Summer time and living has been full of memories, as swallows set to go

‘THIS has been the summer of the swallows,’ declared Hermione magisterially. ‘I thought 2011 was the summer of the swallows,’ responded Medders, clearly puzzled by an assertion which disturbed his view of the established order. ‘Well then this has been the summer of the return of the swallows,’ she responded, indulgently prepared to modify her stance.

The pair were sitting outside their back door, washing down dinner with a cup of tea after a meal defiantly taken out of doors. With evenings drawing in and temperatures dropping there was no doubt as to the imminence of autumn though the swallows remained in residence for now.

They were staging a spectacular fly-past, commanding the dusky sky with their swoops and loops, not yet departed for Africa. This year they did indeed return to reside in their nest under the eaves of the Manor, a site left mysteriously vacant for close to a decade.

‘I take your point about the return of the swallows,’ said Medders, picking his words carefully, ‘ but I think 2020 will be remembered for the summer of the buzzards.’

‘The summer of the buzzards. Hmm,’ Hermione sampled the phrase, like a connoisseur sniffing vintage cognac. ‘It does not have quite the same ring to it but I suppose there is a certain relevance.’

The sound of young buzzards screeching as they learned how to hunt was heard every day for months on end over the Rolling Acres. This was the first time in living memory that these impressive birds of prey nested in the vicinity and they certainly were not shy about advertising their presence.

Every summer must have its designated feature and the buzzards had a strong case for being accorded top billing on this occasion. On the other hand, the sheer pleasure given by the aerial gymnastics of the swallows was such a delight.

Perhaps the two could share the honours, though there was no precedent for such a move. It was always previously declared the summer of this, or the summer of that – never the summer of this and that.

First there was the sweltering summer of the factor 50 sunscreen, followed inevitably by the summer of the jigsaws when everyone was confined indoors by perpetual rain.

There was the summer young Persepone learned to swim. Persephone was very young at the time, scarcely more than three years old but she proved quite a water baby, eager to take command of the waves. She was floating under her own steam before June was out and it was during August that she first completed a full length the pool at a French holiday resort.

Then there was the summer of the birdie. Our Eldrick was taught the rudiments of golf by Her Majesty, the mother-in-law, when aged eight.He responded to her coaching with a will, whacking balls all over the place with boyish abandon.

Then he stepped up one evening on to the tee at the short fifth, sending his tee shot straight and true for once. It was so well struck that it sailed over the flag and off the back of the green. But he then sank a memorable chip from out of the long grass – a veritable birdie.

Let not the summer of the plums be forgotten either, when the solitary plum tree in the orchard all but collapsed under the weight of fruit. Residents, visitors and blackbirds alike all gorged themselves on the glut, which has never been repeated.

The summer of the bicycles was noteworthy for pedal powered expeditions far and wide, at least until the drizzly afternoon when Medders discovered that he was not as good at repairing punctures as he claimed to be. The summer of Ron Sexsmith followed when the bikes were abandoned and The Jalopy provided transport for outings, with the Canadian songsmith’s latest album constantly in the car’s CD deck. The result was the only family in Ireland who know all the lyrics of every song on Sexsmith’s ‘Late Bloomer’ collection. Ah, happy days.

‘Do you remember the summer we discovered gin and tonic?’ asked Medders dreamily.

‘Not really,’ replied Hermione, always an honest woman.