Where Have They Gone?

Where have all the children gone, the ones I knew so long ago when, as a boy, I lived in East Africa?

They have spread across the world as, with the peripatetic lifestyle that was common to so many of them in their upbringing, I think I would have expected. So they are in Australia, in the US, in South Africa and Zimbabwe as well as in the UK and other European countries. They have scattered in the winds of change. 

Yet, despite the decades that have passed, I am still in touch, on a regular basis, with three of them, and on a more occasional basis with two more.

Of the many others, I know where some are but do not hear from or of them, and some - more and more - I know have died.

Wherever they are, and whether they are alive or dead, I am deeply indebted to them because many had such a strong influence in moulding my life; and I do hope, therefore, that they all lived long, happy and fulfilling lives.

View & Sound of the Sea

For the second half of January the sea, pressed on by an at times vicious east-southeasterly, has been breaking across the sand-bar running parallel to the Golspie shore. At night, lying awake, I can hear the sound of the breakers, this despite living in a house a good half-mile back from the coast, a house with full triple glazing.

I have lived in other houses blessed with both a view and the sound of the sea. At the Hoey House, a magnificent bungalow to the north of Mombasa set back from a coral-sand beach by fifty metres of mown lawn and palm trees, there were times when....

...the sea seemed to be washing up against the long veranda at the front of the house. Sadly, we had only one summer holiday there before we moved back into Mombasa to another house where we could both see and hear the sea....

....a house built at the top of a low scarp overlooking the golf course and the entrance to Kilindini harbour. One of my most abiding memories of that house is the ubiquitous roar of the ocean waves destroying themselves against the coral reefs that skirted the land edges.

Our house in Kilchoan was as close to the sea but it had been built in a fold in the hill and faced out onto the relatively protected waters of the Sound of Mull so, while we could sit and enjoy the magnificent view, we never really heard an angry sea.

KiSwahili

Because my mother went back to working for the Tanganyika government as soon as possible after I was born, I was entrusted during her working hours to an ayah, Fatuma, who, in due course, was also given my younger brother to look after.

There seemed to be an unwritten rule in East Africa that one communicated with the servants in KiSwahili, the lingua franca of Eastern Africa. The use of the local language wasn't general in British colonies: in Rhodesia we communicated with our servant, Titus, in English.

As a result, my brother and I learnt the language very quickly, and I do wonder whether, at times, because we spent so much of our waking hours with Fatuma, our KiSwahili was better than our English.

As I grew up, and after we left Fatuma in Dar-es-Salaam when we moved to Kenya, I kept up my KiSwahili through conversations with our servants, but things started to deteriorate when I was sent 'home' to school in England, with the result that I only used the language in the eight week summer holidays. 

That said, KiSwahili did pop up at odd moments, the worst being in French lessons where I was constantly inserting KiSwahili words where I meant a French word.

KiSwahili has in common with English an ability to be flexible and to absorb new words, but its main strength is in the simplicity - certainly compared to English - of its grammar. Not that we bothered too much about KiSwahili's grammar when we were using it: the language we spoke day-to-day was called Kitchen Swahili which, while mangling the rules of its grammar, was nevertheless a very effective means of communication. 

The only person who spoke grammatically correct Kiswahili was my father, who attended KiSwahili classes when he first moved to East Africa. We always maintained that his KiSwahili was so perfect that no-one understood it.

The last time I spoke KiSwahili was on our three visits, as tourists, to Tanzania in the early 2010s. Before I went, I bought books and worked hard to repair the damage the decades had done.

I did have some conversations in KiSwahili but I struggled - and of course many of the guides and waiters and others one came across preferred to speak English.

First Daffodils

The air temperature is 5C but it feels much colder outdoors as the persistent east-southeastly wind is still blowing - and promises to wind itself up to gale force again through tomorrow.

Walking through the pine plantations near the house it's noticeable that an unusually large number of branches are down, perhaps because the trees on the eastern side of the forestry aren't accustomed to this sort of prolonged battering.

There are, however, more signs that we're beginning to crawl out of the coldest part of the year. The sunrises are now much earlier - this was the view across the Firth at ten past nine this morning with the sun well up - and today I found....

....the first of the daffodils poking through the leaf litter.

It would be nice to think that these pink-footed geese passing over us each morning are migrating north but they aren't, as they come south again each evening to their roosts around Loch Fleet.

The squirrels along Squirrel Alley are doing fine, thanks to the generosity of the householders on the other side of the fence. These are being fed by humans, but it was good the other day to see that the squirrel which harvested and buried cob nuts along the verges of our road in the autumn is coming back to find them - even though our neighbours have been putting out plenty for it to eat.

Annual Bird Count

We participated today in the RSPB's annual Big Garden Birdwatch. From our sitting room we have a good view of the main feeding area for our small birds, so we sat in comfort for an hour around midday to count how many birds we saw. It's a relatively easy process: one simply notes the maximum number seen of each species on the feeders or in the bushes or on the ground so, although chaffinches were constantly coming and going, the number that mattered was seven, the most we saw at any one time.

The process wasn't without problems. The neighbour's cat decided to count the birds too, and....

....a wood pigeon ate most of the extra seed we had put out to attract the birds, but we ended up with fairly representative numbers: seven chaffinches, two each of dunnocks, goldfinches and siskins, and one each of blackbirds, robins, house sparrows, blue tits, coal tits, and.... that fat pigeon.

The Depths of Winter

Muddy green and grey are the colours of late January, the deepest depths of winter. The wind has been a persistent east-southeasterly for more days than I can remember, bringing grey clouds and creating breakers which crash on to the Golspie shore, pick up the dwindling sand along the beaches, and move it offshore to build sand-bars parallel to the coast.

I went for a walk up into the forestry this morning and came home after an hour without taking a single photograph - which must be a record; and there's little hope of anything changing until the latter part of next week, though there are signs that....

....one or two things may begin to happen soon, for the catkins are out.

Meanwhile the pink-footed geese are still feeding in the farmer's fields down by the railway, and....

....our precious snow-strawberries in the raised bed are just waiting for a bit of sunshine to ripen them.

First Spring Flowers

With DM reporting that the first daffodils are in flower in Devon while our daffodils haven't yet dared to show a green shoot above ground, we set off into the woods around Dunrobin castle to see what we could find in the way of spring flowers, and were thrilled when we found....

....in amongst the leaf litter, our most spectacular spring flower in full bloom....

....the scarlet elf cup.

Okay, okay, so it's not a flower but the fungus' spectacularly cheerful colour is a wonderful pick-me-up in the dismal grey winter weather we're currently enjoying.

Not that all was good news. There are five elf cup sites in Dunrobin woods and we visited three, of which one didn't have a single flower, another had four, and our best site, which in previous years had thirty or more....

....only had twelve - but then it is early in the elf cup flowering year.

Happily, when we visited the site with four elf cup flowers we stumbled across something we hadn't been expecting yet....

....the first snowdrops of the year.

Many are only just appearing as few flowers are open and there are plenty of shoots only now pushing up out of the ground, so it looks as if, weather permitting, we should have a good year for snowdrops.