XLVII 



SUNDAY, 4th November 1919 was, for me, dies albo 

 lapide notanda, for a rare treat befell me A Noble 

 thereon. It was a bright sunny day, wedged Bird 

 in ainid several weeks of storm. I walked down with a 

 friend to the grassy 'heugh' overlooking the Bay of 

 Luce. It is crowned by an ancient earthwork, known 

 locally as the ' Danish Fort,' perhaps not without reason, 

 for a mile of smooth sandy beach that lies below it 

 interrupts the line of impracticable cliffs, alternating 

 with boulder-strewn shore, that stretch away north and 

 south of it, affording just the kind of accommodation 

 required by both the Finngall or fair-haired Norsemen 

 and the Dubhgall or swarthy Danes for running ashore 

 their high-prowed kyulls. We sought shelter from the 

 keen northerly breeze in the deep foss that encircles 

 the fort, within which is a post bearing a notice-board 

 to the effect that the place is scheduled as an ancient 

 monument under protection of H.M. Office of Works. 



After resting a while, I rose to enter the fort, but 

 promptly clapped down ; for, just as I looked orer the 

 earthen rampart, a peregrine falcon alighted on the 

 top of the notice-board. She (for it was a splendid 

 female bird, not her lesser mate, the tiercel) did not see 



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