Swallows.

Between our house and our neighbour's there's an alleyway, on the wall above the arch there is a security light, and every summer, swallows build a nest there.

I read this about Swallows from the RSPB website:

European swallows spend the winter in Africa south of the Sahara, in Arabia and in the Indian sub-continent.

British swallows spend their winter in South Africa: they travel through western France, across the Pyrenees, down eastern Spain into Morocco, and across the Sahara. Some birds follow the west coast of Africa avoiding the Sahara, and other European swallows travel further east and down the Nile Valley. Swallows put on little weight before migrating.

They migrate by day at low altitudes and find food on the way. Despite accumulating some fat reserves before crossing large areas such as the Sahara Desert, they are vulnerable to starvation during these crossings. Migration is a hazardous time and many birds die from starvation, exhaustion and in storms.

Migrating swallows cover 200 miles a day, mainly during daylight, at speeds of 17-22 miles per hour. The maximum flight speed is 35 mph.

In their wintering areas swallows feed in small flocks, which join together to form roosting flocks of thousands of birds. Swallows arrive in the UK in April and May, returning to their wintering grounds in September and October.

The distance from South Africa to here is about eleven thousand miles. Eleven thousand miles. And, as it says, some die from starvation, exhaustion, and in storms. All the way from there to here.

Two weeks ago I was putting the bin out for collection at about midnight and the light came on, startling the nesting bird. We looked at each other for a moment, me with curiosity, it with fear, and it flew off into the forest. It's odd, seeing a bird fly at midnight.

This evening, earlier so it was dusk, I went out again to take the bin out and I hoped to see it, but it was gone, as was its nest. Our neighbour doesn't like them nesting there, they make too much mess, he says. Each year, around this time, he knocks their nest down. Of course, we've tried to reason with him. Eleven thousand miles means nothing, nor does the sanctity of life. The fact that we live in a forest, and the fact that the nature surrounding us is inclined to be messy, doesn't touch him. Each year, he knocks the nest down.

Last year, he reported it to Big C, showing him the bucket of straw and grass to prove that he hadn't harmed anything in the process. Big C said to me he was sure he saw something pink, so I went out into the trees where our neighbour had dumped the debris to check. It took fifteen minutes, and I sat on my heels and thought there was no way that "something pink" could have magically disappeared, so I went through the heap once more. I wonder how I could have missed it, for both times I was picking away at the heap blade by blade. But at the bottom, there they were: two babies, two dead baby swallows with a line of blood coming out of their mouths and I felt sick at what I saw, and fear that maybe I had done that even though I was so careful. Our neighbour was washing his car, he didn't know what I was doing.

It's funny, because if you met him you'd probably like him. That's the depressing thing - he's ordinary, friendly, helpful, and on the whole quiet except for the odd time he washes his car and has the radio on. Nothing strange about him at all.

And he's done it again. I thought this year he wouldn't because he's moving in a few weeks. What does bird mess matter if you're not there to see it? I don't go down that alley much because I'm frightened of the spiders, but when I have there hasn't been any mess anyway.

But he's done it again. Eleven thousand miles, storms, exhaustion, and starvation, but he got them. I'm certain the adults are alive, he wouldn't have killed them. But if there were babies they'll be amongst the debris God knows where and the adults... I don't know, do they mourn the loss of their own, or put it down to experience (probably not because they always return), are they annoyed their babies were killed or hurt by it? I don't know, but they need to build a new nest.

All that way (and they brought in the spring, too). It was a cruel trick, utterly needless, unjust, another reason to hate what I belong to, another reason to want to move far away with Big C somewhere in the middle of nowhere where it's just us and our world is each other and birds and all kinds of things and no one there to hurt or kill them. There is a constant struggle between man and nature and man is hellbent on winning the war. Everything needs to be clean and tidy so there's no inconvenience.

It's unnatural, surely, to hurt animals. As far back as we can go, man has wanted pets. Why have pets? (He doesn't have pets). Most people want something smaller than themselves to look after and care for, take responsibility for an animal, to love and to feed, to protect, to nurture. Don't most people want that? Why not just feed the swallows, or the other birds, and leave them alone to fly about, make their nests, drop their bits and pieces of grass and straw on the way, maybe. Of course, the other mess they make, the one he is so concerned about - what of it? Wash it away, or let the rain do it.

Why the fight? I'm tired of watching the fight, I'm tired of fighting the fight. Just stop the fight, leave the swallows to nest on the security light in the alleyway. I'm glad he's moving away.