I was ambling down the garden when a shadow plummeted and alighted on a pile of old branches about eight feet away. It posed, wings half-raised, glaring at me with blazing yellow eyes. It was a sparrow hawk, a magnificent female, big enough to bring a woodpigeon down in flight. She held my gaze for about ten seconds. Then, quite nonchalantly, she spread her wings and drifted away over the hedge.
I love the sparrowhawks for their wildness and aeronautic skills. My womenfolk don't, citing the toll they take of the bluetit population. It's all a matter of opinion. Our sparrow hawk patrols Little Eccleston, much of Out Rawcliffe and, of course, the environs of the Cartford Inn. Keep an eye open for her as she swoops low and lethal among the trees and over the river. You'll recognise her by her stripy burglar's vest, long, yellow legs and the way the other birds shriek at her approach.
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