Wuthering Dormice (aka Bike) Part 678 by Angharad

The girls came in for a drink and a biscuit and I told them they each had to read to me, as per the instructions from the school. They grumbled but agreed. They each read a chapter of Maddy Bell’s ’Anime days’, and they both did quite well in coping with ‘adult’ text. They also showed some reasonable comprehension of the stories and Livvie seemed quite happy for the Gaby/Drew duality to occur without too many questions.

She did query one point, “How come he says he doesn’t like wearing girls’ clothes but he always ends up in them?”

“I think he feels he ought to protest, but part of him likes it really.”

“How sensible,” she said, “otherwise he really would suffer, wouldn’t he, Mummy?”

“Suffer?” I queried.

“Well, yes, I mean if he like, really didn’t like wearing skirts and things, he’d be very uncomfortable, wouldn’t he?”

“I suppose he would.” I thought back to my first ventures in skirts, they weren’t particularly comfortable, especially in public. My first meeting with Simon, was a veritable nightmare—I spilt wine all over him, and fell over my own feet—so embarrassing. Now, I don’t take any notice. I wonder if Trish feels uncomfortable in the school dresses? I’m not sure she likes them particularly, but she hasn’t really objected either; seemingly accepting that they go with the territory.

“Doesn’t anybody recognise him?” asked Livvie, after a moment’s thought.

“Apparently not, presumably they’re seeing out of context, so they don’t realise who it is.”

“What’s context?” she asked.

“Let me see if I can explain it. It’s seeing something in its usual surroundings. So, if I was used to only seeing you in your school uniform, and then one day I saw you in your play clothes or even, your best clothes, I might not recognise you because you’d be out of your usual context. “I heard a lovely story about an ornithologist—that’s someone who studies...”

“Orniths?” suggested Trish.

“Birds.”

“What like sparrows and blackbirds?” asked Livvie.

“What like a birdwatcher?” asked Trish.

“Birdwatchers are usually ornithologists, because they study the habitats and things as well, so they can find the birds they want to see. Then, by watching them, you get to learn things about their habits as well as the places they live and feed, all about their mating habits and behaviours and if you’re really lucky, may see them looking after their young. Other ornithologists might catch them and ring them.”

“What on the phone?” Livvie asked, chortling.

“Hello, is that Mrs Blackbird?” said Trish and they were off, giggling again.

When they were finished, I continued. “Ringing birds, is about putting a metal or plastic ring on the leg of the bird, noting the number on it and weighing it; sometimes they measure size of wings and so on. All this is made a note of, and then the bird is released.”

“Why do they do that?” asked Trish, “seems like a lot of bother for nothing.”

“If the bird is caught again, then it shows how far it’s travelled. In some species like Arctic terns, they travel right around the world, maybe ten or twelve thousand miles.”

“So?” said Trish, “Who cares?”

“Lots of people, and really we all should. A couple of hundred years ago, they thought that swallows hibernated in the winter under the mud of ponds.”

“That’s silly, even I know that,” Trish asserted,

“So where do they go in winter?” I asked.

“Africa.”

“How do you know?”

“I saw it on the telly, why?”

“The film makers would only know that the swallows they were filming came from Britain if they’d been ringed here. Without that, you wouldn’t know, would you?” I challenged.

“You could always follow them,” said Trish and I could almost hear the wheels turning.

“They often migrate at night, and two hundred years ago, they didn’t have aircraft.”

Trish blushed and stuck her finger in her mouth and made a silly noise. That made Livvie laugh and I had to restore order by telling them off. Once things were back to sensible, Livvie asked, “Why did they think swallows hibernated?”

“I don’t know for certain, but people knew that some animals did, and even some insects.”

“Insects?” said Trish.

“Yes, some butterflies do, dragonflies and a few other species. Can you think of larger animals that do it?”

“Bears,” offered Livvie.

“Good girl, what about you, Trish, can you think of any?”

“Um, no.”

“What animals do I study?” I prompted.

“Dormice—oops,” she blushed again, “we saw them on the telly, too.”

“Squirrels do, so do hedgehogs and most bats.”

“What about balls?” quipped Trish, who was showing off, “don’t they hibernate too?”

“What about the swallows and the mud, Mummy,” asked Livvie again.

“I suspect what happened, was that people noticed they all disappeared at the end of summer, and they had no idea where they went, but because they make nests out of mud, as do house martins, they probably found the odd dead bird in the mud.”

“Why would they find dead birds in the mud, Mummy?”

“I don’t know, but swallows and martins feed on flying insects. They often collect over water, so the birds fly after them. Occasionally birds will be old or weak and be unable to fly and if that happens over water, they drown or fall in the mud, or they could have got stuck in the mud while collecting it for their nest.”

“That’s really sad, Mummy.” Livvie voiced her emotions and Trish actually stopped fooling about.

“I’m afraid the life of many birds, animals and plants is very fragile. Loads of migrating birds die on their travels, especially over seas or oceans or deserts. The Sahara desert is growing all the time and many birds have to cross it without a chance to feed or rest. Then there are man-made hazards, spraying chemicals or destroying woodlands, draining lakes or simply catching or shooting them.”

“People shoot swallows?” asked Trish in disgust, “That’s silly.”

“It’s disgraceful, but yes, they do it in several Mediterranean countries. Years ago, I nearly got into a fight with someone over it in Malta.”

“You nearly got into a fight with someone?” gasped Livvie.

“Yes, the man was shooting songbirds, or wanted to and my walking past his garden was preventing them from landing, so he got cross with me, and I got cross with him. He shouted at me in Maltese and I shouted something very rude back to him in old English.”

“Can you talk in Old English, Mummy?” Livvie seemed well impressed.

“Sadly, no, sweetheart, just a few words of abuse, like most adults. Many of the swear words we use, come from older versions of English, sometimes Old French.”

“My old mummy, used to say it was unladylike to swear,” Livvie looked wistfully into the distance.

“She was quite right, people who used to swear were called fishwives.”

“Do fish have wives then?” Trish was in interrogation mode.

“Yes, mermaids,” said Livvie and laughed. I chuckled too.

“Fishwives were the wives of fishermen, years ago. Generally, they lived very hard lives, and drowning was common amongst fishermen, so the poor women had to bring up their families with very little money. Often they lived in small communities near the harbours and in those days, lots of them drank too much gin. The combination of lack of money, poor education and probably a rough time with their husbands—husbands often used to beat their wives, in those days—made them rather foul mouthed.”

“Gosh, you know so much about everything, don’t you, Mummy?”

“Not really, Livvie, I’ve just been around a bit longer than you and had more time to learn things, plus I used to read rather a lot.”

“I like reading, too. I hope I’m as brainy as you are, Mummy.”

“Me, too,” agreed Trish.