Of Churchyards and Owls

Walking through the churchyard, as dusk fell, I heard the note of my old friend the owl. On reaching home I closed my bedroom window for it was a chilly evening. However, despite my double-glazing, the cold cry of the owl penetrated into my modern flat.

Ever since moving to the Upper Norwood area in late 1997, I have always been conscious of the owl. Sometimes he disappears for protracted periods but, as sure as eggs are eggs “the fatal bellman” reappears.

Hearing the owl reminds me of my p...