Feathered friends were there to the end
MY dear old Mam passed away this week, Claire Wood, nee Somers, born in Dublin a long time ago, spreading joy and love wherever she has landed since, and although obviously very sad, it was also a blessed relief for her, and that’s what matters.
Always very active, and only giving up work when she was 85, it has been tough to watch her in the bed in my sister’s lounge in Ingleton, unable without great difficulty to get out of bed or even sit up in bed to admire the stunning views across the Yorkshire Dales.
Close in, she was more fortunate, and this little fella seen here, a long-tailed tit, was a constant companion in her last days, bashing himself against the glass fearing a rival when it was just his own reflection, and helping himself to every passing feather for the nest.
A tiny powder-puff pink beauty, guaranteed to draw a smile across the most distressed countenance.
There was also great tits and blue tits at the window-feeder, dunnocks and robins, and a doe-eyed wood mouse foraging for seed on the ground.
And then, vying for attention, an acrobatic grey squirrel and a cock pheasant strutting his stuff across the lawn.
If you have to ‘go’ I can think of worse views.
In her last few weeks, her grandchildren wrapped her in love and care. They were, one and all, her pride and joy.
Apart from love, she gave me the belief that you could do whatever you wanted in life if you were prepared to work hard and although I’m sure she pulled her hair a few times at the twists and turns of my colourful CV, she was always there, in person or on the end of the phone.
I remember her beaming smile when I was invited to the Palace, and Vivienne Westwood’s Studio on the same day, which just happened to be my mother’s 75th birthday, and she dressed like the Queen of Sheba, proud as punch.
However, I think my greatest gift to her was when I had the honour of being made a Fellow of the British Naturalists Association on the same day Sir David Attenborough was given the honorary version.
She skipped across the courtyard of Epping Forest School like a schoolgirl as I introduced her to the great man, and they shared a glass of wine and a few stories.
As for me, the long-tail will always be special now.
As my mam slipped into a deep sleep, she was still able to squeeze my hand when I spoke to her in my usual irreverent manner: “Hey mother, I’m here, you’re okay, and so is that long-tailed tit who is watching over you”.