Secret Stock

Discussion Discussion

Secret Stock

“See, there, between the two trees – can’t you see it?” Giles knelt down next to his whispering nephew and peered across the clearing between the trees. There, about twenty feet away was a small, moss-lined nest made of twigs supported between two near-vertical thin branches of a small birch tree.
“Can you see the eggs?” whispered Anderson excitedly.
“Yes,” said Giles stretching his head higher, “I think there are about five or six.”
“There’s the mother!” whispered Anderson urgently and pointing up into the branches above, “she’s come back to sit on them.” Giles looked up and saw something he’d never seen before; well not in all his years watching birds. It was an unmistakably exotic Waxwing.

Seeing a nest was unremarkable enough for Giles who had been unofficially named the Smith family’s ‘twitcher’ on account of his lifelong interest in birds; he’d even moved to work and live in Norfolk to satisfy his interest. The 11 year-old Anderson had said that this was a secret place where there were lots of nests and some really exciting birds. Not really believing he was going to see anything he’d not seen before – especially in Barnes in South west London, Giles had only come along to placate his brother’s son who’d been insistent about his secret place.
“Have you been to this ‘secret’ place?” Giles had asked Sigrid, Anderson’s beautifully blond Swedish mother whom Giles’ not so beautiful (or young!) brother had managed to bag on account of his success in the City when he was a younger man.
“No,” Sigrid had replied with her usual Scandinavian aplomb. ”Anderson is always talking about it – I just assumed he must have some of your ornithological genes!” Her English had always been excellent.

A Waxwing! Surely it was only ever seen rarely on the east coat in the winter when the cold weather of its northern European home forced it south? Just as he was thinking of the potential of announcing that he’d seen a Waxing nesting in south west London on his blog, he felt Anderson nudge him gently on his leg. Looking to the young boy, he saw that he was now pointing to an area of bush about ten feet to the right of the Waxwing nest.
“Look, there, the bird with the funny beak.” Re-focussing his eyes for the darker area of bush Giles looked at a more familiar sight. Or was it? No, it might at first glance have looked like Crossbill, but it was stockier, bull-necked even, and its bill was deeper and stronger looking – could it be a Parrot Crossbill; again, these were not visitors to the UK and was restricted to northern and eastern Europe?
“His nest is over there,” said Anderson calmly and pointing again into the distance, “but you can’t quite see it from here.”

When they’d gone for their walk that morning - as much as anything for Giles to walk take a look at what he could see along the Thames bank – he’d understandably assumed that Anderson’s pleading about his secret place would be nothing of any real interest. Pointing out to the boy a couple of Goldfinches washing themselves in the low water puddles near Barnes bridge was, he thought, likely to be the highlight of the sunny June Sunday morning stroll. But he was wrong. He’d been taken to a small area of land on the north west bank of Barnes Bridge, designated a ‘conservation area’, through a small gap in the metal link fence – it was well hidden from the quiet road which ran along the river bank from Chiswick bridge.