The Adventures of Algy

It was Sunday again, and Algy saw no reason to forgo his Sunday reading just because he had happened to find a baby dragon underneath a rhubarb leaf…

The funny wee creature had been following Algy around everywhere since St. George's Day, and like most young animals it was both playful and full of curiosity about everything. So when Algy settled down among the spring flowers to read to his diminuitive new friend, the tiny dragon kept jumping up and down on Algy's book of verse, and interrupting him, which made it a wee bit difficult to concentrate on the poetry.

It had been a most exciting week altogether – the first week of the real spring – and with plenty of sunshine in calm, warm weather (which had reached a dazzling high of 18 degrees celsius on one day), many summer visitors had arrived, including cuckoos, swallows and sand martins, and many other creatures, such as butterflies and bats, had been spotted for the first time this year.

So Algy turned the pages of his book of verse, as best he could with a baby dragon hopping up and down on them, until he found the poem that he wanted to read to the wee creature:

Spring, the sweet spring, is the year’s pleasant king, Then blooms each thing, then maids dance in a ring, Cold doth not sting, the pretty birds do sing: Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo! The palm and may make country houses gay, Lambs frisk and play, the shepherds pipe all day, And we hear aye birds tune this merry lay: Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo! The fields breathe sweet, the daisies kiss our feet, Young lovers meet, old wives a-sunning sit, In every street these tunes our ears do greet: Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to witta-woo! Spring, the sweet spring!

On St. George's Day, as some of Algy's longstanding friends will know, Algy always keeps a lookout for dragons, in case he can assist them in any way on this most dangerous day of the year (for dragons)…

And – oddly enough – Algy does always seem to meet a dragon of some kind on this day… but perhaps it is only because he is paying special attention to looking for them…

Algy had planned to go out and about adventuring on this particular St. George's Day, and the day did dawn bright and sunny, but there was a surprisingly cold wind which whistled through his ear feathers in a rather painful way, chilling his enthusiasm considerably. And so, on reflection, Algy thought that maybe he would stay in the relative shelter of the garden after all, even though it reduced his chances of meeting a dragon.

Recalling that his good friend @zemagltd had told him that although he was very fond of rhubarb it was almost impossible to find it in Portugal, Algy fluttered down to the bottom of his assistants' kitchen garden to inspect the early rhubarb patch, in the hope of sending his friend some fine virtual rhubarb at least, although sadly he could not send the real thing…

But rhubarb was not all that Algy found at the bottom of the garden, for there, sheltering beneath the large umbrella leaves of the thriving plants, was a tiny baby dragon. Of course Algy should not have been surprised, given that it was St. George's Day, but on the one hand he had never met such a tiny dragon before, and on the other hand he hardly expected to find one among the rhubarb!

Perching gently on a leaf beside the tiny creature, Algy asked it what it was doing there.

As was so often the case, the weather birds' predictions were not entirely accurate, for on Sunday morning Algy woke up to heavy showers and thick, wet, totally grey mist, which lasted right up until the middle of the day, instead of the fine, sunny weather which had been forecast.

But in the early afternoon the sky did begin to clear quite rapidly, the sun came out, and the world was suddenly bathed in light. Algy hurried out into the sunshine, then flew over to the wee pond, where he was thrilled to see that everything was looking remarkably lush and green after the rain – in fact so much so that he could barely see the water for the profusion of enthusiastic pond plants that not only covered the surface but in some cases were attempting to climb out of the sides.

Reflecting that things quickly started to get quite chaotic in Nature once spring really got under way, Algy collected a book of verse for some quiet Sunday relaxation, then hopped over to perch beside his friend the old garden Buddha, with the intention of reading to him for a wee while.

Algy had chosen a volume of verse called "The Four Seasons" in the hope of finding a particular poem he had once read, which he felt was especially apposite, but although he searched every page in the section of poems devoted to the spring, the poem he sought was not there.

Slightly disgruntled, Algy wondered whether he could recall the poem sufficiently well to recite it from memory. For a while he pondered, staring at the pond, where he was thrilled to see a distinctive movement among the pond plants on the opposite side which indicated that one of his amphibian friends had returned. Encouraged by this happy observation, Algy then began to speak:

The leaves are fresh after the rain, The air is cool and clear, The sun is shining warm again, The sparrows hopping in the lane Are brisk and full of cheer. And that is why we dance and play, And that is why we sing, Calling out in voices gay, We will not go to school to-day Or learn anything: It is a happy thing, I say, To be alive on such a day.

In Algy's opinion, spring was not really spring without primroses. He couldn't be sure how folk in other countries might feel about it; indeed, Algy did not even know in which parts of the world wild primroses could be found. But to Algy primroses were the very essence of spring, and he was delighted that they grew wild in the local landscape of the wild west Highlands of Scotland, as well as in patches of his assistants' garden, where they had established themselves without being formally introduced, but were nevertheless most welcome.

To Algy's surprise, the weather pattern had started to change on Saturday morning, and the wind had begun to swing round towards the north, exactly as the weather birds had predicted. Of course Algy hadn't really believed them when they said that the weather would improve, because months of wind, rain, sleet and even snow, not to mention persistently too-low temperatures, tended to make a fluffy bird sceptical at the very least… But on Saturday it was beginning to look as though the forecast might possibly have been right, and a phase of better weather might perhaps be just around the corner…

So, with hope in his fluffy heart, Algy perched on a tiny bush beside a particularly luscious clump of primroses, lit up by a spring sun which was almost beginning to feel a wee bit warm, and relaxed there for a while, dreaming happily of more pleasant days to come…

The wind was roaring again. Not whispering, not murmuring, not whistling or rustling or whooshing, but positively roaring, and Algy could barely hear himself think. But when he did manage to think for a moment or two, he thought that it would really be rather nice if once in a while the wind could calm down a wee bit, and perhaps not rage absolutely all day every day…

However, the wind was evidently not persuaded of this idea on this particular morning, and it simply continued to roar – rain or shine… and sometimes it did rain, and sometimes, for a short while, the sun did shine, and yet still the wind roared on…

And so Algy sought one of the most sheltered spots he could find in his assistants' garden, where a young forsythia bush was hanging on to some late flowers despite the unfavourable conditions, for it grew in the lee of the big brash wall (or dead hedge), and was also sheltered by a strong clump of cypress bushes, where the wind was certainly still heard, but much less often seen…

Like a very famous bear whom Algy had long admired, sometimes Algy sat and thought, and sometimes he just sat… And in Algy's opinion there were few places better in which to just sit than among the blossoms of the great white cherry trees at flowering time, April weather notwithstanding…

And so Algy flew up to a higher spot in one of the trees and reclined on a branch in a fashion perhaps more accurately described as lying down than sitting… but in any case it was conducive to either thinking or not thinking, as the case might be, and on this occasion Algy opted for not thinking, for what was the point of thinking when one was surrounded by such a glorious sight?

Of course it was true that the weather was being decidedly bothersome again: the sky was totally grey, the strong wind kept blowing all Algy's feathers contrariwise, as well as into his eyes, and the frequent April showers had a tendency to dampen the process of not thinking in a rather insistent way.…

Much to Algy's surprise, a good proportion of the emerging blossom on the great white cherry trees had escaped damage in the recent weather outrages, and despite gales, hailstorms and unseasonable snow, enough blooms remained to make a pretty show in the right light, although there were petals and whole clusters of flower buds scattered far and wide on the ground as well.

So when the sun decided to shine on Sunday morning, and the sky turned a rarely-seen and delightful blue, Algy decided to indulge in his Sunday reading beneath the canopy of beautiful white flowers while he had the chance, for the weather birds had told him that there would be more strong winds and showers of sleet later in the day, and who knew how long the blossom could last…

Hopping up into the tree, Algy tried to settle himself into the crook of a large branch, but soon discovered that balancing a book of verse on his knees while perching in such a position was not entirely straightforward, especially when the wind tended to blow with sudden unexpected gusts.

After a while, however, Algy managed to achieve an acceptable degree of stability, and looking through the poems in the book he selected his favourite for this particular season and situation, although he hoped very much that the cherry would not literally be hung with snow, as it had been a couple of days ago…

And as some of Algy's friends in countries which follow the Orthodox Christian calendar are celebrating Easter today, rather than last week, Algy dedicates this poem especially to them…

Loveliest of trees, the cherry now Is hung with bloom along the bough, And stands about the woodland ride Wearing white for Eastertide. Now, of my threescore years and ten, Twenty will not come again, And take from seventy springs a score, It only leaves me fifty more. And since to look at things in bloom Fifty springs are little room, About the woodlands I will go To see the cherry hung with snow.

When Algy got up on Saturday morning – rather late in the day, it has to be admitted – he was surprised to see that it had snowed again in the night. This was definitely not normal for the wild west Highlands in April – at least, not on the coast, although spring snow was fairly common on the mountains. At low levels, however, nothing more wintry than a nasty mixture of rain, sleet and hail was expected, which did indeed often occur at lambing time in mid-April, to the concern of the crofters and their sheep, but not snow…

However, although the ground was white in the morning, by the early afternoon the snow had more or less vanished, and as there was no kind of precipitation actually falling out of the sky for a while, Algy decided to stretch his wings while he could, and get some fresh air.

And fresh it most certainly was, for the wind was rushing and roaring through the trees again with terrific vigour, not to mention a great deal of noise, and its strength was such that Algy simply could not fly against it.

Abandoning any idea of setting out on an adventure therefore, Algy kept very low to the ground, in the hope of not being blown out to sea again, and as he passed by the big garden pond he got a very pleasant surprise, for a lovely golden flower was poking out of the water, blowing this way and that in the wind.

When he was just a wee fluffy young chick, Algy had been taught a traditional British saying "March winds and April showers bring forth May flowers". However, Algy felt that this must surely have originated in a quite different part of the country, because in the wild west Highlands of Scotland it would be far more appropriate to say: March winds and showers, and April winds and showers, might bring forth flowers if they are tough enough varieties, but they also bring yet more winds and showers… in May, June, July, August, etc… if indeed the kind of rain that drenched the west Highlands throughout the year could correctly be called "showers" at all, which Algy doubted…

On this particular Friday morning, however, the term April showers was not entirely inaccurate, although there had been persistent rain in the night as usual, for between the bouts of precipitation the sun actually managed to shine sporadically, with a bright spring light which at times was almost dazzling. But the wind was another matter… Relentless as ever, it found its way into even the most secluded spots, and showed no intention of abating.

However, the tulips were flowering despite the wind, and Algy was loath to miss their glowing colours, which looked especially good when they were illuminated. So as soon as the sun deigned to emerge from behind the dismal clouds, Algy hurried over to a supposedly sheltered corner where some large pots were filled with the beautiful flowers, and perched rather uncomfortably on the edge of another pot, which was home to a very spiky rose bush…

Algy thought that it might be fun to rest on the grass beneath the young weeping cherry tree with the evocative name "Snow Showers", so that he could imagine that it was snowing pretty white blossoms all around him. So he eased himself in carefully between the decorated, dangling branches, and leaned back on a convenient tussock in the centre of the natural pergola, even though the grass was still wet from the overnight rain.

It was a pleasant spot in which to relax, despite the increasingly damp sensation in his tail feathers, and Algy enjoyed looking up at the sky through the arching branches, dreaming idly about gentle showers of diminutive white petals… until, that is, the sky grew increasingly black, and a sudden torrential storm of large white hailstones rained down on both fluffy bird and cherry blossoms alike…

The sturdy wee cherry tree was apparently used to this treatment, and stood up to it remarkably well, but the fluffy bird decided that he really did not much care for being bombarded with hard white balls of freezing-cold ice, and so he beat a hasty retreat, trying to shield his head from the hailstone blitz as he flew rapidly towards the shelter of the cypresses in the corner of the garden.

The weather birds passing overhead told Algy that, down south in England and Wales, today was the hottest day of the year so far, and also the warmest for the past six months, with temperatures reaching 25 degrees celsius in some places. But in the wild west Highlands of Scotland conditions were a wee bit different, and even in the middle of the day the temperature struggled to reach 13 degrees, which staggering high was considerably tempered by the very fresh wind that caused Algy to seek shelter yet again…

However, it wasn't raining for once, so Algy decided to rest for a while among the daffodils and early blossom, in a spot protected by some larger shrubs and hedgerows, so that he could properly admire the glowing colours and the flowers' attractive perfume. As he had observed before, the local plants were surprisingly tough, and evidently well acclimatized to the harsh conditions (those that survived at all, that is), and many of the spring flowers looked very pretty despite the decidedly cool weather and constant battering by wind, rain and hail… not to mention the snow that had fallen over the weekend.

Algy reflected that it did indeed look very much like spring, even though it could hardly be said to feel like it, for everywhere he looked there were young leaves sprouting on twigs, the grass was turning much greener and beginning to grow, and the other birds were pairing and singing, just as the poet remarked in some verses he had once read… although he really could not agree that the thaw-wind blew in any way that could possibly be described as pleasant…

Blows the thaw-wind pleasantly, Drips the soaking rain, By fits looks down the waking sun: Young grass springs on the plain; Young leaves clothe early hedgerow trees; Seeds, and roots, and stones of fruits, Swollen with sap put forth their shoots; Curled-headed ferns sprout in the lane; Birds sing and pair again. There is no time like Spring, When life's alive in everything, Before new nestlings sing, Before cleft swallows speed their journey back Along the trackless track - God guides their wing, He spreads their table that they nothing lack, - Before the daisy grows a common flower Before the sun has power To scorch the world up in his noontide hour.

By the next morning there was little trace left of the weekend's snow, except on the higher ground, and the air was undoubtedly a wee bit milder, but the wind, which had swung round from the north to the south-east, was unrelenting.

Algy had wanted to spend a quiet day with one of the books of poetry from his library, for he had missed them while he was away, and had been too much occupied with entertaining the Easter bunnies on Easter Day to indulge in his usual Sunday reading.

But he discovered that on this occasion it was almost impossible to find that elusive "sheltered spot out of the wind" which is always so fervently sought after by folk who live in the "refreshing" Scottish climate… Algy knew that much depended upon which way the wind was blowing, but unfortunately on Easter Monday it seemed to be blowing from every possible direction at once…

Algy fluttered around the garden trying this perch and that, looking for a place where he could relax in peace without being unduly buffeted, and where his book stood a reasonable chance of not flying away if he should happen to let go of it for a moment, but with very little success. Eventually, however, he decided to tuck himself into a hollow among the long, straggly grasses by the edge of the big pond, and hunching his shoulders to keep warm, Algy gripped his book firmly and settled down to read.

And as he perched beside the pond, with his toes almost touching the water, Algy was surprised to find that his wee book of verse fell open at a poem about pools which formed from snow that melted only yesterday… although it seemed that Mr. Frost wasn't exactly thinking of garden ponds… 😀

These pools that, though in forests, still reflect The total sky almost without defect, And like the flowers beside them, chill and shiver, Will like the flowers beside them soon be gone, And yet not out by any brook or river, But up by roots to bring dark foliage on. The trees that have it in their pent-up buds To darken nature and be summer woods - Let them think twice before they use their powers To blot out and drink up and sweep away These flowery waters and these watery flowers From snow that melted only yesterday.

[Algy is reading the poem Spring Pools by the late 19th/20th century American poet Robert Frost.]

When Algy woke up on Easter morning he thought that perhaps he had slipped back in time and in fact it was Christmas rather than Easter Day, for the hills and islands around him were all completely white…

A storm called Dave had swept over northern Britain on Easter Saturday, its friendly name belying its ferocious nature, for it had brought many hours of snowfall and icy temperatures to Scotland… including to Algy's home on the supposedly "mild" west coast, where snow was relatively rare, even in the depths of winter.

But although the bitter north wind remained strong, bringing further torrential showers of white hail and snow at times, the blanket of snow at sea level soon began to melt as the day advanced, although the temperature remained close to freezing. And when Algy flew over to his assistants' house from the beach – where he had spent the night curled up in a sheltered sand cave beneath the dunes – he was surprised to see that much of the ground around their home was free from snow, although there were still large white patches in places.

Wishing his assistants a very Happy Easter, Algy proceeded to look around their garden, as he wanted to know how far spring had advanced while he had been away, and he was surprised to see that the early pink camellias had been flowering unusually well this year, although many of their petals had now fallen.

But when he flew over to inspect the flowers more closely Algy got an even greater surprise, for no sooner had he paused to rest on a chilly but very pretty carpet of pink petals, than not one but two Easter Bunnies hopped out of the nearby bushes and presented him with decorated papier-mâché Easter eggs full of tiny, brightly coloured, sugar-coated chocolate eggs… it must indeed be Easter Day, and not Christmas! 😀

So Algy sends you all lots of fluffy Easter hugs, and wishes you all a very happy and peaceful Easter Day 🐣🌸🐥 🌹

The tide was coming in fast, so Algy hopped out of his little boat and began to push it up the beach to safety, for it was sure to float out to sea again if he failed to move it away from the water's edge.

But the task was not an easy one for a fluffy bird, and especially not when he reached the huge mounds of kelp and other uprooted seaweeds tossed up by the winter storms, for they were strewn and piled up all along the beach in every direction, as was so often the case at this time of year.

The scene was a familiar one, and so was the wild west Highland weather, for Algy discovered that he had a vigorous tail wind, which rather than helping him manoeuvre the boat – as it might have done if he had still been afloat – threatened instead to lift it high in the sky at any moment, for to the wind the boat was nothing but a special kind of balloon: just an oddly-shaped plastic bubble filled with air…

So in addition to trying to push his boat against the resistance of the dragging, wet sand and glutinous kelp, Algy also had to apply all his feeble fluffy might to holding the boat down firmly, in order to prevent it flying away… which contradictory efforts considerably hindered his progress to the sand dunes at the back of the beach, where he hoped to store his flimsy craft for future use.

In many ways the journey from the shoreline to the sand dunes was a great deal more arduous for Algy than his voyage across the ocean, for there were neither dolphins nor any other creatures available to help him move his boat across the beach. But although he was exhausted, aching, and covered with nasty, sticky sea salt, gritty sand, and sundry bits of rotting seaweed – and the wind kept blowing his hair feathers into his eyes so that he could barely see where he was going – a big smile spread across Algy's face as he eventually approached the dunes…

… because a wee bird that Algy knew well was fluttering above the Marram grass, and as Algy lifted his head to watch it ascend into the sky, he heard the beautiful voice of a skylark singing high overhead…

Algy's little boat swirled round and round gently in the shallow waters at the edge of the beach, until it came to rest on a mound of uprooted kelp.

Still shaken by his long journey across the ocean, Algy lay back and rested for a while, staring at the dull, muted colours of the west Highlands on a dismal day in early spring, and thinking about his recent adventures and his safe return home, as well as other more serious matters in the outside world.

And when Algy realised that this happened to be the most sombre day of the year in the Christian calendar of his homeland, he paused to reflect upon the fate of those who suffer and die in innocence at the hands of other humans.

So for the sake, in particular, of the children of the world, Algy decided to share today this short anti-war film made by his assistant over 20 years ago with the local children of his own area, on the very same beach to which he had just returned in his little boat. It includes artwork which was created specially by the children of this remote Scottish community in order to send a message of peace to the world at a deeply troubled time. The drawn and painted images are the children’s own, and bear witness to the impact of world events on their imaginations.

(Clicking on the film may take you through to Vimeo - but it is public and free to view, so you do not need to create an account or log in. Just dismiss any login dialogue box that appears.)

Note: For those who are sensitive to such things, as Algy is himself, he can assure you that there is NO actual violence or war footage in this film.

Watching this film still sends shivers up and down Algy's spine… It is an appalling reflection on the humans who wield great power in this world – and on those who do their bidding – that this film and its message are as relevant today as on the day it was first released. In the words of a once-famous protest song, "When will they ever learn?"

N.B. Although this film includes footage of children and names (in the credits) there is no risk to them in sharing it today: the film was made nearly a quarter of a century ago, so those children have long since grown up and moved away, and some now even have children of their own 😊

(MESSAGE was made during the period of constant international tension and debate leading up to the weapons inspectors’ reports to the United Nations in February 2003, and the worldwide protests against war with Iraq on 15th February 2003. It was shown in film festivals around the world, and even had a screening in the legendary Egyptian Theatre on Hollywood Boulevard, at the first Annual Artivist festival in April 2004.

The journey across the mighty ocean had seemed long to Algy, despite the assistance provided by the dolphins, and at times he had slept, rocked in the cradle of the deep…

But as they neared the west coast of Ireland the leprechaun had woken Algy to bid him a happy farewell, before leaping off the boat as they passed the shores of County Donegal, with a mighty jump and a final jubilant cry of "Slán abhaile…Go dtí go mbuailimid le chéile arís", for the wee fellow had promised Algy that they would surely meet again.

And from that point on Algy remained alert, because they were nearing his own home on the wild west coast of the Scottish Highlands, and as the boat passed the north point of the familiar Isle of Mull he gave out a mighty fluffy bird cheer, for despite the predictably dismal weather he could see many of the familiar islands of the Inner Hebrides.