I often think about the animals that scurry through our garden at this late hour, the hedgehogs, polecats, foxes (lovely animals, despite being a relative of the wolf and not very chicken friendly!) shrews and rats ugh! And of course the mice!

    With less competition at night, the bat with its leathery wings, is a frequent visitor to our garden and contrary to belief, the bat is not blind. In fact, bats often have better eye sight than humans.

     There’s an owl that rests occasionally in the tree by the pond. With her heart shaped face, she has her eyes on shrews with their voracious appetite. And oops I mustn’t forget the frogs and the newts  that have arried back in our pond to mate. Also, the toads, with their warty skin and squat bodies.

     Sleep well all of you!

Time and tide indeed, waits for no man, that is true! And if did, then many a ship would have been saved, not floundered off the rocky coast of Wales. Many of these ships have come to grief off Mumbles head, on the South Gower Coast, not far from our home for waifs and strays.

      Beneath the waves that swirl around the two islands off Mumbles head in Gower, lies the mixon shoal sandbank and the underwater reef, known as the cherrystone rock. Between them, they have claimed the lives of many a man and his ship. You see, it is true what they say, that time and tide waits for no man!

      ‘You must always have respect for the sea,’ my father used to tell me, ‘and never underestimate its strenth or dramatize your own!’ And he made sure that I could swim from a very young age.

       And so it was, a lighthouse was built on the outerhead island in 1794 and a lighthouse keeper was paid 18 shillings a week for stocking up the two open coal fires and making his home on the island. But in 1798 the fires were replaced by oil powered lamps and in 1936, the lighthouse keeper himself, was replaced by electricity.

         I once lived in the village of Mumbles and heard many seamans tales. One that sticks in my memory is about two sisters, daughters of the lighthouse keeper, Jennie and Margaret, who saved the lives of two lifeboatmen, many moons ago. The men were on a rescue mission when they were thrown from the lifeboat into the sea so the girls tied their shawls together and risked their lives by wading into the trecherous water to rescue them. I’ve included a poem, by Clement Scott, called The Women of Mumbles Head

Bring novelists your notebook. Bring Dramatists your Pen:
And I'll tell you a simple story of what women do for men.
It's only the tale of a lifeboat, of the dying and the dead,
Of a terrible storm and shipwreck that happened off Mumbles Head.
Maybe you have travelled in Wales, sir, and know it north and south:
Maybe you have friends with the 'natives' that dwell at Oystermouth.
It happens, no doubt, that from Bristol you've crossed in a casual way.
And have sailed your yacht in summer, in the blue of Swansea Bay.

Well, it isn't like that in winter when the lighthouse stands alone,
In the teeth of Atlantic breakers that foam on its face of stone:
It wasn't like that when the hurricane blew and the story-bell tolled, or when
There was news of a wreck, and lifeboat launch'd, and a desperate cry for men.
When in the world did the coxswain shirk? A brave old Salt was he!
Proud to the bone of as four strong lads, as ever had tasted the sea.
Welshmen all to the lungs and loins, who, about the coast twas said,
Had saved some hundred lives apiece - at a shilling or so a head!

So the father launched the lifeboat in the teeth of the tempest's roar,
And he stood like a man at the rudder, with any eye on his boys at the oar.
Out to the wreck went the father! Out to the wreck went the sons!
Leaving the weeping of women, and booming of signal guns;
Leaving the mother who loved them, and the girls that the sailors loved,
Going to death for duty, and trusting to God above!
Do you murmur a prayer, my brother, when cosy and safe in bed,
For men like these, who are ready to die for a wreck off Mumbles Head?

It didn't go well with the lifeboat.  'Twas a terrible storm that blew!
And it snapped a rope in a second that was flung to the drowning crew;
And then the anchor parted - 'twas a tussle to keep afloat!
But the father stuck to the rudder, and the boys to the brave old boat.
Then at last on the poor doom'd lifeboat a wave broke mountains high!
'God help us now! ' said the father. 'It's over my lads, good-bye!'
Half of the crew swam shoreward, half to the sheltered caves,
But father and sons were fighting death in the foam of the angry waves.

Up at the lighthouse window two women beheld the storm,
And saw in the boiling breakers a figure - a fighting form,
It might be a grey-haired father, then the women held their breath,
It might be a fair-haired brother who was having a round with death;
It might be a lover, a husband, whose kisses were on the lips
Of the women whose love is life of the men going down to the sea in ships.
They had seen the launch of the lifeboat, they had heard the worst and more,
Then, kissing each other these women went down from the lighthouse, straight to the shore.

There by the rocks on the breakers these sisters, hand in hand,
Beheld once more that desperate man who struggled to reach the land.
'Twas only aid he wanted to help him across the wave,
But what are a couple of women with only a man to save?
What are a couple of women?  Well, more than three craven men
Who stood by the shore with chattering teeth, refusing to stir - and then
Off went the women's shawls, sir: in a second they're torn and rent,
Then knotting them into a rope of love, straight into the sea they went!

'Come back!' cried the lighthouse keeper, 'For God's sake, girls, come back!'
As they caught the waves on their foreheads, resisting the fierce attack.
'Come back!' moaned the grey-haired mother as she stood by the angry sea,
'If the waves take you, my darlings, there's nobody left to me.'
'Come back!' said the three strong soldiers, who still stood faint and pale,
'You will drown if you face the breakers!  You will fall if you brave the gale!'
'Come back' said the girls, 'we will not!  Go tell it to all the town,
We'll lose our lives, God willing, before that man shall drown!'

'Give one more knot to the shawls, Bess!  Give one strong clutch of your hand!
Just follow me, brave, to the shingle, and we'll drag him safe to land!
Wait for the next wave, darling!  Only a minute more,
And I'll have him safe in my arms, dear, and we'll drag him safe to shore.'
Up to their arms in the water, fighting it breast to breast,
They caught and saved a brother alive! God bless us! you know the rest—
Well, many a heart beat stronger, and many a tear was shed,
And many a glass was toss'd right off to the' Women of Mumbles Head!'

As I sit by my window and watch a watery moon shine down on another memorable day, I wonder what tale I shall tell you tonight. Shall I talk about the animals that live in our garden for waifs and strays? Or shall I tell you a tale about the characters that live in Gusty Gully? Or perhaps I should just talk to you, as if you were here in the room with me. Now that’s a good idea!

      I shall light the fire and sit in the old armchair besides it. You can sit in the chair opposite me, but be careful not to sit on the cat.

      If you’re in the mood for music, then we could sing-along with the old guitar, leaning against the piano. Or perhaps you would like to listen to some classical music or read poetry from one of the books on the shelf behind you.

      On an evening like this, I like to read Hiawatha, written by Longfellow in 1855. The names of the characters just roll off your tongue, like Gitche Manito, the peace-bringing leader and Mudjekeewis, father of the Four Winds. Then there’s Nokomis, who falls from the moon and becomes Hiawatha’s Grandmother and the book would be nothing without Minnehaha, Hiawatha’s childhood sweetheart.

By the shore of Gitche Gumee,
By the shining Big-Sea-Water,
At the doorway of his wigwam,
In the pleasant Summer morning,
Hiawatha stood and waited.

      Just like Hiawatha, I too, have the need for freedom. Walking barefoot in the rain with my face skyward, is something I have always done since childhood and many moons ago, I too went on a journey and did not return for many moons and many winters. I also stood on the shore and waved at my parting, but no-one waved back, for no-one saw me go!

       So you are still there, sitting in the chair opposite me, the embers are now cold. Take a blanket from the box behind you and place it on your knees and I shall read some more.

"I am weary of your quarrels,
Weary of your wars and bloodshed,
Weary of your prayers for vengeance,
Of your wranglings and dissensions;
All your strength is in your union,
All your danger is in discord;
Therefore be at peace henceforward,
And as brothers live together

Goodnight my friend, remember that it is later than you think!

The Purple Poppy

(A tribute to animals of war)

By J.J.Moffat

Recruiting for the First World War was something pigeons, cats, dogs and horses were not prepared for and neither were the glow worms or the slugs. Millions of animals were taken from the comfort of their homes to join the Army. They marched beside soldiers, bewildered, frightened and without choice.

     In France, trenches soon became infested with thousands of rats, breeding young ones and spreading disease. And so it was, 500,000 cats were employed as ratters. Many a man welcomed these creatures, not just because they killed the rats, but they raised morale which helped temporarily to relieve the stress of war. Quite often, when the sound of the guns blasted above them, the cats lay with the dying soldiers.

     Above the trenches, come rain, wind, or snow, soldiers on horseback raced to the front. Over a million mules and horses had been deployed from Britain alone, with the rest being shipped from North America at a thousand per week. Eight million horses died during The Great War, mostly from war wounds; foot rot, influenza, ringworm, starvation and gangrene. Hunger was a major problem, so sawdust was added to their food to slow down digestion. And despite all their efforts, these brave animal soldiers of war, often succumbed to the relentless bombardment and suffered from debilitating shellshock.

     Once again, when threatened by mustard gas, the Army turned to animals for help. They tested many of them for the detection of gas but they all failed, with the exception of the innocent garden slug. Why, may you ask? Exposed to mustard gas, the slug closes its breathing aperture, so protects its lungs. Recruited immediately and without training, they were marched to war!

      Back in the dark, dank trenches, winter loomed with the promise of being the coldest that France could ever recall.  Soldiers struggled to read their maps and letters from home and morale was low. Then along came an enormous army of glow worms. Not your average soldier by any stretch, but they proved their worth by joining the ranks and living in jam jars. It seemed that nothing could escape this terrible war! 

     Soon, the trenches, built from sandbags and wood, were occupied not only by soldiers, but cats, glow worms, slugs and dogs. It is no wonder, that typhus, dysentery and cholera soon followed. The unsuspecting dogs, once someone’s pet, were trained as messengers and enemy detectors whilst others became Mercy dogs on the battlefield. Carrying medical supplies in a box attached to them, these brave canine soldiers sought out the wounded and dying. Sitting besides the bloodied men, their cries merged as one.

     Americans didn’t use dogs, until they discovered a stowaway on board one of their ships. That dog, ‘Sergeant Stubby’ became the most highly-ranked and decorated service dog in military history. Around a million of these dogs died in action.

     The war was not only being fought on the ground, but up in the sky where pigeon ‘spies’ flew between France and Britain and frontline trenches. Strapped to them were messages, vital to the soldiers. These amazing birds (100,000 of them and probably more) fought the enemy falcons, released by the Germans in the battle of the sky. These birds of prey could bring the pigeon spies down when all else failed.

     And so this bloodiest of wars, with a total loss of more than 9 million soldiers, not counting civilians and the animals that supported them, ended at 11 o’clock in the morning of the 11^th day of the 11^th month in 1918.  But for the animals, their war was far from over.

     The National Archives in Kew, London, tell a sad tale of thousands of animal ‘soldiers’ left behind at the end of the war, in the hands of Belgian and French butchers. The same thing happened after Wcess Royal, unveiled the Animals in War Memorial in Hyde Park, London. This was designed by an English sculptor to commemorate the animal soldiers that served and died under British Military command, throughout history.

At the going down of the sun, we will remember them.W2. Churchill was furious when he heard of their plight and arranged for their safe return home.

     In November 2004, Princess Anne, the Prin

In a corner of our garden for waifs and strays live a family of mushrooms and toadstools, we call it Kingdom Fungi.    

      Life in Kingdom Fungi is quite laid back and no-one moans about there being little sunlight, as they don’t require it to make energy for themselves. 

     These colourful Fungi, made up of around 90% of water, contain more potassium in a single Portabella than in a banana! And, they help us in the reduction of cholesterol and blood pressure to name just a few important things. As a family, we often add mushrooms instead of meat, to our meals. 

     Like a mycophagist, I often take a basket and collect mushrooms from the woods, just as my father taught me. But some, despite looking like your average mushroom, can be poisonous so care should be taken and hands should always be washed afterwards. 

     Some mushrooms glow in the dark (I have never seen them) due to a chemical reaction called bioluminescence which produces a light known as foxfire. Apparently, these fungi have been used as torches in the dark woods. 

     Long ago, before the invention of synthetic dyes, fungi were used for dying wool and other natural fibres. Vivid colours were produced from the organic compounds of the mushroom dye. 

     So it’s a fact, my kind and unassuming husband and I have our very own amazing fungi family living right under our noses. And as I pass by their Kingdom, I cannot help but imagine a world of ‘little people’ living right under my nose!