One Of Twenty In A Drove

A long-tailed tit in an ash tree. I always think of John Clare's Emmonsail's Heath In Winter poem when I see them. I've mentioned before that he calls them bumbarrels because of their barrel-shaped nests. In the poem he has it:

"And coy bumbarrels, twenty in a drove,
Flit down the hedgerows in the frozen plain
And hang on little twigs and start again."

So true. They have those coy Princess Diana eyes and are always seen in flocks, sometimes with other tits, even though they are not strictly classed as tits. As he says they process through a hedgerow and then return.  I like Clare's use of drove for flock. I love this poem even more now that I have walked Clare's heath.

I've been doing driving practice with my grandson today. He did brilliantly. We passed Drovers' Way and I thought of the grandfather of my MiL who was a drover. He walked sheep from Wales to Smithfield market and picked up a wife on the way in Windsor castle kitchens.