The Rhythm of Nature

On the second day of my voluntary seabird-watching job the wind wrecked our sheltering umbrella construction and drove a spray up into our optics. Again, we needed the arrival of John who moved us further up the cliff to get us out of the weather’s worst. Still, visibility was bad with frequent showers and often the only object of interest was a rock just below our viewpoint.

The tide was such that an occasional wave would wash over the rock, leaving on its surface a pool which gradually disgorged back to the sea through a couple of waterfalls. One of the flows was quite robust but the other would sometimes dry up before the next replenishing wave. I fell into a reverie of imagining the falls in Yosemite and how they operated on the same principle, except with snow as their reservoir. A mild panic even began to set in when, rarity of rarities, the main waterfall threatened to falter.

It never did. Whoosh, wave. Pool, falls. Vigorous waters, slowing. One fall, drying, sometimes dried. Whoosh, wave...

That's what the hours can do to you. Again, it was a different pace of life, relaxing into the pulses of the natural world. And the day passed quickly. Before I knew it, I was back at the B&B and marking up the final totals for an email to Russell and BirdGuides. Yes, my day wasn't over until the paperwork was done and the paperwork showed 25 Balearics for the two days – bang on target thus far. ⇐ ⇒

A Honeypot

I frequently wonder what's happened to various folk that have passed through my life. In idle moments I Google some of them, without much success. Recently I have read about the concept of a honeypot, often used by agencies to trap hackers and spammers. Instead of searching for these people, let them find you. It’s a technique that relies on people’s natural curiosity about themselves. Who hasn't typed their own name into a search engine to see what comes up?

In this case the theory is that I list old acquaintances, along with something that would link them back to me (I've known an Andy Williams but he never sang Moon River) and they may find this page. So, that's the generally interesting bit over and if you don't believe you fall into the long-lost of my life, I can save you the trouble of reading any further.

Let me start with someone for whom I must take my mother’s word. When we lived in Southampton back in the late 1950’s I used to play with the daughter of the Hampshire and West Indian cricketer, Roy Marshall. I think they lived near us in Evelyn Crescent, Shirley.

Of a later vintage, after we had moved to Winchester, I have an enigmatic entry in my diary for December 18, 1962: “Ruth died, my friend.” She may have been six or seven at the time. I've long meant to check something like the Hampshire Chronicle records for this one. I assume she went to Weeke Infants (or Primary) School.
I also have a possible memory of being in her house, a large rambling affair on the corner of Andover and Park Roads. A more modern building now occupies the site.

Other entries in this diary mention Richard Ashton but I know where he is now, so I can test this theory and subtly prompt him in this direction. Also from the Weeke schools, 1961 to 1967 including the Junior, are: Rob McDonald (but is that MacDonald?); Gillian Palmer of 39 Bereweeke Avenue; Anthony Gilbert, Vernham Road; Sally Williams from Teg Down; Andy Woodward (OK, I know where he is too); a girl called Michelle, I think, who gave me my only Valentine’s card until I was twenty-five. Boo-hoo, there's a whole sob-story about that. I could find some of these characters without too much effort but, hey, I’m lazy.

I’ll continue the list in Part Two.