A Country Diary: OXFORDSHIRE: On the first morning of this month, whilst watching the usual passage of gulls to the local refuse-dump, I spotted a flock of waders, estimated at between 300 and 400, much higher up and heading due south, and, a matter of seconds later, a similar party followed them on the same course, and I was able to identify them as Golden Plover.
Since this line of flight would take them straight to the pioneer party of 200-300 already assembled on the traditional Witney site, I wondered whether this was their destination.
A few days later, immediately alongside the busy M40, a pause at traffic-lights enabled me to glance at a dense assembly of birds, as closely-packed as starlings, extending for almost a quarter of a mile along the edge of the arable field, and I was able to identify them as a mixture of Lapwing and ' goldies, ' all immobile, and many of the latter with their heads tucked in as if fast asleep.
An estimate of numbers was impossible in the few seconds available at the pause, but on the return journey, about an hour later, something had awakened them and a most spectacular aerial display was in progress  the two species had reacted differently to whatever had disturbed their siesta  the lapwing wheeling erratically just above ground level, but the ' goldies' in ever-changing smoke-like clouds high above, performing quick-change evolutions reminiscent of starlings going to roost.
Again, an estimate of numbers was difficult, but I am confident that there were well over 1,000 of the ' goldies', and almost as many lapwing.
W. D. CAMPBELL.
Dear Santa, I'd like a piana or some leggo Old Red Cheeks gets snowed under every year with letters from children.
Sometimes the spelling isn't so hot but belief, as Melanie McFadyean found, still seems to burn bright.
SANTA CLAUS probably got more letters than the Queen or Margaret Thatcher this year.
But then he's cuddlier.
The Post Office, who handle his mail, say there were 600,000 letters for the plump, red-cheeked old fellow.
Naturally he couldn't answer them all himself, so Post Office staff lent a hand and every kid who wrote to him got a reply, postmarked Reindeerland or Santaland.
Whether they get the computer software, dolls and musical instruments they asked him for remains to be seen.
It depends how much the adults collude and what their bank balances are looking like.
If 600,000 write to Santa, it follows that a great many children believe in him.
But one child I know caught his parents prowling around with stockings at the dead of night and is now impressing upon his little pals that the whole thing is a con.
But his parents continue to leave sherry and mince pies out for Old Red Cheeks  perhaps they believe in him.
Lots of parents, and the odd nanny or two, provide back-up references for Santa explaining that little so-and-so is really a very good child.
These good children who wrote to Santa this year, and their parents and nannies, don't seem keen to continue the tradition of leaving sherry out.
They're OK about the mince pies, but Santa is likely to drown in milk this year.
Perhaps it's part of the drink/driving campaign reaching people who ride the sky in a sleigh drawn by reindeer.
(As for the reindeer, one thoughtful child added a PS, saying she would make sure there were carrots and water for them.)
After stuffing himself on mince pies and quaffing all that milk, and getting even tubbier, it's surprising that Santa can carry all the things the 600,000 ask him for.
And even more amazing that he can still squeeze through chimneys and central heating air vents in tower blocks.
Most kids have a pretty long list: ' Please may I have a Barbie doll with her van and a oops a daisy doll hands down games bensing babys teddy bears leggo my dolley suprise hungry hippoes. '
Some of these kids start young.
One three-month-old baby managed to talk its parents into sending Santa a letter asking for some clothes and a few bits for the cot.
One nine-year-old got most of the Christmas myth and the consumer dream into her letter as well as showing some concern: ' Dear Santa, how are you doing?
I can not wait until Christmas come up and we have fun.
On Christmas Eve I said Christ was born many years ago tonight.
I'd like a piana from you for Christmas or if you can not get me that I would like a bike.
How is your wife?
I will leave you some Christmas cake sweets and beer. '
The beer should cheer Santa up after all that milk.
But let's hope the piana is only an upright: it would be a shame if the child who wants an organ has to go without and it's hard to see how Santa would manage with a Steinway grand.
In New York, letters to Santa reflect the need more than the greed in that city of cities.
A 10-year-old asks for shoes: ' Right now my mother doesn't work. '
Her mother has two other little kids and is on welfare  $231 (about l44) a month.
A 50-year-old grandmother wrote to Santa: ' I 'm a sick lady with cancer.
I 'm always with pain in the body.
I like a Quilt so I could be warm at night. '
The letters are pinned up in a big main post office and generous people send the presents.
Last year the Post Office in Britain answered one such request, giving a wheelchair to seven-year-old Trudy Heenan's grandfather.
A quick straw poll of parents revealed that the little children are thrilled to get their letters marked Santaland or Reindeerland, and believe that Santa really does come down the chimney while they're asleep.
They believe it even though the evidence is suspect, such is the charmed life of the child.
But what about the uneaten mince pies?
Oh we just take a bite or two out of them, say the parents.
Presumably they pick up the pinta and down the sherry and beer as well, not to mention making it look as if the reindeers have had a go at the carrots.
(Next year some clever dick will take a patent out on sets of replica reindeer teeth to clamp around the carrots.)
The prize goes to a child, age unspecified but a couple of years off joined-up writing, who says: ' Dear Father Chismas can I have some of these things? '
The letter consists mostly of a complicated table of page and reference numbers with prices.
These refer to the Argos catalogue, a big hit with the under-5s I 'm reliably informed.
The total cost of the numbered items from the catalogue is 156.63.
Let's hope Santa isn't too strapped for cash as a result of the interest rate because he also has to get Silvanian fire places, sewing machines, Sindy (sic) dolls, guns, kitchen sets, guitars, books, a baby changing unit, felt tip pens, videos, electric cars, electric trains, micro machines, computers, personal stereos, mighty metro racing sets, radio controlled aeroplanes, slippers and a camra.
Another day.
December 20, 1969: Frost and snow.
Ted and I nearly lost our fingers pulling snow-frozen ivy off the trees to decorate the cottage.
The car broke down, we had great difficulty in collecting the Christmas trees from Jackson's farm and Ted got into a quite a suicidal mood.
But I said that it is always a good sign when things go wrong before the night.
(Barbara Castle: The Castle Diaries.
Weidenfeld &amp; Nicolson).
