AS I write these notes, our local swallows are preparing for departure to Africa with their new families. It seems barely possible that this season’s young birds will soon be flying thousands of miles at such a tender age, although some of them may be several months old. Swallows may have two or three broods while here, the first being as early as April or May, particularly in the South of England when they return from Africa.

Over the past couple of weeks before writing these notes, we watched a flock of swallows numbering about 30 who have been flying dangerously close to our house and those of my neighbours. Indeed, at least two of them have flown into our conservatory windows, apparently without harm, while every so often, they will fly to a nearby telegraph pole and settle on the wires, like a row of musical notes.

It seems that one of the attractions is our fish pond.

There is always a lot of insect life upon and around it, and from time to time swallows will swoop very low over the lawn and garden, then dip into the pond’s surface.

Whether they are taking in drinks of water or snatching insects such as pond skaters and backswimmers from the surface is not very clear, but they are regular visitors. They also spend a lot of time flying over local trees and shrubs, clearly seeking insects.

Even in September, when some swallows will have departed to the South of England, we watched our local birds and it was clear that several of them were juveniles.

They can be identified by their shorter forked tails and brownish-red underparts instead of the smart white or lighter colouring of some adults.

It was comparatively simple to identify the young ones because they were being fed constantly by the adults. It was almost as if they were being specially prepared for the forthcoming long flight to Africa because some were being fed on the wing. The hungry youngster would perch on a tree or even on the guttering of our house, then fly into the air to take a titbit from the parent bird. I wondered if this was a means of educating the chicks into feeding themselves while in flight.

Almost all their food is taken on the wing and a brood of four or five young swallows requires a massive 6,000 insects per day, these being mainly flies caught by their busy parents. We’ve even watched young swallows being fed on our lawn and while sitting on garden shrubs and trees, but the adults feed themselves usually in low-level flying sorties.

As I am writing these notes before going on holiday, it is possible our swallows will have departed for Africa by our return, but not leaving Britain until perhaps October or even November. They roost at selected sites en route while travelling in daylight hours, and the return trip to Africa may take as long as six weeks during which they cross the inhospitable Sahara Desert.

The migration of birds is one of the miracles of nature and it does raise the continuing question of how such tiny creatures managed to survive such long journeys but also to find their way around half the world. We have a lot to learn from them.

THERE are newspaper reports that alleged sightings of unidentified flying objects are not being recorded in anything like the numbers seen in previous years. Whether this is because our planet is no longer of interest to other celestial beings, or whether our sightings were all fakes or merely imagination may never be known.

However, I did once see a Ufo. Or I thought I did. It was low on the horizon and shining in the clear morning sunlight, a cigar-shaped speeding craft that swept low over some trees. I must admit I was astonished and disbelieving.

Inevitably on such occasions I had neither camera nor binoculars and all I could do was stand and watch as the Ufo vanished in a cloudless blue sky when it dipped behind the horizon of the woodland.

But moments later it returned as silently and swiftly as it had disappeared and I could see the silvery underparts with the autumn sun reflecting from them while the darker upper areas now appeared to be gold coloured and metallic as I viewed it from a different angle. A Ufo of silver and gold! Who’d believe it?

And then it disintegrated into hundreds of fragments as it swept low across the fields near the forest and only then did I realise it was a flock of birds. They landed in a grass-covered field not 100 yards from the route of my morning walk and promptly began their search for grubs and worms.

That experience revealed why some people have honestly thought they had seen Ufos like flying saucers and speeding cigars but the question that now presented itself was – what were those birds? Without the aid of binoculars it was difficult to see the detail of their plumage but one thing was certain – they were gold above and silvery-white beneath.

It didn’t take long to find them in one of my reference books. They were golden plovers, beautiful birds of moorland and mountain, and the shining silver of their under-parts was their winter plumage. In summer, their under-parts are mainly black with the female having slightly less than the male.

I’ve seen them on our moors during the summer but at that stage they do not gather in such large flocks.

There may be smaller gatherings in the mating season as several males chase one female with all the necessary skirmishes and displays, but I’ve never seen a huge flock living on the moors. More than likely, attention will be drawn to a solitary bird, perhaps flying over the moors as it utters its distinctive and very fluid notes, sometimes sounding rather like a plaintive curlew.

These notes can be heard in the heavens of summer, often without seeing the caller for they are very clever at diverting attention from their nests on the ground, even to the extent of feigning injury to draw away potential predators.

In the autumn, however, they assemble in large flocks and head for the lower ground where they can remain in a favourite field throughout the winter, provided the field can deliver the necessary food and security.

How they all know in which field to assemble is a mystery but in my case, the flock did increase in the following days.

But once there, they periodically launched into one of their spectacular flights and during my morning walks, I have seen them perform directly over my head almost if they are deliberately displaying their latest Ufo impression.

I wonder how many local people thought they’d seen a Ufo?

TOMORROW is the Eve of Michaelmas which was also known as Nut Crack Night or Nut Crack Eve. The custom was to crack hazel nuts on that evening but no-one knows why. All I have learned is that it is a night of great rejoicing with mysterious rites and ceremonies.

Also, the famous Bainbridge Horn is sounded at Bainbridge in Wensleydale every evening from tomorrow until Shrove Tuesday.