It’s late again and all I want to do is to sit by the fire with a cup of sweet tea. The foxing hours are upon us and the polecat is still on the loose but the hens are safely tucked up in their beds, safe for another night at least. And you are more than welcome to sit in the chair opposite me. It’s old but comfortable and when the embers die down please use the blanket that’s folded on the side. I think tonight, I shall play my guitar and sing a wee song my father taught me a long time ago. It’s called Streets of London. But before that, I shall tell you why I chose this song.

      This evening I saw an old woman, lying lifeless on the cold, wet road. She had just been hit by a car. I quickly reassured her that help was on the way. She was thin and poorly dressed. Someone nearby said she roams the streets day and night and is always alone. I was heartbroken! Staring down at this woman, some mothers child, I wondered who she was and where she’d come from. Her name she could not tell me. And now, in the comfort of my home, I remembered the song that tells a story about loneliness and people, just like the woman who now lies on a hospital bed, alone!

       Close your eyes and listen to the lyrics. Picture the old lady and pray for her if you will.....

Have you seen the old man
In the closed-down market
Kicking up the paper,
with his worn out shoes?
In his eyes you see no pride
Hand held loosely at his side
Yesterday's paper telling yesterday's news

So how can you tell me you're lonely,
And say for you that the sun don't shine?
Let me take you by the hand and lead you through the streets of London
I'll show you something to make you change your mind

Have you seen the old girl
Who walks the streets of London
Dirt in her hair and her clothes in rags?
She's no time for talking,
She just keeps right on walking
Carrying her home in two carrier bags.

Chorus

In the all night cafe
At a quarter past eleven,
Same old man is sitting there on his own
Looking at the world
Over the rim of his tea-cup,
Each tea last an hour
Then he wanders home alone

Chorus

And have you seen the old man
Outside the seaman's mission
Memory fading with
The medal ribbons that he wears.
In our winter city,
The rain cries a little pity
For one more forgotten hero
And a world that doesn't care

Do you know any lonely people? Make one phone call! Write one letter! A few words can make all the difference!

Guido Fawkes was just thirty six years old when he stood in the Old Palace Yard of Westminster. His punishment for attempting to blow up the Houses of Parliament, on November 5^th 1605, was execution! Fawkes was one of many people who thought the Government was treating the Roman Catholics unfairly. They were disappointed with King James and his leaders, so a band of men decided to blow the lot of them up!

    This tall and powerfully built man with thick auburn hair, a flowing moustache and a bushy beard, known to us all as Guy Fawkes, had been caught red handed and in the possession of The thirty six barrels of gunpowder in a cellar below the Houses of Parliament. There was more than enough powder to raise Parliament and the surrounding area to the ground.

     Whilst waiting to be hung, drawn and quartered, Guido Fawkes threw himself off the scaffolding and broke his neck, thus avoiding the agony of mutilation. His only regret, he said beforehand, was that the attempt to blow the place up failed!

     And here we are,  400 years later and still celebrating 'Guy Fawkes Night' with all the firworks and bonfire displays......

Although known for their violent behaviour, there are many hawks that are quiet and gentle. This particular hawk, fearless and determined, displayed a confident attitude as it hunted above my head recently. I was too big a catch, but for the small birds and mammals in the sand dunes where I strolled, there were few hiding places.

      Even though he is not on the top of my most favourite bird list, I have to say, it was a magnificent sight to watch. After flapping his wings rapidly in the air, he used the momentum to glide gracefully and skilfully, above the sand dunes, searching for his prey. Thankfully, I did not witness the results of his hunger game.

       During mating time, the hawk (Accipiter gentilis) will fly with the female up in the air where they mate before free falling back to earth. Together they build a nest, and together they maintain it and care for their young. Many of the hawk’s species are monogamous and will remain together for the rest of their lives.

Proverb: A hawk kills because it is his nature; a man because it is his pleasure.

 ‘She will have to go!’ said one of the arrogant workers, ‘It's the way of the bees.  Someone will have to kill her!’

      ‘Isn’t that a bit drastic?’ said Cari, who had known the queen all of her life.

      The arrogant worker turned and stared at Cari. ‘She is grumpy and ill tempered and if that carries on there will be a swarm. She has to go!’

       Cari knew she had to warn the queen before it was too late.

       Meanwhile, not very far away, a young princess was about to be born.

       ‘She will be our new queen,’ said the arrogant worker. ‘We will call her Myfanwy, queen of our home for waifs and strays.

       It was warm in the hive so some of the workers fanned the comb where the princess lay and fed her drops of royal jelly so she would grow into a queen. Others went in search for the grumpy old queen, intent on killing her. But Cari had done her job well, she had warned the queen and a swarm of bees took her away to a safe place.

       Shortly afterwards, Queen Myfwany was born. She was taken to the throne in a large chamber. The whole hive gasped at her beauty. But one gasped louder than all the others. His name was Lord Garnock the Drone. Queen Myfwany saw the Drone and instantly fell for his charms.

        The young queen was told that she would have to be married as soon as possible. The hive could not survive without children. She asked to see Lord Garnock, but was told he lived in another hive.

        ‘A meeting will be arranged,’ said a worker and away he went.

        It was Cari who took the young queen to meet the Drone. On the way there, navigating by the sun, Cari told Queen Myfanwy the sad truth.

        ‘You cannot go back to the hive unless you are carrying children,’ she said softly. ‘If you are not, they will certainly kill you.’

         The young queen smiled at Cari. ‘They will not kill me,’ she said laughing, ‘I will marry the Drone and have his children.’

          ‘Oh but you don’t understand,’ Cari said desperately. ‘If you have the Drone’s children, then he will certainly die anyway. That is how it is with all Drones. It is the way of the bees.’

          Queen Myfanwy rested on a flower. ‘I do not understand,’ she said sadly. ‘It seems I am doomed whatever I do.’

           Before Cari could answer, Lord Garnock the Drone landed besides them. The queen’s heart raced with excitement. She hardly knew him but they were bound by a love too great to ignore.

           They were married on the flower and soon the young queen was expecting her first children.

           ‘I have never been so happy,’ said the queen to Cari. ‘I have everything a queen could wish for.’

          Cari just lowered her head to hide her tears.

          ‘We must go back to the hive for the children to be born,’ said the queen. ‘Where is my husband?’

          Cari touched the delicate wings of the young queen. ‘I’m afraid he is dead,’ she said sadly. ‘That is the harsh reality of being a Drone. It is the way of the bees.’

          The queen flew in silence all the way back to the hive. Her children were born shortly afterwards. As the bee nurses tended to the young, Cari entered the chamber.

           ‘There is someone I would like you to meet,’ said Cari to the queen. ‘His name is Lord Melkin.’

           ‘But is it not too soon?’ said the queen.

           ‘It is the way of the bees,’ replied Cari, ‘the only way to survive!’

The Bee Boy's Song

Bees! Bees! Hark to your bees!
“Hide from your neigbours as much as you please,
But all that has happened, to us you must tell,
Or else we will give you no honey to sell!”
A maiden in her glory,
Upon her wedding-day,
Must tell her Bees the story,
Or else they’ll fly away.
Fly away — die away –
Dwindle down and leave you!
But if you don’t deceive your Bees,
Your Bees will not deceive you.
Marriage, birth or buryin’,
News across the seas,
All you’re sad or merry in,
You must tell the Bees.
Tell ‘em coming in an’ out,
Where the Fanners fan,
‘Cause the Bees are just about
As curious as a man!
Don’t you wait where the trees are,
When the lightnings play,
Nor don’t you hate where Bees are,
Or else they’ll pine away.
Pine away — dwine away –
Anything to leave you!
But if you never grieve your Bees,
Your Bees’ll never grieve you.

 Rudyard Kipling

Just like the tale of A Chicken called Sandwich over on my ‘small page’, we once had a sheep called Sandwich too.

I found Sandwich (named because there was more meat on a sandwich than on the poor lamb) in a field, close to death. It was obvious that he couldn’t walk though he did try to stand. I went to tell the farmer, but was told he had died that morning. The family informed me that they would see to the lamb straight away. I trusted this would happen, but a gut feeling told me to check on this the following day. Sandwich was still there and still suffering.

     So I went to the farm again and told them about the lamb.

     ‘I will take the lamb myself if that would help you!’ I said to the obviously grieving family.

     ‘Take it!’ was the reply and so that’s exactly what I did.

     Without even consulting my kind and unassuming husband, I carefully laid the tiny lamb on the front seat of my car and drove home. I didn’t stop to consider what I would do with it, apart from taking it to the vets for a check up.

      Back at our home for waifs and strays, we were greeted by three fat cats and a curious husband.

      ‘I have something on my front seat that is very precious,’ I said seriously, ‘and there was nothing I could do but to bring it home.’

      My kind and unassuming husband opened the door and stared at the little lamb sleeping contentedly on my coat. He picked him up gently and without questions, carried him into the house.

      ‘We have to take him to the vet,’ I said, so I went inside and called him.

      With the help and advice from the vet on the phone, Sandwich soon had a bottle of proper lamb’s milk and a lot of love. He looked at us and bleated whilst his woolly tail wagged. He couldn’t walk but I took it that he was feeling a lot better.

      But later that day the vet x-rayed poor Sandwich and we learnt that his back was broken, probably hit by a car. We decided to let Sandwich stay in this world until the following morning, with the help of pain relief, so that he would know what love and kindness was before being put to sleep.

      Although Sandwich lived such a short while, even the daffodils lived longer, he died peacefully, knowing someone cared.