. ... „ . . ,- . rVict. N:il. 



in \\ isu,\kT, Inrdx (nvorc |_ VuJ r, A 



I Hiring e^rly autumn when berries were no longer available 

 hungry hordes of Silvereves descended upon the hitherto peaceful 

 community. The\ commenced mopping-up o|>erations at once, prac- 

 tically monopolizing the food supplies made available for the 

 regulars. To counteract this invasion, kind hut stern measures were 

 adopted, to wit — enticing the interlopers into special wire-netted 

 boxes in which tbev were speedily transported by car to fresh fields 

 and pastures new, where they were released. 



One day while seated in the kitchen we were alarmed by a dis- 

 tinctly audible commotion among" a family of Rlue Wrens. Hianiing 

 a marauding cat we went into urgent action. What a relief it was 

 to find that \)'d(\ and Mum were merely doing their utmost to 

 shepherd three youngsters from their nesting place in a clump of 

 blackberries a short distance away to a more secure haven near the 

 house! We were amused to see what hard work they made of it 

 and to hear the incessant stream of abuse hurled at the tiny off- 

 spring. Xo sergeant-niujor couid have bettered the performance. I 

 may mention at this stage that no stray feline enjoyed more than 

 one life, and that a very brief one, within cooee of this home-made 

 sanctuary. 



On one occasion a Scrub-Wren built her nest in the folds of an 

 old chaff-bag hung over a rail in the workshop under the house- 

 She constructed it of fine grass and wood shavings which she picked 

 up from the floor and it was within a few feet of a carpenter's 

 bench which was used almost every dav of the week. Young were 

 successfully reared and were paraded for inspection by the old ones 

 on numerous occasions. I regret that in those days I did not possess 

 a good 35 mm. camera to make a permanent record of such scenes. 



To my sorrow my cobber no longer lives out along the dusty tree- 

 lined road. The house and the garden are as of yore hut bird- 

 watching there is a thing of the past. I presume birds still return 

 to their old haunts but there is no longer a free counter-lunch pro- 

 vided for them. 



F. J. BISHOP— AN APPRECIATION 



Frederick James Bishop, who died in March, was for years a member of 

 our Club. His friends remember him as a quiet courteous man, with a boy's 

 delight in every wildflower he saw and an expert's power to record it through 

 liis camera. Though he was almost seventy and had bad a good deal of ill- 

 health of late years, bis enthusiasm was not dimmed nor the perfection of 

 his work abated. I doubt whether anyone thought of bim as old. 



For thirty years he illustrated articles on wildrlowers for me. I had only 

 to send bim an article and he sent back exactly the photographs that were 

 needed, but always far too many, with a note "all duplicates and any extras 

 for your own collection". That generosity was characteristic of him. As one 

 result of it I have his photographs of over 300 species of Australian native 

 plants, and often several pictures of one species, perhaps showing fruit, habit 

 and habitat, as well as colour-variations ( tor he coloured many pictures with 

 careful art). 



