WINTER’S WILDLIFE

The five eggs, snug in a carefully crafted nest of sedge and dried grasses, looked as delectable as anything crafted by a master chocolatier.

Each glossy marvel was a shade of subtle lilac, little larger than a thumb nail, and covered with inky scrawls reminiscent of my spidery, schoolboy writing.

A burning desire to pluck the delicate creations from their warm sanctuary was thwarted by my father whose caution still rings loud many decades later: never steal from the wild.

Dad was not a birdwatcher, but he was well aware of the dangers posed by egg thieves in the late 1960s, when many species hasty retreat. Only when we got home were we able to piece together an identification – reed buntings. I recently passed the spot where we had seen the buntings. Their wild were being pushed towards refuge had been freshly bulldozed extinction by collectors. He had only ready for a swathe of new homes. taken me for a nature walk to a patch Sadly, many of my old birdwatching of scrub near our home in a hope of haunts have vanished to make way finding the spot where the Great for our ever-expanding population. Ouse begins its journey to the Wash. Little wonder 41 per cent of the UK’S As we trumped through damp plants and animals have declined ground scattered with hawthorn, a since the 1970s. small, inconspicuous brown bird Yet the durability of some species suddenly appeared and dad quickly gives hope. A friend recently sent a located its nest in tussocky grass. photograph of a bird that had turned The bird’s mate, an altogether up in his suburban garden. A quick more striking bird with black and look confirmed it was a male reed white head markings, looked bunting. Finding one foraging under a on sternly as we beat a shrub would be an Easter treat. FOLLOW STUART ON TWITTER: