2014 starts with what will become the story of the year. Rain. And a lot of it. In fact by the end of the month, the only wetter January was in 1948 in a record going back all the way to 1766. It has also been the mildest January since 2008. Fortunately we still have sunshine stored up in us, so the novelty of torrential rain beating down outside, remains. We are due to join the annual New Year’s Day walk to our friends in Abbotts Ann Down together with the extra children we have gained after New Year’s Eve, but given the weather we’re not so sure this would be a good idea. Together with Father of the Tribe, we find over trousers and sailing jackets and wonder if it would be madness to take 6 children ranging in age from 3 to 12, across the sodden fields. Guaranteed it will initially be an absolute hoot, but I’m not sure how long this will last. So, we wimp out and pile everyone into the car. Watching some of the other guests splashing through the flooded field to the house, we realise we made the right call.

Another day, there is a brief respite from the rain, so Father of the Tribe and I decide to take the littlest to the garden centre for a walk. Just as we step into Cattle Lane, the first few drops start falling. Father of the Tribe suggests returning and getting the car – surely we’re made of sterner stuff. Has our brief time in the Middle East left us totally soft? We continue to walk as the rain becomes increasingly persistent, but the fresh air and the innocent joy of the littlest jumping into puddles more than makes up for getting a little bit wet. However, after less than five minutes, a puddle hiding a crater of a pothole, proves to be rather deeper than expected and water fills her little wellies. The best gear in the world will not prevent this. Stoically she continues and there are plenty more puddles to splash in. At the garden centre, as I shop for warm dry socks, she is treated to hot chocolate and a cookie having taken her wet clothes off (I wring water out of her tights!). Our soaked jackets and hats leave slowly widening pools of water around the chairs and table. We walk home in the rain; it is becoming relentless.

Back in our garden, we welcome the return of the long tailed tits. They are joyful to watch as they flit from branch to branch in the bare trees and skeleton like shrubs and absolutely make me smile; they are like the arrival of a gaggle of excited primary school children on a Friday afternoon choosing their sweets in the village shop. Innocent and happy. Life is just full of fun. Wood pigeons are still pottering beneath the various bird feeders, picking up the dropped seeds and nuts. They are more like the dignified old man of the garden and I have grown to love seeing them too; they are very much part of the garden’s ‘furniture’. The cooing sound they make can be remembered by an amusing old myth – the story is that the woodpigeon encouraged Welshmen to steel Englishmen’s cattle, “Steel twoooo cows Taffy! Steel twooo…” (With Celtic blood in my veins, I feel that I can write this, but I do hope that I have not caused any offence to my fellow Welshmen and the myth has been taken in the right spirit.) We are delighted to see ever increasing number of birds returning to the garden and, as the Big Garden Birdwatch arrives, the Tribe get very excited, organising themselves with pencils, notebooks, bird books and binoculars! However, as Sunday dawns, we realise that it is to be a day of rain, resulting in most birds staying away from the feeders in an attempt to stay dry and warm. The Tribe are bitterly disappointed as they discover that ‘twitching’ can be a somewhat frustrating pastime when the birds are absent. An early lesson in patience.

Another weekend we manage to avoid any rain and walk across the empty fields behind us. Looking at the stark, cold landscape of leafless trees and bare hedgerows, it’s difficult to imagine that it won’t be long before the first sign of new life appears. Tramping across the heavy earth, there’s a shout from one of the Tribe and we watch a young deer race across a field looking for a way out of the enclosed space. Before long it finds a gap and disappears. Not knowing my deer

particularly well, I check to find which of the UK’s six species it is and discover that it must be a roe deer, Britain’s most common species, found in habitat as diverse as grassland and woodland. They can be spotted (as we did), by their white rump, usually seen as they are disappearing into the distance! Normally solitary, their faces are particularly ‘cute’. Our walk takes us past the poplar stand at the end of Cattle Lane. We notice a couple of trees have fallen in the high winds, taking their entire root system up with them – the Tribe marvel at their size. Clumps of delicate and pretty snowdrops have managed to fight their way through the sodden ground providing a sign that Spring must be coming soon.

Mother of the ‘slightly soggy’ Tribe