COUNTRY LIFE
MY grandfather firmly believed that it was a lucky house that was chosen as a home by birds. At one time the farmhouse was shared by starlings, sparrows and owls, although the swallows that came each year preferred the open-fronted cart-shed or the byre. The birds were protected. If the chimneys were cleaned with rope, stone and gorse-bush, the sweeper was instructed to leave the chimney in -which the owls lived. When white-washing was done, the sparrows that lived in the eaves or built their untidy nest in the tea-rose were not molested, and even the noisy starlings were spared. Perhaps because I lived in that house, I take satisfaction in seeing that our eaves are the home of sparrows and that a blue-tit regularly shelters under the tiles at one corner. I find it a little harder to tolerate the jackdaws. They have a habit of sweeping the chimney without warning. They make a great deal of noise at daybreak, and once one flew out of the fireplace in our bedroom and covered us with soot, but, even so. I think a house in which no bird nests is a strange, sombre place. The twittering of a bird in the roof is a hopeful sound at daybreak.
Previous page
