From my www.wildyorkshire.co.uk blog, 30th May 2004:
A family gathering means that I meet up with George, aged 7, my great nephew.At a previous family party he and I collaborated on a story, Firefeet. George improvised the story – and for once I was careful not to prompt him, or discuss the plot with him, it was entirely from his own imagination – and I drew the illustrations as the story progressed. George kept the original copy, which was just on a piece of folded scrap paper but I was so haunted by the tale that I wrote it out again from memory, redrew the illustrations, coloured it in Photoshop and printed out a few copies on my colour printer.
George aged 6.
Swatches used when I coloured my scanned pen drawings for ‘Fire Feet’ (mainly using the paint bucket tool).
Aged just six, George came up with a story about a boy called ‘Firefeet’. During a family party, I illustrated it as he told me the tale line by line. I was so impressed that I did a printed, colour, version of it from memory when I got home.
For his latest birthday, yesterday, I thought it was time to catch up with his incendiary character.
The original Collins Field Guide to the Birds of Britain and Europe included bird names in Dutch, French, German and Swedish. The rose-ringed parakeet didn’t get a mention in my 1967 edition. Since then its made itself at home in Paris and on just one occasion we watched a pair briefly visit our bird feeders.
From my Osprey Camp sketchbook, July-August, 1973: I would have done some sketching on the summit of Cairngorm on Wednesday but the cloud never rose and my hands were numb. I was counting people who got to the top (4,084 feet). It was like working in a small cold but well frequented moon . . . The ride on the ski lift was great fun.
Note: In the Cairngorm Visitor Survey, during the period 19-25 July inclusive, 2,677 people were recored at the summit with a maximum of 900 (exactly!) on 23 July and a minimum of 65 on 20 July. I was there on the final day.
On Wednesday evening David [a surveyor from Edinburgh] and I took the night watch. l started, then realized that I’d already read ‘The Assailants’ by Stan Barstow so I read another short story from Argosy 1970.
The ospreys stretched their wings the wren sang round the hide. It began getting light at two thirty to three and got lighter and lighter. The chaffinches came for biscuits and a squirrel. But the ♂ didn’t bring a fish – they seemed to be finishing off the monster fish he staggered home with last night.
On Friday afternoon we walked up to Einich. Eight miles along a track built to transport pipes to the loch. We didn’t have time to climb the steep sides. No eagles. But two Ring Ousels. A good walk though.
In the evening with Jean and Peter walked along the firebreak; kestrel, capercaillie, mistle throstles, small brittle skinned brown puff ball type fungus; along past Malachi until it was possible to cut across the moor and back to camp where I had another go at Chris’s mini. It looks as if it’s breathing this time; keep trying.
Thursday 9th August 1973, from my Osprey Camp, Loch Garten, sketchbook: What a wind; swaying the forest pines, bending over the birches on the moor, breaking up the bank of cloud coming up the valley. There was white water on the gullery and grey breakers on Garten when I got round. I walked on shore getting sprayed.
‘They’ll moulder away and be like other loam.’ said Edwin Muir in his poem ‘The Horses’. This lorry was mouldering away on Torr Hill.
