is probably, other than for eels and brown trout, the most widely distributed fish species in the country. It is probably also the most studied fish species in zoological and evolutionary science, being easy to keep and breed in laboratories, and exhibiting many fascinating behavioural traits that have contributed much to animal behaviour science and evolutionary theory. The breeding behaviour of this species is particularly interesting, with the male aggressively holding a territory in which he builds a nest, attracting in a female with his special zigzagging dance, to lay her eggs, which he then fertilises. The female fish then leaves, playing no further part. The male guards the eggs until they hatch, then shepherds the young fish, gathering them in his mouth and spitting them back into the nest when they stray! Professor Maitland, in “Scotland’s Freshwater Fish. Ecology, Conservation and Folklore”, suggests that, other than for some rare spineless populations, the three-spined stickleback requires no special protection in Scotland as it is doing very well at present (and, so I surmise, it probably hasn’t declined since the Ladybird Spring book was published!). I could write about this wonderful little fish all day – but I’d better not...


Finally, to the amphibians – the newts and the spawn and its producers, common frogs (the big floating clump of spawn) and toads (the strings of spawn). This is the only picture in the whole series of four books where amphibians are a key element. A significant change has taken place in the status of amphibians since these four Ladybird books were first published (although not necessarily yet to the same extent in the UK). There is concern world-wide about a major decline in amphibian populations. See here and here for examples of this concern reflected in media coverage. A range of pressures – habitat destruction, disease, non-native invasive species and, perhaps increasingly, the effects of a changing climate, are all thought to be contributing to this decline. In the UK, it is difficult to find long-term information on trends for amphibians. There hasn’t been the same degree of rigorous survey and monitoring at national level for as long as there has been for, say, birds. I plan to talk about threats and conservation of ponds as habitats later in this series, when they are pictured again but, for now, it is enough to note that, according to Pond Conservation, the non-governmental organisation promoting the conservation and creation of ponds in the UK: “the common frog the facts are:

- from 2007 to 2009, surveyors taking part in the National Amphibian and Reptile Recording Scheme saw frogs in just over half of the ponds in the countryside.
- in 2009 Pond Conservation’s surveys of garden ponds suggested that Common Frogs are seen in practically all garden ponds and breed in around two-thirds of them.


There probably are fewer frogs than in the past but, at least for the time being, the Common Frog is still a common animal – there are probably millions of them.”


Scottish Natural Heritage has produced a good introductory guide to amphibians (and reptiles) in Scotland, which contains some great pictures. It suggests that: “The Common frog is widespread and is found in suitable locations throughout Scotland, except in the most well drained places. It also occurs on some of the islands of the Inner Hebrides and has been introduced to Shetland”. For the Common Toad, SNH says: “The species is widespread in Scotland but the more specific habitat requirements make it generally less common than the frog.” I have both species, as well as palmate newts, in my garden, although I only ever see the frogs and newts regularly in the garden and pond – I have no idea where the toads are most of the time.


The Great Crested Newt (Latin name: Triturus cristatus) is the mini-dragon of Britain’s amphibians, and a poster boy for the conservation movement in Britain. Scottish Natural Heritage (SNH) says of this species: “The Great crested newt is an impressive amphibian. It may grow to 16 centimetres long ... The skin has very fine warts, which is why it is also known as the Warty newt. In the breeding season, the male develops a jagged crest along the body to the base of the tail, and has a silvery stripe along the sides of the tail. The tail also develops a crest and the underside enlarges. The belly of both sexes is strikingly marked by irregular black blotches on a bright orange background.”

It is a truly striking beast in breeding colours. Courtship involves a waggling dance in mid-water, which you can see on the video here. SNH says: “The Great crested newt is rare in Scotland and about 100 breeding ponds are known, although new ones are frequently being discovered. Strongholds for this species are Dumfries and Galloway and the Central belt. There is also a cluster of populations in the Inverness area.” Due to previous losses of populations from, for example, development, pollution, dumping in or drainage of habitats, this species now has strict legal protection in Britain, and there are lots of local conservation projects aimed at creating new pond habitats close to existing populations.

The times, they are a-changing - or are they? (Signs of the times)

I am embarking here on a year-long series of blog posts in the core territory of what this blog is really meant to be about - Scotland's nature. When I was a very small boy, I began to accumulate a collection of Ladybird books, mostly on wildlife topics. I now know from browsing collectors' websites that I was collecting books in the Ladybird series 536, on Nature, illustrated by wildlife artist Charles Tunnicliffe and written by biologist E.L. Grant Watson, but as a small child, all I knew was that Ladybird books were a treasure trove of knowledge about wildlife and I was encouraged by my parents to read them. My favourite books from the beginning were definitely the set of four shown above, the "What To Look For In ..." series covering the four seasons. Together, these paint a fascinating documentary in words and pictures of the great annual cycle of life in Britain's countryside through a year. My Dad worked as Scotland's first Countryside Ranger, a new profession in Scotland in 1970, and I grew up from the earliest age very conscious of the flow of the seasons and the predictable patterns of seasonal change as bird species came and went, flowers appeared, fruit grew, etc. And then, opening these wonderful books, there were all these patterns, and more, in word and picture. As well as wildlife, they also portray the seasonal changes in farming and land management practices, perhaps more than a little romanticised!


But these books, which had a huge influence on my young self, were first written and published between 1959 and 1961, some 50 years ago and I was reading them maybe 10 years later. It occurred to me that there is a great opportunity to use these books, and their marvellous illustrations as the basis for a comparison between then and now, looking at the changes that have taken place in these characteristic illustrations of the British countryside over the last 50 years, a period that more than encompasses my whole lifespan.


Hopefully, therefore, over the next 12 months, I will manage to track the progression through the seasons using these books and, through their pictures and words, try to undertake a comparison with the current state of rural Scotland and its wildlife (and the farming practices it portrays too! At first glance, farming may be the area of greatest change compared to the books!). So, please stick with me for the duration, the posts following this, several per season, will hopefully be more interesting than this one!