Call of wild heralds joy of spring after dark days

ON the first truly decent day of the year, it was a delight to walk over the fields to my allotment.

Wisps of white cloud in a bright blue sky, and frosted ground underfoot, made for perfect gadding about conditions.

It was possible to believe that spring is in the air. Daffodils are pushing up on south-facing roadside verges.

It was almost possible to forget the raging pandemic for an hour. But not quite. Trains rushing past on the Airedale line were empty, and slogans about the NHS are emblazoned on the side just to remind you of reality.

Stick in hand – they really come in useful, even sometimes persuading motorists to give you a wider berth – I strode across in the morning sunshine. As I pushed through the iron kissing gate, a gang (no better word) of rams eyed me suspiciously and grunted their displeasure. They all have numbers. I don’t like the look of that 1937.

At the bottom of the fields, half a dozen pairs of mallards have taken up residence in a pop-up lake left by the rains. Most of the floods have now gone, but there are still rifts of snow high on Skipton Moor.

More is forecast, and this brings out the kids for sledging. North Yorkshire police take a dim view of families driving to sledging slopes, and threaten fines.

I don’t think we’ll see very much of them round here. This is not prime tourist country. Airedale is thought of as an industrial valley, and so it was once, but it has its own particular beauty.

Pheasants are cackling in the margins of the wood. I’m eagerly awaiting the first haunting call of the curlew. Then I’ll know spring is really sprung.