half way up the stairs is the place where i sit

Our Lincolnshire garden had an unusual visitor last week. It was sitting in the middle of the front lawn looking lost and confused. For a moment, I felt quite emotional – our first frog. The camera was to hand, so I snapped one image quickly and before I could recompose myself for a second, the frog sprang forward on its straggled rear legs and disappeared into the hydrangeas, where no doubt one of the neighbours’ many cats ate it. If the image is a little blurred, put it down to excitement rather than my novice skills.


Serendipity again – the sighting was unexpected. Frogs are common enough, but not in our garden. In France recently we heard thousands of marsh frogs singing tunelessly all round us when we camped in the Marquenterre. There, twilight trembled to the croak and rasp of a clamorous ranarian opera with a cast of thousands. They performed well into the night before the multiple-antiphony gently subsided, hopefully not because of sore throats. But les petites rascals kept out of sight. We saw not one.

Of course, as soon as I’d spotted the Lincolnshire visitor, I reached for my old copy of “Collins Field Guide to Freshwater Life” and turned to Plate 322. “Rana ridibunda” it cited. “Marsh Frog.” That’s with a capital M rather than the more generic little m I used earlier. According to the book, frogs come in all sorts of shadings and patterns, so I have no idea how we’re supposed to obtain a definitive identification. The olive-green on our lawn looked exactly like the one in my book, so - tick! But if I’m realistic, it was more likely to be a common frog

Tick and move on. The other day I bought another LP from a charity shop in Boston. Why do so many Bostonians dispose of their old jazz albums? I rarely find them elsewhere, but I can usually find something worth buying in the Market Place. This one was by someone I think I’ve mentioned before – Wild Bill Davison. Or was that Will Bill Davis? I always confuse the two.

The line-up is like a who’s who of British Jazz. The American cornet player is backed by Freddy Randall (t) George Chisholm (tb) Bruce Turner (cl/as) Lennie Felix (p) Dave Markee (b) Tony Allen (d) and Ronnie Gleaves on vibraphone. Annoyingly, the recording date is omitted, but the World Record Club issued the album in 1966 and a quick Google revealed the recording to have been made in February 1965, during Davison’s tour of England. The music is good old British trad, rhythmic and joyful and a cut above what you’ll hear in the local pub on a Sunday lunch time. And perhaps a little uninspiring.

What has this to with frogs and serendipity? A very good question.