Episode summary:
I am enjoying a perfect late spring evening in an English village. The sun is setting over the wheat fields, rabbits play in a meadow, the hedgerows are bursting with life and there are swifts and swallows on the wing. In the distance I can hear the mournful bleating of lambs and an owl begin to hoot in the woods. These are just some of the numerous natural wonders of an English village in May.
If you are wondering ‘what is spring like in the UK’, ‘if the UK experiences calm and dry weather in spring’, or ‘which birds are associated with spring in the UK’, this podcast episode might have some answers for you.
Listen to a podcast about enjoying a perfect late spring evening in an English village.
Transcript – S3 E6: Pastoral beauty in an English village
This week we are drinking in the bucolic beauty of the English countryside in springtime.
There are few things more restorative for me than an English village on a May evening. It doesn’t really matter where you are in the country – from Kent to Carlisle or Newcastle to Newton Abbott – May usually delivers the most reliable spring and early summer weather. Right now I’m in South Warwickshire – about a 90-minute drive northwest of London.
I want to report that I’m experiencing a peaceful scene as the sun sets over the wheat fields and the village settles down for the evening but in fact it’s pretty busy.
It’s all go in the village
In the meadow opposite the pub the rabbits are running through their Olympic training routines: high-jumping over each other, gymnastically pirouetting in mid-air and doing the 50-metre dash back to their warren when the dog walkers pass by.
In the top field the shire horses are having an evening feed, chomping lush grass under the solid, 400-year-old oak trees. A light dew is settling on their manes. One looks up at me and pauses for a second, grass protruding – cartoon-like – from both sides of its mouth, then lowers its fine head once more to continue its supper.
The screams and mews of swifts and swallows fill the air and echo off the red brick walls of farm outhouses and the spire of the little church. The birds are newly returned from their wintering grounds in Africa and are feeding like crazy on the wing. A friend of mine called me a day or two ago to tell me his swallows are back under the eaves, building a new nest. They return each year to the same spot; one of the numerous wonders of nature. And even though the male and female might make the long northbound migration separately they both reunite under the same eaves. Call me sentimental but that’s a love story worth celebrating.
They and the swifts will be performing their aerial acrobatics until the end of dusk, stocking up on as many insects as they can to feed their young, snug in their secret nests. And we mere humans, sitting in our back gardens for the first time this year and sipping chilled rosé only have to look up to witness this free, magnificent spectacle.
Hedgerow hustle and bustle
The hedgerows around the village are bursting with life – unseen voles and hedgehogs snuffle along their miniature highways deep below the brambles and blackberries. Robins and dunnocks flit in and out, delivering an almost constant supply of food to their young. I sometimes sit close to one of these hedgerows and if I am very still and quiet the birds flit by so close to me I get a slight draft from their wings.
The lambs in the fields to the north of the village are bleating mournfully; they’re at least half a mile away but their pleading calls carry through the mild air. There are scores of them this year, little white dots against a baize-green canvas. There always seems to be some confusion about which ones belong to which ewes and I believe a lot of the bleating is them trying to locate their mum. Best they do this as soon as possible because there’s another call I can hear… and it spells danger. Somewhere between a scream, a howl and a bark. A fox is beginning its nightly prowl. The lambs are a couple of months old now and have grown fast on the thick grass but they still need the protection of the feisty and brave ewes.
Staying up late
As dusk darkens into night I hear the first tawny owls, somewhere far off near the beech woods. I love how their first few calls each evening sound a little croaky like they are warming up their vocal chords. By midnight they’ll be hooting on the note but right now they sound like they’re in need of a throat lozenge.
This is the world I long for all winter, the world I return to each May, the world that fills me with joy and hope. The only slight downside is I don’t get an awful lot of sleep at this time of year. I stay up late to watch the swifts and swallows, and hear the tawny owls tuning up and then I’m up again a few hours later at sunrise to listen to the dawn chorus, an avian symphony echoing across the rooftops when it seems every bird in the village is singing its heart out to welcome the promise of another mild, rich spring day.
