I raced across the bridge, hanging on to my hat lest the wind ripped it off and it bobbled away downstream on the swollen brown River Severn. Then I slipped down the first turning on the English side, and was soon ensconced at a small window table in the Armoury pub with a pint. I like it here. It’s a regular port of call when I’m this heathen side of the border.
But there’s another reason for the visit. Out of my bag, I take a copy of the Guardian and my spyglass. The latter I focus on the willow trees opposite, their branches lashing in the wind. Their leaves spin down, drifts of them eddying back into the bank. The wild persistence of the wind reminds me of The Willows, an Algernon Blackwood story and a masterpiece of the eco‑horror genre.
Where’s best to see kingfishers? We all have our favourite most memorable sightings. These Shrewsbury ones are reliable. Other favourite locations are in a bed of phragmites alongside the path down to Poppit Sands, west of Aberteifi (Cardigan), where they cling to reed stems and dart down into the shallow, sandy stream; or more northerly on the River Till in Northumberland, before it debouches into the Tweed not far from Norham Castle, known from Turner’s magical sunrise painting. Like Turner, the kingfisher lives its life in constant exchange with light, as its ethereal feathers of azure and orange only incandesce when catching the sunlight. Behind glass, stuffed ones become dowdy and lose their luminescence.
My favourite kingfisher sighting was at the western end of Morfa Bychan in Gwynedd, where they were roosting in caves inaccessible to the holiday hordes on the beach below.
As for our Shrewsbury birds, I’m giving away a secret here that I’ve treasured for years. May it enhance your pleasure in your drink as you watch the halcyon birds emerge from their leafy refuge to skim and dive along the river. It’s one of my favourite natural sights, and to be able to witness it so luxuriously is pleasure indeed.
