Little Thrush

 Little Thrush

Hey look! There’s a bird’s nest in that tree, d’you want to see the three pretty blue eggs in it? Where’s the mother bird? Oh there she is, on a branch and look, she’s watching us! She must have felt her eggs vibrating, and has hopped off them while they hatch. But she’s careful not to let them get cold because the chicks inside the eggs still need her body-heat to keep them alive. See, sometimes she hops back on them to warm them up. They’re song thrushes you know, and the mother bird has to sit on her eggs for about twelve days before they’ll hatch.

Now, while we were talking, look, with a special little hook-thing, called an egg tooth, on the end of its beak the chick cuts the eggshell from the inside, in a little line across the end of the shell. The chick isn’t very strong and can’t even see, because there’s still skin over its eyes. Its feathers haven’t grown yet either, doesn’t he look scrawny? How does he know where to peck at the shell? It must be dark inside the shell but even if there was a light in there, the chick can’t see what he’s doing! Even though he hasn’t got much strength, by wiggling and squirming, he eventually breaks free from the shell. Ha, look at that, the piece of shell is sitting on his head! It looks like a funny hat!

Well, that was a fight to get out of the shell, wasn’t it? Now look, the other two chicks are nearly out of theirs too! They can hardly hold their heads up but see, they hear movement, and when they hear movement, they open their mouths! Oh not mouths, what are they? Beaks, yeah, beaks with edges of bright yellow and yellow inside, which makes it a good target for their mother to pop worms into it. Look over there… the father thrush is catching worms on the lawn for the babies too. It’s a hectic time for both parents and the faster they feed their chicks the quicker they grow but the more they want!

Ok, now it’s seven days later and the chicks have opened their eyes so they can see! They know when their parents are near because they have very good hearing, the chicks make a lot of noise to attract their parent’s attention and open their beaks like little yellow trapdoors! Mum and dad try to give each an equal share but there is always a greedy one, the male, he’s the one we’ve been watching the most. Notice, his feathers are growing, at first they were stubby and didn’t look like feathers at all.

They’ve reached day thirteen since they hatched, so it’s time for them to leave the nest. Watch them as they go! Their wings aren’t even properly developed yet, but one by one, starting with the big male, they just flop out of the nest and tumble to the ground. We can only follow our big one, but, uh oh, one of the chicks hasn’t make it, the last one out! Did you see? When it landed, a stoat took it away to feed her babies. No, don’t be sad, that’s the way of nature, even though it seems cruel to us. Luckily, our wee guy landed on his feet and is already calling, ‘Peep, peep, peep!’ to his mother for food. She responds with a fat worm and look how the chick gobbles it down, immediately calling, ‘Peep, peep, peep!’ for another  .

Our little thrush chick might not be able to fly, but he can hop, and hop really fast!  Look at him go! He tries to keep up with his mother to be close to food, but he doesn’t understand that there’s danger waiting everywhere! Look out! The man’s mowing his lawn, and the chick’s standing right in the way of the mower! Look out, run little chick run! The man isn’t watching where he’s going, and the chick’s just standing like a dumb cluck, right in the mower’s path! Oh dear, chopped thrush! No! Whew! The man’s noticed the chick just in time, stops, and shoos him away. There, our baby thrush has learned a valuable lesson.

Mother thrush is gathering worms, but as fast as she catches one, the chick, with persistent peep, peep, peeps, demands it with his open beak, which, if you look closely is beginning to lose it’s yellow edging! He receives his reward, but here comes the other chick too so the mother’s even busier, hardly having time to gobble one down herself! And where’s the dad, he’s done a bunk! She doesn’t seem to worry about feeding in turns now, it’s the first one to be there when she catches food. But hey, look up there, see the danger? A hawk’s circling way up there above them, slowly circling, eyes sharp! Mother sees the danger and tries to lure her babies to safety among the bushes. Quick! But the second chick is too slow! What’s she looking at? A brown beetle moving in the grass! Oh, she’s too late! She’s lost sight of her mother and look at that! In a split second, the fast-flying hawk has swooped down, caught the chick and is taking it back to feed her baby!

Our little thrush chick was quicker and is safe, learning more of the skills he needs for survival! Now that he’s the only one left, the mother is focusing on him, feeding him well, and just five days after falling from the nest, see how strong he is and his feathers are filling out. His wings are developed too so now watch, after feeding him, his mother flies off some distance before she hunts for another. This tricks him into trying his wings, because he’s in a hurry for more food. See, sometimes he has lift-off and sometimes he falls headfirst on landing! Ouch. But now he can fly away from danger and from that pesky striped cat of yours!

Ok, here we are, nine days after falling-time from the nest, and our little thrush can fly quite well, and look at him chase after his mother! He can find half of his own food now and he constantly looks around, checking for danger. And, he’s nearly as big as his mother, so it looks funny when she feeds him, doesn’t it? He can fly pretty well, even following his mother high into that lemonwood tree!

How many days is it now since he flopped out of the nest? Thirteen, that’s right. Is there any sign of the mother and the chick together? No, the mother has abandoned her chick, but that’s cool, he’ll survive on his own if he’s careful! Hey, what’s that I hear up in the tree? Why, it’s the grown-up thrush chick, and he’s singing his heart out! He’s doing just fine.

C’mon, I’ll beat you out to the mailbox!

Harry's Armistice

Harry’s Armistice

The morning after the signing of the Armistice, the news finally reached New Zealand. The Armistice was signed 11:00am on November 11 1918, the end of four years of slaughter that became known as World War One, the Great War! Harry’s father left home in January 1917, was wounded at Passchendaele, evacuated to Brockenhurst Hospital where he died of his wounds a month later. For a nine year old boy the loss was traumatic enough, but his mother never recovered from the loss, leaving young Harry to quickly learn the ways of making do, scrounging and trying to keep his mother from, as she so often threated,  ‘topping herself’.

Harry’s little brother, his only sibling, died before the war started. He was trampled by a runaway horse, his small chest caved in under the weight of the animal! Harry’s fight to keep his mother alive was therefore a lonely, worrying one. He had no grandparents, at least none living, his Uncle Cecil was declared missing in Gallipoli with no further news of him. Harry’s aunt, his mother’s sister was in a tuberculosis sanatorium somewhere in up north.

Of necessity, Harry’s father had kept a productive vegetable garden which Harry tried his best to keep up, and it did provide for mother and son. He was successful with potatoes, carrots and a type of spinach that self-seeded and didn’t frost through the winter months. He knew where the apple trees were, and made night-time raids. He only ever stole apples, even though there were opportunities to pilfer other commodities. They might have been poor, but were never branded as thieves. Although he never saw any of   it, the government provided small payments to his mother, which she used to buy tea, sugar, soap and second hand clothing. Harry had no idea where the clothing came from, certainly it wasn’t new, nor did he care.

The charity clothing shop! That’s where she picked it up! November 4 was the first admission to hospital of someone who had been diagnosed with Spanish flu. It was a virulent bloody thing that swept through the nation like a July Sou’wester! Within a week schools were closed, as were picture theatres, the trams stopped running, and the city ground to an absolute standstill. Hospitals couldn’t cope and even nurses and doctors succumbed. Towards the end of the first week of the epidemic, Harry noticed his mother was drinking more water than usual and wincing at the pain in her back. He’d heard about the symptoms and although she’d been lethargic for months he knew he would have to keep a close watch over her.

She refused to go the bed at first, but Harry coaxed her, deep down they both knew her symptoms would only get worse and they were right! He prepared a bucket with disinfectant after she vomited the first time and tried to keep her clean. Just three hours later, diarrhoea set in but she never made it! Harry cleaned it up, as best he could and because she was so weak, he had to rip his mother’s nightgown off and dump it! That was day news of the Armistice came through. Harry didn’t notice, joyous as the news should have been, his world was bleak, his young face creased with worry!

Despite his diligence, he knew at the first appearance of those black spots on her face that she was going to die. With diminished hope, he tried to wash them off. Nobody was on the streets because everyone was afraid of catching the disease, so Harry remained alone with his ailing mum. He knew there were rough-sawn coffins at the end of the street but avoided going there until he was sure. The disease filled her lungs with blood and fluid, making breathing all but impossible. He held his mother’s hand that night until it became cold, and then he was sure.

In a little over one month since the first death, the epidemic was over. Out of a population of just over one and a half million, some nine thousand had perished, roughly half the number of brave souls lost during four years of bloody, filthy, uncompromising war. The disease had been totally indiscriminate in its choice of victims, unlike the war which took mainly the nation’s younger men and women. None of this mattered to Harry, he was alone and numb, unsure of the future and very afraid. For almost three months he hardly left the house, often wishing the disease had taken him along with his mother.

One afternoon, a uniformed man came through the gate and walked slowly up the path. Harry was immediately alert! He had difficulty picturing his father in his mind’s eye, but this man seemed of similar build wearing the same ANZAC uniform, it must be him! Had to be him! Hope sprung in his chest! The telegram must have been wrong! Doubt filled Harry’s heart just as quickly, when the man knocked on the door instead of walking in as his father would naturally have done. Harry cautiously opened the door a crack.

‘You must be Harry.’ The face said brightly. ‘Is your mother in?’

‘Me mam’s dead with the flu.’ Replied Harry flatly.

Misfortune seldom dwells on a shoulder forever and without ceremony, out of the blue, it left Harry! This man had joined up on the same day as Harry’s father, and they served in the same platoon. He was one of only three survivors from that old platoon!  Before that fateful, final push, the men of the platoon made a pledge. Should there be any survivors, and when victory was won, they would call on the families of the fallen, and perhaps help out where they could. This was the reason was the reason for the man’s visit. The soldier, who Harry came to know as Edward, was the son of a patriotic farmer in Central Otago, and when he heard about Harry’s plight, decided to take the lad in.

Harry never really healed, but his considerable progress was because of the honest care of Ma Crawford. She understood what Harry had gone through, she too had lost a son at Gallipoli and a daughter, a nurse, lost when the Marquette was torpedoed by the Germans. Harry never attended the annual commemoration of the Armistice, but he remembered! He went on to lead an ordinary farming life, but ordinary was just fine with him.

‘Lest we forget.’

Big Bang

The blame fell squarely on Henry! Albert had bought a clutch of Pekin bantam eggs for one of his clucky hens to sit on, and happily they hatched successfully, but there was a surprise! Two grey ducklings hatched as well. Of course Henry didn’t take the blame, taking the blame would mean some trick or other would later be played on him, and he didn’t want that! He’d been down at the river clearing a willow log, which looked like it was going to sprout and eventually block that particular branch of the river. He inadvertently destroyed a duck-nest with two eggs, and knew the duck wouldn’t return, so he took the eggs.  He knew every Friday Albert spent the day in town, which gave him the chance to visit the clucky hen.

The ducklings would be ok, Albert had reared ducks before and he had a pond below his house.    But they would be wild, he would allow them to come and go as he pleased. After feinting innocence about the ducks, Henry sat down with his mate under a huge weeping willow, both ready for a yarn.

‘What came first, the chicken or the egg?’ Albert asked out of the blue. They had discussed the issue several times, with both changing sides from time to time.

‘You don’t really want that discussion again do you?’ Henry responded. ‘Unless you have a new joke.’

‘No not really,’ replied a smiling Albert, ‘birds came from dinosaurs, so the question should be, “What came first, the dinosaur or the egg.” But talking about that sort of thing, the Jehovah What’s-their-handle called the other day, so to change their prepared sermon, I asked them about the big bang theory, but they don’t believe in it. Took ages to get rid of them though.’

‘They’re harmless enough. But I’ve got the Guinness Book of Answers,’ Henry smiled, ‘it tells all about the big bang theory.’

‘What kick-started it then?’ Albert asked.

‘Ha! It’s in the book if you want to read it, I do remember a bit. They reckon the universe is expanding and has a definite age. Anyway for some reason they don’t say why or how, but it happened faster than an eye blink, they nailed it down to ten to the power of minus… something like fifty seconds. Anyway after that it expanded at ten to the power of something bigger.’

‘What’s that mean? It’s clear as mud!’ Albert asked.

Henry dragged out his phone and asked the robot what ten to the power of fifty was, he couldn’t remember the number but he thought he’d try fifty. The robot said it was ten with fifty noughts on the end.

‘I should have known that! Anyway, so in a fraction of a fraction of a second, whatever kind of stuff it was, expanded, boof, to all those noughts in size and just kept on increasing.’ Reported Henry.

‘Easier to say it was created.’ Albert said firmly, ‘That way, you don’t have to think about it.’

‘But don’t you?’ quizzed Henry. ‘If you have a void of nothingness, how does it get to explode? And how does the original nothing suddenly expand replicating as it goes? Anyway, who’s to say it went bang? In a vacuum, sound can’t travel, so how can there be a bang? Wouldn’t an explosion in a void have to be nuclear because there’s no oxygen? So it’s all beyond me. But how can a nuclear explosion go off spontaneously, how did the sun catch fire?’

‘Dunno.’ Mused Albert. ‘But the void they talk about, can there ever be such a thing as nothing?’

‘I dunno either. In science at school, they had a vacuum in a jar thing, apparatus, but there must have been specs of dust on the inside of the jar, apparatus, specks of dust would contaminate it in a tiny way. But what’s beyond the universe?’’ Henry was tossing ideas like winnowing pine seeds.

‘Apper-arse what?’ Albert smiled. ‘Well, when religious people say the universe was created.’ He mulled. ‘Do they mean someone fired the explosion, or actually moulded all the planets and moons and push-started it all to get it going?’

‘Yeah, pressure causes diesel to go bang! And spontaneous combustion needs the right conditions too, so how that happened, would depend on what you believe.’ Henry asserted.

‘Oh, so now you’re hedging your bets.’ Smiled Albert sensing a sort of victory.

‘Not at all.’ Replied Henry. ‘I’m a definite believer.’

‘You believe in what?’ asked Albert, thinking he’d missed something.

‘I believe it’s ok to believe what you want.’ Henry replied. ‘After all, nobody can prove one way or the other, so let it be like that.’

‘What about what’s-his-name who didn’t believe in eating meat?’ Albert grinned. ‘You know, he worked for us for a while. Some odd religion he was hooked up with?’

‘Yeah,’ laughed Henry, ‘he asked me if I drank beer and when I told him I did, he asked me how often I beat my wife! Still what he believed didn’t harm us, but on the other hand, there’s the buggers who do!’

‘Bloody extremists!’ agreed Albert. ‘Good at bombing and killing, but they seem to be allergic to work. Wonder if they’ll help fix what they wrecked?’

‘Yeah, you don’t see them when there’s a tsunami or earthquake!’ Henry added.

Albert had one of his prize gerberas flowering in a pot beside where they sat, he held a flower without picking it, admiring the spiral-shape at the centre. Without speaking he followed the outline with his finger.

‘Curiosity, Albert, ever hear of the sequence of numbers, 1,1,2,3,5,8 it keeps going forever! To the end of the universe. You keep adding the last two numbers and on you go. So here’s one for you. How come if you draw them into squares of the same unit in sequence, you can create perfect spirals, the same spiral you see inside a nautilus shell, hurricanes or on a sunflower heads and even in distant galaxies? How’s that all happen then?’ Henry asked.

‘Beats me.’ Replied Albert with a shrug. ‘But look, here comes the bantam with her chicks… and ducklings.