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Dr Hoo
I go to Northward Hill almost every day, usually in the late afternoon when the reserve is closed to give my two nightmare Border Terrorists a free run.
This evening I sat there with Chris Gibbard in the fading light at Sweeney VP seeing Grey Plover, Marsh Harrier, Grery Heron, Corvids vocalising aplenty, Lapwing etc. Mallard quack/laughing, Little Grebe (Dabchicks) trilling. Green Woodpeckers yaffling. I could not help but recall the fabulous 18th century poet John Clare. One of his best works says it all.
The wild duck startles like a sudden thought,
And heron slow as if it might be caught.
The flopping crows on weary wings go by
And grey beard jackdaws noising as they fly.
The crowds of starnels whizz and hurry by,
And darken like a clod the evening sky.
The larks like thunder rise and suthy round,
Then drop and nestle in the stubble ground.
The wild swan hurries hight and noises loud
With white neck peering to the evening cloud.
The weary rooks to distant woods are gone.
With lengths of tail the magpie winnows on
To neighbouring tree, and leaves the distant crow
While small birds nestle in the edge below.
I love John Clare, even more so that he was shunned by the snobbish, literati of the time as an illiterate country bumpkin.

The North Kent Marshes are a very special area and worth preserving at all cost.