.
This year the cherry tree has given buckets of red juicy
cherries which I was able to climb up to harvest. It was a race against time as
I was aware that there were many pairs of avian eyes burning into my back and
watching my every move. Some wanted me to drop fruit to the ground and make it easy
for them whilst others were carefully mapping the tree and where I couldn’t
reach.
At first it was visited by some small birds who played with
the fruit, pecked holes in it but made little impact.
Then the pigeon squadron was alerted and scrambled for a
dawn raid. However something else must have caught their beady eyes and the
dawn raid was cancelled and forgotten. Well they only have small memory banks
and probably not much longer than the average fish.
The fruit on the upper branches appeared to be being left.
Suddenly, branch by branch, limb by limb, it was being
cleared of all fruit and memory of all fruit. But who was doing it and when?
Yesterday I watched with interest as two magpies landed on
the top of the fruit cage. I thought the net would deter them so wasn’t too
bothered. Then one flew straight up into the cherry tree whilst the other
bounced around on the fruit cage as if it were a trampoline and he was getting his
daily exercise.
Now Farmer Tom next door on the Farm had told me about the damage
crows and magpies can do around the farm, how they can bully and push the
songbirds off the site and how intelligent they can be. Apparently, they sit
and watch the ducks being let out in the morning and like a flash they are in,
stealing eggs. The farmhands tried to stop them from eating all the chicken and
duck food by covering it in water. The birds didn’t mind fishing it out and the
carrion sat watching and before you know it, had got swimming goggles on, held
their breath, and ducked their heads under the water to get the food!
I then started to hear the singing of ‘Fog on the Tyne’ out
of the tree. The magpie now looked like a Newcastle United supporter swaying in
the wind on a branch and guzzling up cherries like pints of Newcastle Brown Ale
between verses. His voice got louder as he guzzled more cherries.
The lookout magpie caught the fever and now joined in with
the chorus and pecked at the fruit being dropped down by his mate in the tree.
It was if Paul Gascoigne had turned into a magpie, donned
his black and white strip and was joined by that other old Georgie, Chris
Waddle.
It was as if the FA Cup was coming home to Newcastle and they
started to sing it out loud forgetting the three lions and replacing those with
three magpies.
They were so drunk on cherry ale they paid no attention to
either me or Lottie who was putting her paws over her ears and making comments
about their poor singing. I was merely watching the tree being stripped now to
a chorus of ‘Steve Bruce’s Barmy Army.’
Robin popped his head up from pecking around the squash plants
and tutted disapprovingly, saying something about hooligans and national
service and went back to his breakfast.
Suddenly, as if the full-time whistle had blown, the
Newcastle team departed the field of play, wings around each other and still
singing with red juice dripping out of their beaks in their wake. One carried a
cherry in his mouth and I turned to Lottie to explain, ‘Probably scored a
hat-trick.’
There was no reaction so I added, ‘They get to keep the
ball.’ Still no reaction and I promised to tell her about the rules and gamesmanship
of soccer.
‘Glad they’ve gone’ commented Lottie removing her paws and
now clearly relaxing ready for a nap.
‘So is the cherry tree!’ I replied. ‘If this is playing to
empty stadiums, what’s it going to be like when the season starts?’
