Songs of Field and Garden

Tag: Art

It’s Nearly Time Again

Here we are in the middle of a gloomy February in the UK. The rain seems to have been relentless throughout January and has not improved yet this month. There are over 100 flood warnings live and it’s due to turn even colder this coming weekend – but still with only one day of sun forecast.

And yet…

Just four or five short weeks away and these wonderful birds will begin to return to their breeding colonies around the UK. The nearest to me are at Flamborough and Bempton, I’ve certainly seen the birds there from mid March.

Of course the best time to see them is from May to July – and that’s certainly when you might expect some warm days and maybe even be tempted to take a dip in the sea for yourself.

The beach at Flamborough North Landing is pleasant and sheltered. There’s a good car park, cafes, shop and the best ice cream cone 99s in Yorkshire. The walk from here round to the lighthouses offers some of the best opportunities to see puffins, as well as kittiwakes, razorbills, guillemots and more. I have also seen dolphins off the coast and the sight of gannets flying past on their way to or from their feeding grounds and their nest sites at Bempton is wonderful.

Sea Hunter – Songs of Field and Garden

In March the orchids might just be coming out along the clifftops along with the daffodils or course.

The puffins themselves inspired me to write my first book –

Aldar, A Puffin’s Tale

An Image from the book Aldar, A Puffin’s Tale

So, despite the gloom of another wet day, the cold, the mud and the seemingly endless winter, there is light at the end of the tunnel. Days of ice cream and sun, the glorious views and the search for puffins on the limestone cliffs all accomanied by the sound of the kittiwakes and the gulls.

A puffin prepares to land.

February 10, 2026
The Garden Tympanist

A detail from my latest poem “The Garden Tympanist” destined for the forthcoming book “Songs of Field and Garden”. A collaborative blending of poetry and illustration.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

This year the shells were gone; you were not here,

spring’s budding hedge now quiet where you sang,

no holes in ornamental leaves, no food for young.

I heard you sing,

I miss your song,

I’ll listen still,

for your return.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

If you think you could illustrate this poem with a pencil, watercolour or other rendering of the bird in question and would be interested in hearing more about the collaboration then please comment below or send a Contact Message.

www.songsoffieldandgarden.com

Who can guess the bird I wonder?

February 6, 2026
The Art & Poetry Project

A forthcoming illustrated poetry collection exploring some of our favourite British birds. This will feature poetry which brings each bird to life, its lifestyle and behaviour, song and calls, its relationship with humand past and present and in particular the folklore of the species.

Each bird will feature an illustration by a talented artist…

Part of a pencil drawing of a robin by Time Mason

Alongside the poem…

A Stanza from the poem – The Garden Sprite.

Fresh-turned soil, his pride of place,

The gardener’s mate with watchful grace,

A flit, a jink, a cock of head,

Then perches on the garden shed

I am still looking for a few more artists to collaborate with the project, if you would like to be considered please contact me using the contact form

If you would like to receive news as the project progresses please sign up to our newsletter

February 2, 2026
Sea Hunter

The Circle Turns

A line of white weaves across the sky,
a sinuous wave
reflects the swell below.
Drawn closer they resolve
a chequerboard
of ivory and sable,
Rendered clear by gathering age.

Raucous din repeats,
Noise washing over all.
Males flex wings and raise
sun washed heads
to dance
as if no-one sees.
Or gather grass,
uncaring close beneath our feet.

Azure ringed orbs
Of midnight centred white.
Black on black, survival’s legacy.

From circling sky a hunter falls,
Plunging without fear.
Wings back, legs tucked,
A living fishing spear.
To pierce the waves, to reach the depths,
A thrust, a miss, so near.

the surface regained,
Ungainly now, a fleeting loss of grace.
An effort
to reclaim the air,
To pull, to climb,
to soar once more.
The hunter returns, the circle turns.

Copyright Steve Allanson February 2026

I often travel to Flamborough or Bempton in the breeding season to watch these magnificent birds. They are overshadowed in popularity by the delightful puffins but they deserve their own place in our consciousness.

Gannet in flight, Bempton, UK

In recent years, avian influenza has devastated gannet colonies across Britain. Survivors can be identified by the loss of the distinctive pale iris—their eyes turn entirely black. ‘Black on black, survival’s legacy.’

Majestic, striking, the gannet is a large bird and unafraid of humans. In fact, if you see them gathering nesting material along the clifftops at Bempton – mere feet from the crowds watching and filming them, you might come to the conclusion that they dismiss our presence as irrelevent.

In folklore they are often seen as messengers of the sea, signals – of course – of the presence of fish. They are seen as symbols of endurance and resilience, as well as of commitment. Their hunting dive is one of total resolve; spearing the sea at speeds of nearly 100 kilometres per hour. Their reinforced skulls absorb most of the impact but, nevertheless, as they age their eyesight can suffer from the repeated shocks.

There is a tale, which can be found in Adam Nicholson’s wonderful book “The Seabird’s Cry” which should, apocryphal or not, serve as a caution. It tells of a beach somewhere in the south of England where, when the tide is out, the exposed wet sand can appear from above as a continuation of the nearby open water. The gannets, apparently can make this mistake and dive to crash into the sand and injure or kill themselves.

The story tells of a man who, coming across an injured bird, picks it up in the hope of taking it somewhere for assistance. He sensibly took the head in his hand as he carried the bird, but was distracted by a dog yapping at his heels and let go – at the cost of an eye!

That beak is razor sharp.

Let’s hope the bird recovers from the impact of Bird Flu, and survives the other challeges we throw at it (Plastic in the sea, getting tangled in fishing gear, climate change) so that we may continue to admire it.

Gannet in flight over the sea of Filey Bay.

February 1, 2026