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The original Little Red disappeared last year after giving birth in the Spring. We last saw her in May.
Squirrels in general have been scarce recently, although the greys are making a comeback.
But this was the first red we’ve seen in a long time. Maybe one of Little Red’s babies?
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Squirrels are very resilient, but they obviously face many hardships.
They often turn up looking battered in one way or another.
This poor creature showed evidence of a serious wound and was hobbling about on three paws. It soon found the nuts I threw out.
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Once we notice an animal like this we start looking out for it and then, when it disappears we worry that it has met its end.
Which is totally pointless and foolish.
But it’s what we do, never-the-less.
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The plight of animals has always torn me up. As a child, I was called “sentimental” as if it was some sort of mental weakness.
During “the war”, I suppose there was no place for such indulgences.
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My parents spoke very little of the events of that war, yet it seemed to hang over our lives.
Everything was always referred to as either before or during the war, then as time went on, after.
It was a great marker of time.
And although there were many wars that followed, you always knew which one was referred to as “the war.“
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Born in 1948, I somehow felt less.
By the time I was old enough to understand, there was still plenty of evidence everywhere in London, of the bombing.
My brother was always in trouble for playing in the bombsites, though by the time I was old enough to run around, they were mostly gone.
My mother used to take me shopping in High Street Kensington and we’d go up to the roof garden at Derry and Tom’s where they had the remains of a bomb.
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One thing I was told about the war was that people had taken refuge from the bombing by sleeping in the underground stations.
All those small bits of information were sufficient to feed an active imagination and because I had not experienced the terror of those times, I felt a lesser creature.
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My parents always seemed emotionless and I supposed it was a result of the war. Because they were fairly unapproachable, I was left with unanswered questions.
It was certainly frowned upon for an English child to cry, at least in my experience.
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While I was never inclined to cry over a skinned knee, a sad story about an animal was apt to make me howl, but far from being comforted, I was told crossly to pull myself together, not to be so silly over a story.
In later years, if I exhibited emotion, it was not well received and I always felt that my parents believed I was weak-minded, as if they shook their heads wondering how they begat such a pathetic creature.
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Suppressing emotion is no doubt a defense mechanism needed to survive times of great devastation.
My aunt, who I lived with after coming to the States, was in the Women’s Auxiliary Air Force during the war.
Her experiences left her not emotionless, but inclined to become easily overwhelmed and nervous.
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Thinking about the war – that war, I’ve always wondered how I would have matched up and deep down I’m afraid that I would have been a dreadful coward.
Yes – everything was ‘before’, ‘during’ or ‘after’. iI was the great parental marker of time for the children of our generation. I have come to the conclusion that most of those from that time lived with undiagnosed PTSD to some degree. I think it was definitely the case with my parents.
Thank you, Carolyn, for your memories and excellent photography! I think you are brave and more as a person, not less!
Joanna
I have always been able to cry easily when it comes to animals. However, I wouldn’t describe myself as emotional, but it’s like I’m a little more sensitive to situations or what people say these days … the only reason I can think of is that it might have to do with menopause? In your photos, it looks like a proper snowstorm – thank you for still taking photos in the midst of the cold.
Your comment made me think about how many times I have referred to “the war” even though there have been many that occurred later. I was just a baby when “the war” was over, but many members of my family were involved with it. I guess that’s why “the war” had such an effect on me. Just the other day, I caught myself saying something about “the war” to a younger person and they asked me, “the second World War?”
Born in London in 1952, I was also brought up around people talking about the war. My mum sheltering in the tube stations from the bombing, my dad overseas in India in the army. His brother a POW of the Japanese, friends killed in combat or in the bombing at home, the V1 and V2 rocket attacks striking the area where my family lived, Like your brother, I played on bomsites, but unlike you I never felt guilty, or ‘less’ about not being alive in the war. I felt lucky to have escaped it. I think one reason why Americans are so gung-ho about invading other countries is because they have not suffered civilian bombing deaths and property destruction in their own country, or been occupied by a hostile army.
Best wishes, Pete.
I agree Pete. They talk about “Guns, Guts and Glory” as if it’s glamorous.