Wild Life on a Surrey Moor 



The beautiful yellow wagtail, or " cowbird," as the 

 rustics call it in many parts of the country, breeds in 

 varying numbers every year on one or other of the 

 commons embraced in our Surrey moor. Its clear 

 ringing call notes easily established its identity and 

 remind me forcibly of many a beloved north country 

 dale. 



Beyond the woodlarks' home in the patch of birch 

 snuggles a small alder-fringed pond, surely the most 

 densely populated sheet of water for its size in all 

 England ! Sitting on its eastern bank you can see 

 heathery knolls peeping out between the tree-tops, sug- 

 gestive miniatures of the Cumberland fells or Highland 

 mountain crests round Dalwhinnie. 



Here coots, moorhens and dabchicks are in plenty. 

 All day long you can hear their discordant voices lifted 

 up in protest against some territorial encroachment, and 

 not infrequently the splashing of waters as a bitter fight 

 proceeds. Watching a contest between two angry cock 

 dabchicks suggests a couple of hostile submarines fight- 

 ing without guns or torpedoes. 



Any wild duck that has managed to hide her nest 

 from the lynx-eyed, instinct-guided descendants of the 

 original squatters in the neighbourhood is sure to bring 

 her ducklings down to this pond as soon as they are able 

 to travel over the rough moor. Here they can disport 

 themselves in their natural element and enjoy a large 

 measure of safety from prowling fox and galloping stoat. 



Our little pond possesses one unfortunate drawback 

 for the too inquisitive naturalist bent upon exploring its 



J 35 



