This year, Hen Harrier Day had to move online due to COVID restrictions preventing events in various geographical locations. It was a shame not to meet up with people in person, but what an amazing event it turned out to be; eight hours of talks by professionals in their field from the likes of Ruth Tingay, Guy Shorrock and more, competition, art, poetry and song. There were some wonderful presentations including from the wild-ethos Sunnyside School in Glasgow, and also poetry performance from Anneliese Emmans Dean and some fab children. It was great to see support from many young people and I had the privilege of being interviewed by Young Scotswoman of the Year, Holly Gillibrand.
You can watch it all here https://youtu.be/YwNB8MCN_qA
What is Hen Harrier Day?
Well it’s a celebration of a wonderful bird and also a day to spread awareness of the issues surrounding its persecution from the driven grouse shooting industry. HHD 2020 was supported by Hen Harrier Action, Wild Justice and the RSPB.
It was also a day to take action; not only to tell others about these issues but you can write to your MP to show your support for Hen Harriers here.
The day was presented brilliantly by Chris Packham and Megan McCubbin and couldn’t have been done without the production team magicians, Ruth Peacey and Fabian Harrison.
I had the wonderful task of organising a writing competition. We decided that it could be writing in any form, but it had to be about British Wildlife. We decided on 3 age categories: Young 5-8, Junior 9-12 and senior 13-16. Judges Liz Cross (publishing director at David Fickling Books) and Jo Hodges helped with the hard task of judging.
We were stunned to receive over 500 entries in just under three months. The standard was incredibly high. We whittled down 500 to a shortlist of 250! How do you choose a winner? Well it was very difficult. We were looking at use of language, style, information, description and more, but overall, we were most moved by writing that came from the heart and had an original voice.
If you entered but didn’t get placed, please keep on writing. I loved reading each and every entry. There were so many truly amazing pieces of writing. We had foxes, squirrels, rockpools, nature in lockdown, moths and so much more. It was a true celebration of British Wildlife.
So we managed to have top three in each category and an overall winner.
Prizes; the overall winner had their piece read by Michael Morpurgo and will have a school author visit from Gill Lewis.
All the winners and entrants placed in 1st, 2nd and 3rd place in each category will get a book bundle from books generously donated by fab authors Martin Bradley Karin Celestine Nicola Davies Anneliese Emmans Dean Julia Green Gill Lewis Lauren St John Mimi Thebo Piers Torday Hugh Webster and publishers Barrington Stoke, Oxford University Press and Quercus
These are the results that were announced on Hen Harrier day 2020 8th August;
Overall Winner
Guardian by Edith Hobson (10) Junior Category
Read by Michael Morpurgo at 1:05.35
Winner of the Young Category
The Rabbit-dog Hare by Theo Whittingham (7)
Read by Gill Lewis at 4:29.22
The Rabbit-dog Hare
I thought it was a dog at first. “Mum, come see this!” I shouted. A flash of brown fur zoomed past my front door, I seen it through the glass. I stared at it, my eyes bulging wide and to my amazement, it stopped, right there, on MY driveway. WOW! Slowly it turned its head to look straight back at me. I stood there, frozen to the spot, transfixed, feet cemented to the floor, what was this fascinating animal and where did it come from?
This rabbit-like creature with wise, moonlit eyes and golden-brown fur? It’s belly was pale, and it had a white tail. Oh, how I wished it could I could just reach out and touch it. I imagined it felt so soft and smooth. My fingers tingled at the thought of it. It’s ears, like two tall antennae, twitched their black tips, high above its slender face.
Just then, mum came over to take a look. OH NO, she must have startled it, it was off, my rabbit-dog, zigzagging down the lane. It ran so fast, it’s long furry legs looked almost like giant springs. A blurr of fuzz and golden-brown fur disappeared into the barley field.
Gone! I felt so sad. “Mum, you’ve frightened it off!” I said grumpily. I thought I would never see it again. As the weeks went past, I stopped looking for my rabbit-dog. It had vanished as if by magic, Puffff! I began to wonder, was it ever real?
Then, one evening as I was in the garden putting my bicycle away in the shed, a rustling sound made me look across the now golden barley field. Something was bristling though the beards of barley for sure. Could it be my rabbit-dog, come back at last? I dared not to think. But I couldn’t help it, my heart was skipping right out of my chest. I held my breath, “don’t move a muscle”, I told myself. Cautiously, those unmistakeable arrow ears rose up through the shimmering field. I dared not to blink. It was her, my rabbit-dog, it was really her, she had returned! She stared hard at me, with her dark amber eyes, I was hypnotised.
Suddenly, I could hardly believe what I was seeing. I blinked strongly, then again, this time really scrunching my eyes more thoroughly, NO WAY! She was not alone. Two more, somewhat smaller rabbit-dogs had emerged. Pushing their velvet like noses through the yellow barley stalks, they now sat boldly looking straight at me too!
In my excitement, I accidentally squeaked a breath and in an instant, my rabbit-dogs disappeared. This time however, I know that they’re there, my rabbit-dog Hares.
Winner of the Senior Category
My Patch of Green in the Urban Jungle by Neha Narne (13)
Read by Gill Lewis at 8:01.01
My Patch of Green in the Urban Jungle
Is down the meandering, river-like road
From the woodland of apartments that I call home
It’s a peaceful hidden oasis of shining verdant green
Amid the squawking of the birds that are cars and machinery
My patch of green in the urban jungle
Is tended to by many species of people
It has been cultivated to a point where it’s bounty
Is a rainbow array of Mother Nature’s gifts
Harvest is all year round
Because our harvest is a feast for the eyes as well as the stomach
My patch of green in the urban jungle
Is at the heart of my community
As an allotment, its purpose is to bring people together
And let us make friends whilst protecting nature
But how can it do that
If it’s not there?
My patch of green in the urban jungle
Is under threat from redevelopment
Doomed to become a finite forest of lifeless beige buildings
Chock full of incessantly twittering TV screens
And devoid of bright flowers and birdsong
I have a patch of green in an urban jungle
And I would like it to be preserved
The secret lavender patch behind the shed
The plot where the nursery children grow strawberries
The tree with branches low enough to swing from
And the waist high grass we run through
They are dear to me
And to everyone else that knows about them
Britain is losing it’s green patches
And becoming an urban jungle
Soon, children won’t know what it’s like
To swing from low branches and hide in lavender beds
The only birdsong they know
Will be the chattering of their phones
Let’s give the children of tomorrow
A future in which nature is key
And protect the little patches of green
In this vast urban jungle
Second place in young Category
Take a Tench by Oscar Sills (7)
Second Place in Junior Category
The Bus Driver Who Turned to Crime by Rufus Dawson (10)
On whirring wheels and with a suppressed sigh, Bob the bus driver is on his three hundred and ninety fourth journey transporting Newport City Council workers to their offices. He repeats the journey every morning, returning every evening, a robin to its nest.
Waiting at the traffic lights, he peers in his rear-view mirror. There must be fifty council workers on board. Those at the front of the bus are discussing the recent proposal to create a motorway flyover through the local nature reserve. Bob shrivels down into his seat – he loves the nature reserve, and is horrified.
A golden flash in the mirror blinds Bob for a moment. He notices it again, and is able to see a tall man wearing mayoral chains: it’s Monty the Mayor (head of Newport City Council).
“I am minded to grant the application!” he says flippantly to his colleagues.
Bob feels the blood in his body boil. The lights change, but instead of turning right, like he has every working day of his life, he speeds up and swerves left towards the nature reserve. As he crashes through the entrance barrier, the workers scream. It occurs to Bob that he is kidnapping them, but he is so incensed he accelerates even faster.
“Where are you going, you crazy imbecile?” the Mayor shouts.
Moorhens and mallards fly into the air, wings beating as fast as hummingbirds. The tide is out and a flock of a thousand curlew fly past the windows. An avocet’s scintillating cry drifts hauntingly downwind. The inside of the bus is as quiet as a still summer’s day.
Carefully, Bob drives into the small, wooded area. A flock of goldfinches is sitting at the top of an ancient oak, their red faces and yellow wings fluffed in the wind. Bob’s muscles relax as he listens to their sweet song. The occupants of the bus are dazzled as a spectacle of colour bursts blindingly around the brown bus; the goldfinches have taken flight, but their magic lingers behind in the minds of the suited workers.
Slowly, Bob follows the goldfinches back towards the estuary. The mudflats are popping gently. A majestic marsh harrier, hunting above the nearby reeds, divides the goldfinches. The harrier is gliding like a buzzard: a circular motion. The tips of its wings are jagged and its fan-tail is spread wide. Suddenly it swoops, its bright yellow talons forward. Its needle-like beak rips a plump, brown water vole apart, before scooping it up, carrying it high into the air and disappearing into the horizon, its silhouette getting smaller and smaller.
There is a stillness in the bus that is electric. Bob opens the doors and the workers stumble out into the reserve, dazed and enchanted. As the mayor passes Bob, he lays a warm hand on his shoulder.
“Thank you,” he mutters under his breath, “I almost made a big mistake.”
Bob had never before fallen to crime, but decides he has taken rather a liking to it…
Second place in Senior Category
Seal Gaze by Megan Loftus (15)
Oh seal sleek,
Watching me
From the fickle curve
Of your weightless world
I wonder what you see
With those depthless pools
As you slip between the tangles
Of fallen mermaids’ hair
Selkie queen,
Always weeping
Why do you grieve so?
Do you mourn the loss of the moon
As you slide beneath the waves?
Blubber-slick
Sighing through my dreamscapes
Gril, beast and goddess
Our briny paths intertwining
Like strands of fishing net
You live between silt and starlight
And I between cloud and satin
But I, too, feel the tug of the tide on my heartstrings
And I know before long, we’ll be sisters
Cockle-shell hearts
Always weeping.
Third place in Young Category
City Fox by Leila Miah (8)
Third place in Junior Category
Flooded Field by Colette Henderson (10)
The loop of soft, rippling water swirling serenely, completely unconcerned.
The fast darting arrow sharp birds flicking through the air snatching at
unsuspecting insects.
Long limbed pond skaters basking on the mirror smooth surface.
And past the banks the lush green is framed by the tipsy choir of reeds.
The dappled deer peacefully drinking, shadowed by orbs of ever changing
green, tail swishing, ears pricked.
And, at the edge, stands the tall grey bird of steel, one leg raised.
Waiting
Third Place in Senior Category
Make a Hoggy Highway by Dylan Allman
Look closely in your garden
For a mound of leaves and twigs
Piled high up in the corner
Is where a little hoggy lives
So many people garden
Like it’s nineteen sixty four
With garden rakes and snippers
It’s neat and tidy, that’s for sure
But every time you tidy up
Trim and poke and preen
You’re losing any possibility
Of a hedgehog to be seen
Gardeners worry about their plants
The snails and slugs which feast
Worried that with all this wind
Their plants are going to crease
Well I’ve got a hoggy in my garden
She comes out every night
It’s quite a wild looking garden
You might say it looks a fright
My hoggy pads around
Snuffling up insects and bugs
The very ones gardeners curse
Putting beer out in their jugs
Hoggy likes to walk a good few miles
Checking out the food elsewhere
But she can’t get in your garden
Because you don’t want to share
Hoggies do no harm
In fact they do the garden good
Beautiful, prickly creatures
Looking for insects under wood
So instead of putting up a wall
Filling every gap in your fence
Make a hoggy highway
– You know that it makes sense!
