Ospreyitis Part 2

 I first encountered ospreys - well a single osprey - in about 1965 or 66 when parents drove us to Aviemore for a summer holiday. As a moody teenager all I wanted to do was wander around on my own (certainly not with younger brothers!) or stay at the ice-rink where a few cool guys might be found. However on one particular day we were all piled, partly against our wills, into the car, and driven to Loch Garten where, father claimed, we would see the only ospreys nesting in the UK at that time.

I remember a slightly misty, tree-lined loch and eventually, after much scanning with binoculars, a bird flying in the far distance which father was certain was an osprey. I had no reason to doubt him, he was a twitcher before it was so named and knew his birds. This experience made an impression, I never forgot it or the story of the Loch Garten ospreys, whose nesting location was kept secret and guarded by devotees to prevent peculiarly-minded people from stealing their eggs.

Stealing eggs from wild birds was made illegal in 1954, which didn't stop certain avid collectors who cared not a jot for the actual birds, from continuing to take them.  

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Swimming vs. Sewage

I learned to swim in warm, tropical seas and though the English Channel is my only option these days, I love it. The local sea area from Beachy Head to Hastings pier was recently declared a Marine Conservation Zone and has amongst many other delights, rare chalk reefs, seahorses, dogfish, many spawning species of fish and rock boring piddocks who glow in the dark!

Our beaches are stony at high tide, covered in a fascinating variety of smooth, rounded pebbles from common flints and chert to quartz, jasper and indeterminate geodes with tiny crystals glistening in their crevices. 

Low waters reveal gleaming sands for building castles and canals, there is the remains of a shipwreck, the Amsterdam which foundered in 1749, a  petrified forest and rockpools with a myriad tiny seashells and creatures all enjoyed by locals and holidaymakers alike. The clean waters and beaches have been a huge joy for us all during two Covid summers, until earlier this month.

At the height of the summer holiday, swimming became unwise and unsafe. A major sewage spill near the railway track at Bulverhythe flooded beach-huts, contaminated many miles of sea and beach. Southern Water, whose responsibility it is, spend as little as possible on maintaining the infrastructure whilst awarding their grandees and shareholders huge bonuses from the charges which we have to pay to them, to get fresh water and sewerage.

To say the people who live here are angry is an insulting understatement. Our Marine Conservation Zone is contaminated, beach hut owners lose their prized huts, the Hastings beach-launched fishing fleet may have to go elsewhere and many tourists surely will so many local livelihoods are threatened.

Is this the price we must pay, to live on a fairly crowded island, surrounded by waters which though beautiful are a mere pawn in political games and uncared for by capitalism? It damned well shouldn't be!

Decluttering vs. Stuff

Decluttering, rejection of  'stuff' and the Kondo type of minimalism have become so fashionable, one is expected to feel guilty if disinclined to comply. But this fashion not only ignores individual creativity, it ignores the history that so many people keep safe, around them. 

Possessions are about so much more than style. I have my grandmother's sari, I never wear it but that's not the point. I have more things belonging to her and others of her generation, and subsequent generations. I have things which my children have made, things I've made including many clothes. I don't wear those clothes now and I don't look at the children's creations very often, but I know where they are, and what they signify. 

And I have books, so many books they'd give Ms Kondo the heebie-jeebies! They're not ornaments, they are culture.