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Winner: 8-12 years of age

The grebes of Canary Wharf

Me
It was the last place one would expect to have a close-up encounter with Nature. Canary Wharf. The land of giant, ugly office blocks and crowds of bustling pedestrians, surging in and out of tube stations, pouring and cascading down the concrete pavements in countless myriads. Unbearable hubbub. Continuous buzz. People, people, people, swarming everywhere. The streets alive with buzzing bodies, humming with chatter and fuss. Innumerable feet trampling over the paved ground, either side of the murky Thames. And, looming like uniform sentries over the people, the buildings. Colossal, manmade mountains. The heart of modern London. That was why I was so . . . well, fascinated, I suppose, is the only word . . . at seeing the great crested grebes.

Grebe
I sailed majestically down the river, gazing intently around myself at the people gawping down at me, at the alien structures just scraping the sky, at the great, shining golden eye that peered through the drab clouds. It was a chilly day, I have to say. The humans were wrapped up in thick layers of fur, and I had fluffed out my sleek black and white feathers against the buffeting wind. Not that I minded it – it helped to drive me along and gave my paddling feet a rest. It was a strange place, this – no trees, only those towering square-shaped boulders, no other animals but the fat, waddling pigeons and the tall, flat-faced humans, and sometimes a few dull Mallards. Personally I would have said I was the most beautiful creature here, with my long, elegant neck and head plumes, and my crimson eye. It is so insulting when those silly people lean over the side and shout ‘quack, quack’ at me. I just ignore them. I have more important things to do . . .

Me
I recognized them immediately – first there was one, and then I realized there was another, and they were swimming towards each other. I’d never seen great crested grebes before, and I’d never realized how beautiful, how serene, how graceful, how incredible they are in real life. They were mainly black, with pure white chests and cheeks. On the backs of their heads were attractive crests. Their tails were fluffy white tufts, and they had long, slender, pinkish bills. Elegantly they glided towards each other. Closer, closer, closer . . I saw them meet each other’s eyes. I saw one dip its willowy neck into the water, raise its head and shake it swiftly. I saw the glistening droplets fly off the glossy plumage and splash back into the water, shattering the bird’s rippling reflection. I saw the other grebe do the same. It was like a passionate dance, a ritual of emotion. I watched, transfixed. And then, just as suddenly as it had begun, the dance ended, and the pair slipped smoothly away, side by side.

Grebe
I could feel the pulse of the water, and my strong feet pushing me forward. The female was so close now that I could sense the ripples she caused washing over my chest. I caught her alluring scent on the wind. A thrill surged through me as I caught her eye, and I knew she felt the same. I bowed my head into the water, and flung the drops in all directions with a flick of my head, sending them skimming over the water. Joy! Joy! She did the same. A cool rain showered over me. Again I plunged my head under. Again, in a kind of calm frenzy, I cast the colourful beads hither thither with a jubilant flourish. Again, so did she. As we drifted downriver, I felt the sun’s pleasant rays, warm upon my back.

Me
I know I will never forget that day – it was an amazing encounter. Strange the great crested grebes should choose such a crude, ugly place to perform their courtship ritual. Strange how such beautiful creatures can exist in somewhere like that. On that significant day, and in that significant hour, in those significant few minutes, I realized how powerful Nature truly is.

Rose of Tunbridge Wells – Age 10