Thunder by name and Thunder by nature that is what she was like in the beginning. To put it another way, she had attitude and just a few too many issues. This tough, chest out, I’m here now, scrawny hen, came to us some years ago after causing havoc in her last home. And how lucky were we to have her?

     We always do our best, at our home for waifs and strays, to hold our hens so we can get to know them as individuals. This is also a good way of knowing when there is a problem and dealing with it before it gets serious. But sometimes even then, it can be too late.

     Well this was easier said than done when dear Thunder arrived at our home. She strutted about the place like a teenager, with all the attitude and tantrums which in hen vocabulary would sound like ‘don’t touch me I’m untouchable!’

      Summers came and went and we persevered, knowing that in time she would surrender her teenage tantrums and become a friend to all the other hens. Then one day, after another hen of the same rank and colour entered our home, Thunder became her closest friend. You would hardly find one without the other and it was a joy to see.

       Well as many of you know, my kind and unassuming husband and I recently went to visit our friends in Kefalonia. They also have a home for waifs and strays. But before leaving, we noticed that Thunder was behaving strangely. We took her straight to the vet who was just as bewildered as we were. However, it was decided that she would start on antibiotics and anti-inflammatory medication straight away.

        We left poor Thunder, in the loving care of our dear friends. But despite all efforts to save her, she sadly died in my arms almost as soon as we returned. Moments before, I had carried her down to the pond where she opened her eyes and raised her weak head. The birds were singing in the trees and a slight breeze blew over us. With a gentle sigh, she died.

        It is never easy losing any of our animals and the loss is always different. They all leave their mark, like tiny footprints, engraved forever in our hearts and our home for waifs and strays.  

Thunder by name and Thunder by nature was quite a character. She knew she was well loved and will be sorely missed. Goodnight our sweet girl, continue to blossom and grow wherever your soul does rest!

What nature gives, quite often, it will take away. This was certainly true on the beautiful island of Kefalonia in 1953 when an earthquake destroyed almost every house, apart from the strongest of those in the North.

      There were once 365 villages thriving on this Mediterranean island but since then, only 200 or so remain.

      As my kind and unassuming husband and I roamed around this delightful island, we discovered many of these deserted villages, nestled on the sides of mountains, where eagles and vultures prey.

      Trees have grown up from the earth and made themselves at home within the crumbling walls, whilst wild flowers grow in the abandoned gardens. However, they are indeed, a welcome shelter for many a wild animal.

       I have to say, that it was sad to see these determined to remain ruins, once family homes, still standing proud on the side of the mountains as if waiting for the return of the souls that once lived within their walls.

"The animals share with us the privilege of having a soul." Pythagoras

As I am still on this island with its quiet hills and forests, I shall tell you a little about the very few surviving wild horses of Ainos.

    With their rebellious pride (probably as a result of being direct descendents of the Greek horses of Alexander the Great) they remain one of the few of their species, existing in a free state, in the entire world.

     Abandoned during and after the Second World War, onto the rocky slopes of Mount Ainos, these enchanting animals with souls of strength continue to fight for their survival, despite becoming almost extinct.

    They roam the black pine forests around the monastery of Zoodochos Pighi, stumbling over rocks and boulders in their search for water. The slopes of the mountain are scarred with deep ravines and gullies, it is no wonder they suffer from twisted knee joints and arthritis. And with the felling of trees in the past and destructive fires, life can be tough for these rather shy animals. However, foraging is easier in the summer months when ground food is more plentiful but even then they have to compete with the goats and the sheep and the farmers that blame them for causing the lack of food for their own animals.

       During my research, I discovered that there are volunteers who look out for these wild horses and indeed, plans are in hand to set up a supplementary feeding station to reduce the burden on local farmers. Rocks are also being removed along paths to reduce the likelihood of injury but there are still the harsh winters on the mountain to face.

      Having lived in isolation for decades, these animals have become a special breed due to their determination to survive these harsh conditions which they were not originally born to. They survived the war and now they fight an bigger war on the mountains they’ve made their home.

The very first novel I ever completed (and sits in a drawer at our home for waifs and strays) was about the Mediterranean monk seals, the Monanchus, monachus, one of the worlds’s most critically endangered mammals. And on my return to the island, my thoughts are once again drawn to these incredible creatures that struggle to survive.

     I heard about their plight, when I first visited the island of Kefalonia a few years ago. There was a museum dedicated to marine life which sadly has closed, due to lack of money.

      These beautiful and trusting creatures, just like humans, share a love for the sun and the sea. But due to the increase in tourism and sea sports, they have been driven away from the sandy beaches to seek refuge in inaccessible caves along the coast, usually with underwater entrances.

      Once seen as a good omen to all seafaring people and placed under the protection of Poseidon and Apollo, the heads of these seals were on the first coins ever minted. Why, Plutarch, Homer, and Aristotle all immortalised these creatures in their writing. Surely this should give them some brownie points towards funding to save them from extinction

      I discovered, during my research at the time, that overfishing in these waters have caused a decrease in food for the seals. They are therefore blamed by fishermen for ripping their nets and stealing their fish and are killed in return, without proof of innocence.

      Using different sized nets and having protected areas have since been put into operation, but funding, as usual is a struggle. I can only hope, as I stare out at the quiet sea where they hide away in their caves, that they will continue to survive in the place which is rightly their home.

Part three (final)

As he walked towards us, my insides became twisted and my head spun. The heat didn’t help and neither did the heavenly scent of the jasmine which hung from the pergola. It just added to my confusion.

       He was real, everyone could see him. He talked in that rushed Greek that I did not understand. And they introduced us to him. He was my friend’s uncle. Uncle! I thought, trying hard not to stare at him but I couldn’t help but snatch a glance or two. I said we had met him on a few occasions but when translated back to him, he shook his head and looked confused. But he was uneasy and disappeared as fast as he arrived.

      So he wasn’t a creepy ghost after all. But it was still rather odd. Why had he denied ever seeing us? He even showed us around the church for heaven’s sake! But my kind and unassuming husband reminded me that he was an old man whose memory had probably faded.

       I helped the sea captain back to his armchair beneath the porch, the jasmine now sweeter. He put up his hand weakly and waved to the strange little man (his brother) who was already long gone. Our dear friend gave everyone a small dish of grape preserve, made from her own fruit, with added sugar, lemon and geranium leaves. It was a welcome distraction from my thoughts.

       And so another year went by and then another and another, and for some strange reason we never saw that funny little man again. But that’s not to say he has disappeared from our lives. According to our friend (we did not speak about our meetings with her uncle again) he still lives in the village. And who knows what can happen?  We are back on the island and about to have dinner at the home for waifs and strays. Maybe he'll be there. Maybe there is an answer to why all this has come about.

Perhaps, even after the death of my dear father, I still searched for him. Perhaps I wasn’t ready to let him go. And when I met with the sea captain, another eccentric old man, I saw my father in him..... Just perhaps!