My latest Country Diary on the much-loved colony of black guillemots in Bangor was a joy to write. Well, it’s true to say that all my Country Diaries are a joy to write, even when they mean getting up at some godawful hour – because the godawful hour always turns into a secret exhilaration. But, of the writing part of it, a lot of the pleasure is following what emerges from the gamut of experiences and research around the topic and working it into a piece of such brevity. It’s always a snapshot, and I’ve always reams of material left that I swear to myself I will write up a proper essay. As yet, that has not happened because I’m constantly working on other things. And there’s life in general. However, I live in hope that one day I will get back to this enchanting species. 

Another wonderful thing about being a Country Diarist is that it’s a ticket to conversations and meetings with the most lovely and generous people. So, here we go for the acknowledgements: this piece was inspired by a talk by Daniel Johnston at the BTONI’s Wild Weekend. On that day, Stephen Hewitt of BTONI was, once again, crucial in putting me in touch with the right people. Both Stephen and Kevin Mawhinney of the BTO pointed me towards  Katherine Booth-Jones, and ultimately Shane Wolsey. I know Shane of old, but we hadn’t met in a few years so it was great to catch up with him. It’s thanks to Shane that I got to see the nesting, or post-nesting, black guillemots at close quarters via his small “tender” (I love when I meet a new word – or a word whose meaning has another meaning in a different context). Aka, the inflatable from his boat, “Lazaway”. Shane, thanks a million for that brilliant morning, your time, your enthusiasm, your knowledge, and your kindness. I really appreciate everything. And sorry, I didn’t get to use your word ‘confiding’ about the guillemots after all! – maybe another time. 

BTW, check out Shane’s blog – it’s a treat, and I particularly recommend the dolphins from June 16, 2022. Breathtaking! 

Thanks too to Paul and Gillian who showed me their balcony decking with their built-in black guillemot nestboxes beneath. Sorry I didn’t have space to get to that either! 

I can’t leave unacknowledged my debt to the work of the late, and sadly missed, Julian Greenwood, whom I had the pleasure of meeting a few times. It was Julian’s practical support of and dedication to the colony, and his research on it from the mid 1980s, that made a massive contribution to its success. This must be a factor in high regard, indeed the pride, with which the people of Bangor hold their “penguins”. I experienced this on several occasions when I went to watch the birds in prep for writing. I would particularly like to thank the early morning walkers and dog-walkers at the Long Hole, who saw me sitting with the guillemots, and gave us, or rather the guillemots, a wide berth and thus our privacy. 

Over the years, there are many people who have been devoted to both caring for and researching the Bangor black guillemot colony. However, I would like acknowledge the late Barry Lightbody, and Ann Lightbody. I never knew Barry, but I did get to know Ann through my work as a Queen’s Open Learning tutor. In that role, I delivered some birding courses in Bangor, and Ann was the person who cued me into the Bangor Penguins in what were my relatively early days as a permanent resident of Belfast. So for both Ann and Barry, many thanks for the introduction and all the dedication. 

As always, I am grateful to the The Guardian’s editor of the Country Diary, Paul Fleckney. 

My latest contribution to The Guardian’s Country Diary celebrates the swifts of the Crescent Arts Centre; and, indeed, celebrates how the Crescent Arts Centre celebrates them itself, both in its care of the nesting colony, and through the Belfast Book Festival. Clearly that’s a lot of celebrating – not surprisingly with a species as exhilarating as this one.

Many thanks to Sophie Hayles CEO of the Crescent Arts Centre, and to Peter Cush of the Northern Ireland Swift Group for their inspiration and information. Also to Gail Jones, Communications Manager at the Crescent. And thanks, as always, to the Country Diary’s editor, Paul Fleckney.

I was delighted, if that’s the right word, to see Carol Rumen’s analysis of Strange Meeting in today’s Guardian.

Like one of the commentators below the article, I too grew up during the Troubles and was educated in a convent school. I have blogged elsewhere about the inimitable Miss Reihill, who taught me English for O’level, and thereby introduced me to Wilfred Owen in that treasure-chest of English Poetry, A Choice of Poetry.

However, like many adolescents, it was Owen who grabbed my attention. His work led to an obsession with both the Great War and the Second World War for some years. Perhaps those events felt like a safer way to grapple internally with the horrors of conflict than the low-grade war that I was actually living in the middle of.

Similarly to that commentator, I too knew Strange Meeting by heart; in fact, with very little prompting I still do. I recognise, as discussed by Rumen, that it is flawed; however its very flaws are part of its beauty. This article sent me off on a hunt to find my copy of ‘A choice of poets’, where I first encountered it. When I did, I chuckled at the scribbling that decorates most of the white space around it. While I was clearly an inveterate scribbler of notes, it’s not a surprise to me that this poem has been annotated intensely. I was clearly enthralled. I still am. It is such an important poem and at this time, with yet another tragic European war underway, it seems heartbreaking apt for the times. It’s also heartbreaking, as I noted above, (and I’ve no reason to doubt Miss Reihill’s word), that it was Owen’s last.

I’m a busy bunny at the minute, but the impending filing date for my April (!) Country Diary jolted me to the awareness that I haven’t yet linked to my February one. So here it is with a pretty poor photo of a local mallard pair pursued by two of those “surplus” males.

With all the excitement of Christmas and seeing folks over the hols, I entirely neglected to showcase my last Guardian Country Diary which came out on eve of New Year’s Eve. (I’m sleeping grand now, thanks).

And with the new year scarcely begun, I had a wonderful residency at the River Mill Writers Retreat in Co Down, where I met some old friends including the ravens that spill down from the Mournes, and a very alarmist buzzard. Thanks to the wonderful Paul Maddern for keeping this oasis of sustenance going. I don’t know how he does it but I’m very grateful, and to ACNI for the funding. After a long hiatus where I was largely focussed on other writing projects, I’m finally back writing poetry again. It feels good.

Finally, I’m back in the Marketplace Theatre and Centre in Armagh next week, delivering a six-week Creative Writing course beginning on 27th Jan. My first face-to-face work in almost 2 years! SO looking forward to it. I’m also giving a one-day “Spring Awakening” poetry workshop, 10am to 4pm on 19 Feb. Yes, yes, I know, I need to get this website updated properly, which is all part of my own spring awakening. There’s a grand stretch in the days already so I have time.

Today’s Country Diary in The Guardian. The whooper swans are among the many things that make Lough Beg special.

Many thanks to all the folks who helped me track down or provided detailed info about the breeding behaviour and movements of the local whoopers, including: Stephen Hewitt of the BTO; Terry Goldsmith, Seamus Burns & Gareth Bareham of the RSPB; Ciara Laverty of the Lough Neagh Partnership; and Graham McIlwaine of the Irish Brent Goose Research group.

As ever, thanks also to Paul Fleckney, editor.

My contribution to today’s Country Diary in The Guardian. A little allegory on climate change. Thanks, as ever, to Paul Fleckney, Country Diary editor.

Here is today’s Country Diary in the Guardian. A little piece about reed buntings. I discovered the marvels of Donnybrewer while I was doing my PhD some years back. It was one of my favourite fieldwork sites, thanks to these gorgeous and amazing little birds, as well as the beauty of the landscape and waterscapes. What we don’t know about other species is our loss, but I am so thankful that during my research I learned about how complex and informative the messages contained in reed bunting song actually are. 

What a joy this has been. The chicks were due to hatch by yesterday, but as I write they haven’t quite made a clear appearance, although their cheeps have been constant, and I’ve seen a wee head, I’m pretty sure, on several occasions. It’s the father on the nest right now, although the mother is very close by, and both parents have made exchanges from brooding over the last few hours. Both parents have been conversing with soup-dragon calls, both with each other and with their chicks. I am so grateful for the technology that has let me watch this. What a privilege.